British hegemon

Chapter 30 Night Raid on the Pirate's Den

About two hundred paces south of the mill, among the bushes on the hillside, the "warriors" grew increasingly anxious.

After the dry grass around the mill was set ablaze, they were able to see the fighting scene below the mountain, but the planned signal was nowhere to be seen. These events were not within the scope of Young Master Roger's prior plan.

They all suspected that the girl with the ponytail, who had been sent to act as an inside agent and poison the drugs, was now a corpse.

"Young Master Roger, something's wrong. The pirates have discovered your scheme. We must escape before those demons find us. There's still time." Someone muttered tremblingly in the darkness, which immediately drew a chorus of agreement.

Roger couldn't be sure if Ponytail's poisoning plan had succeeded, but he had already seen the Mill Pirates fighting amongst themselves. If he didn't strike now, Ponytail would surely die, and his own crisis would remain unresolved.

Besides, he's already taken his pants off; it's not his style to call a halt now.

After a moment's hesitation, he drew his Viking battle axe from his waist and shouted, "The pirates are in turmoil! We can crush them with one charge! Anyone who wants to steal gold and silver, follow me and kill them!"

Having said that, he leaped up and rushed along the shepherd's path at the edge of the bushes toward the brightly lit mill.

"Blackie, if you want to live, follow me!" He ran while not forgetting to drag the blackie, who was trying to redeem himself, along with him.

"The pirates are almost all killed, what are you afraid of? Let's charge in, rob money and food!" Black Dog, wielding a homemade spiked club, followed closely behind, leading the three brave guys—Fat Widow, Old Joey, and Black Charcoal—as they shouted and rushed out of the bushes.

The bald man had already considered backing out, but seeing that Black Dog and the fat widow had all rushed out, he felt embarrassed to back down at the last minute.

"Fearless warriors, follow me and charge!" He wanted to encourage a few more guys to join him for moral support.

There was no response from those around him.

The bald man turned around and muttered to the group in the bushes, "You bunch of bastards, you took the Campbell family's bounty but refused to do anything. If young master Roger is killed by the pirates, none of you will live a good life."

"The Baron and Sir Colin are about to lead their troops back. When that happens, every one of you will be beheaded." In desperation, the bald man dragged out Baron John and Sir Colin to intimidate the crowd.

This advice really worked. The guys huddled in the bushes immediately remembered that the devilish young master was backed by the Campbell family, who ruled the island of Arron. If he were killed, they, who had taken the bounty, would certainly not have a good end either.

"Count me in." Miss Tooth jumped up, his tattered cotton armor caught on the thorns, tearing open another gap.

"I'll go too." The gambling addict raised the winged iron spear in his hand.

"Fight those bastards and rob them of all their gold and silver."

"Yes, kill them."

Finally, three farmers and local ruffians got up.

"Hunter, you two cowardly bastards, you always boast about killing bears and hunting deer, it's all a lie." Toothless provoked the two hunters who were cowering beside him, and the two hunters stood up as well.

Seeing that there were several more people around him, the bald man became much bolder. He glanced at Roger and the others and saw that most of them had already charged ahead. He let out a strange cry, picked up his crossbow, and chased after them, keeping the crossbow bolts aimed at the figures in front of him.

After the bald-headed group charged, the rest of the men sat and watched, eager to try but none daring to take a step.

At the foot of the mountain, relying on the few road signs he had noted during the day, and under the starlight and moonlight, Roger, wielding a Viking axe, had already rushed within fifty paces of the mill. He slowed his charge slightly to allow the men following behind him to get closer.

Twenty paces later, the entire mill came into view. Bonfires and iron pots were scattered all over the ground, and several bodies lay dead on the road leading to the sea outside the mill, clearly indicating that they were trying to escape.

The dry grass outside the mill failed to ignite the wooden building, leaving only scattered sparks spreading outwards. Two pirates were still wrestling at the mill's entrance, completely unaware that Roger, wielding an axe, was approaching.

Ten steps later, Roger had approached the campfire. There lay a pirate, still writhing, clutching a short sword in his hand. Roger ran up and stomped hard on the man's arm. With a sharp crack of breaking bones, the short sword flew several steps away.

The pirate on the ground screamed in pain, rolling over and struggling to escape to one side.

Roger kicked the man in the head again, making him shudder and immediately faint.

After taking down the first pirate blocking his way, Roger ignored the body a little further away, raised his Viking axe to the side, and charged straight at the two men fighting at the mill entrance.

The fight between the two had escalated to a fever pitch, with one of them grabbing Roger's neck and gouging his eyes. One of them spotted Roger coming at him with an axe, but his head was being held firmly by the other pirate, leaving him no way to escape.

Driven by the momentum of the charge and the immense strength of Roger's arm, the axe whistled through the air as it slashed towards the back of another pirate.

Roger felt his axe suddenly come off guard, and immediately a sharp cracking sound of a spine breaking pierced his eardrums. The Viking battle axe had cleaved through the bandit's cheap cotton armor and embedded itself in his spine.

Overexertion caused Roger to slam his axe into the pirate whose head he had just been choking, knocking the pirate to the ground.

The impact brought Roger to a standstill, and the axe in his hand fell down along with the pirate who had just been struck in the back, causing Roger's body to tilt as well.

He tried to pull the axe out of the pirate's body, but the axe was too strong and embedded in his spine, making it impossible to pull out for a while.

The pirate who had been knocked down had already stood up, supporting himself with his hands. Roger simply ignored the axe, drew his wooden-handled hunting knife from his waist, and crouched down to get close to the pirate who was about to stand up.

The blade pierced the cotton armor diagonally with the force of the body's charge, stabbing into the pirate's abdomen. The left hand gripped the pirate's neck tightly, rendering him immobile.

Just like when he killed Wolf yesterday, these deadly moves were all skills Roger had accumulated over the past ten years of fighting. They were not flashy and did not look beautiful, but most of them were fatal.

"Sneak attack! Sneak!" The pirate only managed to utter two words before his face contorted, his voice muffled by the blood gushing from his mouth. Blood foam poured out of his mouth and nose, and his whole body reeked of the fishy smell of stinking clams.

The hunting knife must have pierced the bandit's stomach. Roger frantically churned the knife in his hand a few times, and scalding blood flowed down the blade into his hand.

This wasn't his first murder, but the sense of madness and loss of control that followed such intense tension was still very strong.

While stabbing the pirate, he glanced over the pirate's shoulder at the scene inside the mill. There were many candles lit around the mill, and it wasn't the gathering of bandits that Roger had imagined. Several corpses lay in pools of blood.

Roger's sudden intrusion caught the attention of the last two pirates fighting behind the wooden table in the mill. They immediately stopped fighting and looked at Roger, who had stabbed one of their men at the mill entrance.

Both pirates were wielding longswords, and it was impossible to tell for a moment whether they were armed swords or half-swords.

Roger kicked aside the pirate in front of him, pulled a hunting knife from the pirate's chest and abdomen, and pointed the blood-soaked blade at the two pirates.

The hunting knife was no more than fifteen inches long, but at this moment it seemed more terrifying than the sharpest weapon. The pirate on the ground clutched his stomach, spitting out blood and curling up in a ball. The two pirates holding longswords did not dare to step forward for a moment.

While they hesitated, Black Dog, Fat Widow, Old Joey, and Black Charcoal charged in, armed with both long and short weapons. Led by the burly Fat Widow, they roared as they charged toward the two pirates.

The blacksmith's heavy hammer was wielded by the fat widow as easily as a fire poker, smashing away the longsword thrust by one of the pirates. The enormous impact broke the inferior half-sword in two.

Immediately afterward, Old Joey, standing behind the fat widow, thrust out a short spear from the gap. The spearhead pierced the pirate's inner thigh, and the pirate immediately screamed in agony, his body swaying as he fell to the ground. The fat widow then smashed his chest cavity with a hammer.

Black Dog's spiked club and Black Charcoal's long-handled sickle also joined the melee, and for a moment the sound of ping-pong balls echoed through the mill again.

Roger had calmed down. He noticed that there were almost no pirates left standing in the mill. The tension in his heart suddenly eased, and his vision went black for a moment.

It just started rising too fast.

The gambler's rampage through the mill instantly restored Roger's sight.

"Fight the pirates!" The gambling addict raised a short spear and thrust it at the corpse that had just died after being stabbed in the stomach.

One after another, people with missing teeth rushed in, wielding iron pitchforks, followed by people wielding long sticks.

When the battle was about to begin, only half of the warriors dared to charge forward. Roger's carefully planned grouping and zone attack tactics were also forgotten by the "warriors," and they engaged in a chaotic brawl, like a country fight.

Turning his head, Roger saw the bald man behind him, frantically pulling the bowstring to cock his crossbow while stepping on the foot pedals, and the hunter nocking an arrow and firing at the fleeing pirates. Roger finally breathed a sigh of relief, bent down, wiped his blood-soaked hunting knife on the clothes of the corpse in front of him, and tucked it back into his waistband...

When the dozen or so "warriors" realized that they had no more opponents to fight, the mill was filled with corpses and the wailing of pirates.

The bandit suppression operation, meticulously prepared for a day and two nights, ended in just a few moments.

The cowards who had been watching the fire from the bushes on the mountainside rushed down and began punching and kicking the unresponsive corpses on the ground, displaying their bravery.

"Bald, Blackie, Old Joey, and Blackie, come with me to seize the ship." Confident now, Roger didn't forget the pirate ship anchored at the cape and immediately gathered his bravest men to seize it, as planned.

"Young Master Roger, Blackie is dying." The bald man had already dropped the crossbow in his hand and was now holding the limp Blackie in his arms.

"How could he die so easily?" Roger asked in surprise, taking two steps forward.

By the candlelight in the mill, Roger saw that the black dog's face was pale, the fabric armor on its belly was soaked with blood, and blood was flowing out from a hole. Its eyes were becoming increasingly vacant.

"He was attacked by that guy." The bald man pointed to a corpse lying on its side in the corner of the mill, with a crossbow bolt still stuck in its neck.

Just now, the black-skinned dog was tempted by the sight of money and tried to loot the corpse, but he was stabbed by this ruthless bandit who wasn't quite dead yet.

"Young Master Roger!" A shout came from under the long table behind him, and two figures emerged.

It was the disheveled girl with a bruised face and a ponytail, accompanied by a guy.

Roger was taken aback for a moment, then immediately yelled at the people around him, "Stop standing there like idiots! Quickly search the surroundings and see if there are any enemies hiding. A bunch of bastards, they won't learn their lesson even after being stabbed to death."

After saying that, he drew his sword and walked towards the guy behind the ponytail.

The girl with the ponytail quickly shielded the henchmen behind her, pleading anxiously, "Young Master Roger, don't kill this little bastard."

Roger stopped and glanced at the terrified henchman beside the ponytail, then looked at the ponytail who was nodding incessantly. He sheathed his sword and quickly crouched down to check on the black dog.

Reaching out, he lifted the black dog's armor. The wound wasn't too big; at least its internal organs weren't spilling out. He breathed a sigh of relief. "It won't die anytime soon."

As he was about to remove the black dog's cloth-covered iron armor, the girl with the ponytail quickly came to help, while the henchmen were dragged aside and guarded by two farmers.

"What the hell is this luck?" Roger cursed inwardly. The black dog's armor had many holes, and the sudden attack had stabbed right into one of the unprotected holes.

He ripped off the black dog's filthy cloak, revealing a gaping wound with white flesh still bleeding profusely. There was already a large pool of blood on the ground. He shouted, "Quickly, find some clean cloth!"

Roger had participated in many street fights in his previous life and occasionally treated wounds with heavy blood loss. However, most street fights involved slashing with machetes, and while the wounds looked horrifying, they were actually not deep enough to damage internal organs, and stopping the bleeding was sufficient.

However, the black dog's abdomen was stabbed with a sharp knife; if its liver, lungs, intestines, or stomach had been damaged, it certainly wouldn't have survived.

The group frantically searched for fabric, and the woman with the ponytail tore off the coat of a bandit's corpse, which was filthy and tattered.

Roger glanced at the tattered clothes, then at his own, lifted the layers of armor and skirt, drew his hunting knife, and cut a large piece of fabric from the inner robe, quickly pressing it against the black dog's wound.

Then he grabbed a pile of dirty clothes from the ground and placed them under the black dog's knees, raising his legs, relaxing his abdomen, and making him lie flat with his head turned to one side.

Based on his experience in emergency treatment of injuries accumulated from years of street fights in his previous life, Roger could only do so much. "Fat widow, you press on the wound. If it gets soaked, immediately cut off a clean one and put it on. Keep this position and wait for me to come back."

"Ponytail, you know this place best. You're in charge of staying behind at the mill and leading everyone to clear out the remaining enemies. Don't let your guard down again." Roger was in a hurry to lead his men to seize the pirate ship.

"Bald, Old Joey, Blackie, Gambler, Missing Tooth," Roger called out several names. "You guys grab your weapons and come with me to take the ship."

After saying that, he returned to the entrance of the mill, stepped on a pirate corpse that had been stiff for a long time, and pulled out the Viking axe embedded in the spine.

After my eyes adjusted to the cold darkness of the moonlit night for a moment, I rushed along a country road toward the cape...

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