Chapter 1- Pirates’ Job Fair - Part 2

The sign read: Doctor. The recruitment requirement was blunt: "Don't even think about it, idiot." The youth felt disappointed.

Before leaving, he softly recited the title of the book the young man was holding, "Medical Canon, Avisenna..."

The doctor glanced up, asking, "Do you understand Latin?"

The youth replied, "Just a little."

"What else do you know?"

"Spanish, Italian, and a bit of French and Arabic."

In the culturally diverse and multilingual Mediterranean region, it wasn't uncommon for illiterate individuals to speak several languages. Many wandering old merchants were more knowledgeable than linguists. The doctor continued nonchalantly, "Can you write?"

"Yes, I often help people write letters."

The young man smiled warmly, as gentle as a spring breeze. "Oh, that's rare. What's your name?"

"Nick." Seizing a glimmer of hope, the youth responded promptly.

The doctor smirked, "Heh, I don't need someone to write medical records. Move along." He wore a mischievous expression of triumph and resumed reading, placing the book on the table. The youth, left in bewilderment, received a scolding from the chubby chef at the neighboring table, "You let him entertain hope and then reject him. Victor, you're really wicked."

"Go on, I'm actually a good person. I'm only bad after agreeing." The doctor placed the book on the table, carefully scrutinizing the youth from head to toe. Behind the sharpness of his lenses, his gaze resembled a dissecting knife, penetrating skin, muscle, and reaching the bones.

"Be honest, kid; you look too tender. What kind of place is a pirate ship? Fierce Moors, greedy Jewish traffickers, exiled Christian heretics, swindlers, thieves, deserters, wanted fugitives—hundreds of lawless men crammed into the cabin, not seeing a woman for months. Being good-looking is not an advantage." Nick was taken aback, understanding the implication. Still, he stubbornly replied, "You're not bad-looking, and you're working on the ship."

"Oh dear, you're right. This young master is indeed handsome, but the problem is, you lack this." Victor smiled, his slender fingers caressing the silver knives and saw in front of him. "Life is essential; only fools would offend the ship's doctor."

Nick had no words. He indeed lacked these skills. The plump chef nearby, unable to bear it, pointed out, "Continue west; the old man Ruman in the trading post might need someone."

The second round also ended in rejection, and the prospects of being recruited were diminishing.

Don't be surprised; pirates also do business. The looted goods need to be converted into currency through trade with people. Halledeen's fleet had more than a dozen large ships, and when there were not many fat sheep, transporting local products like olive oil, cotton, and dates could still yield a profit.

The trading post was bustling; over twenty assistants loaded goods onto carts. In the inland, where no grass grew during the dry season, they traded for grain. Ruman, a sturdy middle-aged man who roamed the Mediterranean for years, was an experienced old merchant. He smoked expensive tobacco from the New World, exhaling rings of smoke while directing the cargo.

"Hmm? Want to join the trading post?" Ruman looked down at the thin young man in front of him. "No, kid, it's hard work; we need strong lads."

Nick didn't say much either. He walked to a pile of sacks of wheat, reached out, and lifted one onto his back, then ran a couple of laps around the large cart.

"Well, can't tell, but you do have some strength." A sack of wheat weighed fifty pounds, and even strong men found it challenging to carry. Ruman bit his pipe, cracking a smile, "Alright, you're hired. You'll work here in the trading post. In the next few months, we'll take the overland route."

"What about going on the ship?" Nick put down the sack and looked towards the armed ship on the shore.

"Kid, although there's good money on the ship, it's a life-and-death struggle. Do you know why there are so many people on the square, but few at the doctor's tent and here?" Ruman leisurely blew a smoke ring, "Because on the ship, it's a fight for your life. How many die, how many we recruit."

"I want to go on the ship." Nick persisted.

The old merchant shook his head. The nature of a young man; he doesn't know how profound the sea is. Patting Nick's luggage on his back, he gave him a few copper coins, "Go, have a good meal and think it over. On the ship, no children and women, that's the rule."

Not reaching the point of desperation, many wouldn't consider risking their lives for a job. Although these few coins weren't much, they could buy a large piece of grilled meat and plenty of light beer in Algiers. The youth thanked him and walked away.

Even with knowledge of several languages, he was rejected. From land to sea, profitable places were always crowded. Becoming a pirate wasn't as easy as one might think.

The North African sun scorched the earth. The rejected youth gradually faded away, leaving only a small shadow behind.

"What did he carry on his back..."

Ruman looked at his hand; it seemed like he had patted on some hard metal.

Hank returned to the headquarters with a thick stack of signed contracts. Unlike the dirty and chaotic image people usually associate with pirate dens, this was a clean and refreshing white castle situated on the highest hill in Algiers. It faced the sea on one side and overlooked the entire city on the other. The Islamic-style domed skylight often shrouded in the thin mist of the Mediterranean, giving it an elegant and picturesque appearance.

This, of course, was not built by Hayreddin. When he 'took over' from the previous governor of Algiers, the fat man cried more hideously than if his own father had died. When most local pirates weren't at sea, they would find refuge elsewhere, with only the captain and some senior crew members living here.

Hank, with no mood to admire the beautifully carved fountain in the courtyard, crossed the winding corridors and knocked on the door of a large room.

"Captain, it's Hank."

"Come in."

The tall redhead man lazily leaned on an Arabian-style couch, a three-meter-long African white lion lying at his feet, seemingly half-asleep with colorful bird feathers still sticking to its mouth. Hank thought this was probably the last peacock in the courtyard.

The man casually looked through rare sea charts, without a trace of arrogance. But everyone knew, just like the lion by his side, the captain was someone who liked to bury his claws in the soles of people's feet. He looked calm, but he could tear enemies to pieces with a lightning-fast pounce at any moment.

This was the most formidable pirate reigning in the Mediterranean, the third of the Barbarossa brothers, Barbarossa Hayreddin, known as the "Red Lion of the Sea."

Hank respectfully handed over the contract:

"Captain, five hundred newcomers."

"Hmm, well done." Hayreddin took it and flipped through it. "Any suitable backup candidates?"

"Not many useful ones, just a bunch of ordinary folks who haven't seen the world." Somehow, the image of that agile young man suddenly flashed in Hank's mind, but it was just a fleeting thought. He shook his head, carefully choosing his words and said:

"Captain, Captain Arud has been loyal for years, always at the forefront in killing enemies. Can you...?"

"Cannot." The red-haired man flatly refused, extending his arm to spread out the contract, "Hank, look at these clauses and handprints. Even if they can't read, newcomers must have each item read to them before boarding. After following me for so many years, don't you remember?"

"But that day, Captain Arud was indeed drunk, and that woman happened to pass by..."

Hayreddin said coldly, "Oh, so you're saying it's that woman's fault for being molested, and Arud was forced? Hank Livens, what's the fourth article of the contract!?" By the time he spoke this last sentence, his tone had become very stern, and his ice-blue eyes emitted a compelling light. Hank's mind shook, and he straightened up, answering loudly:

"Article Four: No insults to women; violators shall be executed!"

The room fell into a dead silence. After a while, Hayreddin finally said:

"Many have pleaded before. Life on the ship is tough, and after getting off, they go to the tavern to drink heartily, find some paid women. I've never cared about everyone's private activities. But that woman wasn't a hooker. She jumped into the sea and committed suicide the next day."

At this point, Hayreddin paused, revealing the essence of the problem:

"Hank, she was the daughter of a traditional Muslim family. We've been operating in Algiers year-round. If we anger the Muslims, how can we continue here? Pardoning Arud, how will I manage other crew members? When did the pirate contract become a mere piece of paper?!"

Hayreddin's fleet had been invincible in the Mediterranean for many years, earning a heroic reputation along the North African coast. This wasn't achieved with a group of ragtag individuals but with the strict discipline of 'don't eat where you nest.' These three sentences Hayreddin uttered surged out like mine-clearing charges. Hank silently nodded, unable to argue anymore.

"Yes, Captain, I understand."

The burly figure of the vice-captain disappeared from the room, and Hayreddin, as if talking to himself, said:

"Arud, you have a group of good brothers."

"Yes, even if I die now, I won't have any regrets." A man in his thirties with a hooked nose emerged from behind a folding screen; he was Arud, the captain of the assault team.

"Captain, I want to ride the Siren for the last time."

"Do you want to die at sea? But this trip may not encounter opponents capable of defeating you."

"Even if I'm unlucky, and the Poseidon refuses to accept a sinner, I'm willing to be hanged when I return."

Hayreddin fell silent for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

This was equivalent to giving him a chance to die with dignity. Arud, with tears of gratitude in his eyes, said:

"Thank you, Captain. I have over 200 gold coins in savings at the trading post. No matter how I die, please pass it on to the poor woman's family."