When you buy new clothes, you wear them immediately. When you win a beauty's heart, you show her off. And when Hayreddin got his hands on Nick's extraordinary blade, he wasted no time flaunting it. Sailing around the Strait of Gibraltar, he pulled off four or five major scores before finally heading home, thoroughly satisfied.
Among those, the prize jewel was a grand Spanish vessel laden with silver and gold from the New World. Despite being escorted by fully armed warships, resistance was futile — the proud galleon lowered its flag. Rumor had it that several noble and mysterious individuals on board were also captured as high-profile hostages.
That summer of 1515, in every tavern from Seville to Barcelona, from Venice to Naples, one name spread like wildfire — "The Siren." Some claimed he was as fair as a maiden and nimble as a monkey, yet stronger than a bear. Others said he slaughtered men as casually as slicing melons, completely devoid of human emotion. Some even whispered that the Red Lion of Algiers had traded with the Devil to obtain this boy — a living weapon in human form.
Whatever the truth, with Nick at his side, Hayreddin became unstoppable. No pirate crew in the western Mediterranean could match him anymore.
The Siren
A timid young deckhand climbed the rigging, making his way to the shaded upper deck. There, curled up under a bit of sailcloth, was a small, unimposing figure — fast asleep, tightly clutching his terrifying scythe.
The boy dreaded approaching him. The small figure, no matter if he was eating or sleeping, always held that blade close. Get too near, and he'd lash out by reflex. But the captain's orders were not to be disobeyed.
"C-Captain...?"
"Mmm... another round..."
"Captain Nick?"
"Huh? What? A prize ship?"
The youth's dark eyes flew open in confusion.
The deckhand nearly burst into tears. He looked gentle, even a little dumb, but he was a true bringer of death — waking up with bloodshed on his mind.
"Captain, we've reached land. The captain wants you to come and claim your share."
At the mention of "claim your share," Nick's eyes lit up. He leapt to his feet and darted toward the captain's quarters like a hungry fox, fearing someone might snatch his spoils first.
The heavy oak door to the captain's cabin looked nothing like food, but to Nick it triggered a Pavlovian response — he practically salivated. This job felt too good to be true: three square meals a day with white bread, and sometimes the captain himself would summon him to a table of honeyed gingerbread or syrup cakes.
Uncle… you must be watching over me from the heavens.
Nick knocked cheerfully. "Captain, it's me."
"Come in."
As he pushed open the door, Nick was nearly blinded by the dazzling light reflecting off piles of treasure — a golden cross studded with garnets, a silver brooch inlaid with emerald and malachite, a hill of cat's-eye rings and ruby bands. Under the table, chests overflowed with enameled miniatures and luxurious Persian wool carpets. Fit gifts for a king or the Pope himself.
Hayreddin, ever lounging in his high-backed chair, smiled lazily at him.
"Come now, Nick. This victory was yours. You choose first."
Nick approached, running his fingers over necklaces and bracelets, his eyes wide.
"Don't recognize any of it?" Hayreddin chuckled.
Nick shook his head. "Got a recommendation? I want the most valuable."
Hayreddin lifted a brooch shaped like a lizard, embedded with emeralds.
"The value of jewelry lies in cut, clarity, and the designer's taste. A small difference means a world of value. But most of all — it depends on the buyer. Some might trade a mansion for it; others would hand it over for a night in a tavern."
He tossed aside the brooch and picked up a few delicate rings.
"Unless you have a woman, these tiny pieces won't sell for much. But as gifts? Very useful..." The red-haired captain smirked suggestively. "They'll serve you very well."
Nick blinked, then stuffed a handful into his pocket.
Hayreddin raised an eyebrow in surprise. So this kid wasn't as innocent as he looked...
"What about those?" Nick pointed at the items beneath the table.
"Enameled miniatures and rugs are valuable, but commonplace. Sell them at market price — won't get swindled."
Nick pondered — priceless but hard-to-sell jewels versus reliable but mundane goods.
Watching him struggle, Hayreddin suddenly asked, "Other than your scythe, got any backup weapons?"
Nick nodded and drew a small dagger from his boot.
Hayreddin examined it — sharp, yes, but clearly a cheap trinket. With a twist of his fingers, the blade snapped clean in half.
"Ah! I've used that for years!" Nick cried.
"Trash. Time for an upgrade." Hayreddin tossed the broken pieces out the porthole, then opened a hidden iron chest, unlocking it with a complex set of keys.
Inside lay a heavy Damascus scimitar, resting on velvet.
"My personal collection."
He unsheathed it, and Nick felt a chill sweep over him. The dark blade bore a flowing silk-like grain — heavy and graceful at once, a perfect balance of mass and menace.
"Beautiful..." Nick whispered.
"Strength of a man, curve of a woman," Hayreddin said with admiration, giving it a casual swing.
"It's the work of Aysad. They say he's old now, and his son can't replicate the art. Soon, these will vanish."
Nick stroked the blade's spine — cold and elegant.
But after a moment, he sighed. "Too heavy. I can't use it."
Though he was strong for his age, Nick relied on agility and the strange mechanics of his scythe. Such a weapon needed someone with brute strength — like Hayreddin himself.
"Hah, don't worry. I wouldn't give it to you even if you begged." Hayreddin grinned.
"You tease!" Nick pouted.
"Your gift is back here." From a secret compartment, Hayreddin pulled a small lead box and opened it.
Inside were two black daggers. Unlike the ornate style of Damascus blades, these were plain — almost unfinished. Hayreddin unsheathed one, revealing a blade so thin it was nearly transparent, shimmering with a ghostly blue-green glow.
"Rumor says these were commissioned by a very important figure — poisoned during the forging. No shine, no reflection. Perfect for the night."
The second dagger was wicked — a three-edged stiletto with triple blood grooves.
Nick stared in awe, imagining the fountain of blood it could unleash.
"These two are my picks. Want anything else?"
No need.
They felt like they were made just for him.
As Nick tucked away his new weapons, a lookout's shout echoed: land in sight.
With the most valuable loot he'd ever owned, Nick's heart stirred at the thought of going ashore.
"Go enjoy yourself in Algiers," Hayreddin laughed. "Just don't embarrass the Red Lion."
Nick sneaked off the ship. Too many people had come to "greet" them — merchants ready to lowball the pirates, peddlers hawking beer and tobacco, prostitutes swaying with painted smiles.
The pirate city of Algiers had come alive.
Nick wandered the market with a bag of nuts and dried fish, resolved not to sell anything. Most pirates squandered their loot instantly, then sold their treasures at cutthroat prices. Nick had enough to live like a prince. Why be a fool?
Last time he came here, he was penniless. Now, he walked the same streets like a king.
Medusa Tavern
The Medusa was the liveliest tavern in Algiers — three stories of food, drink, rooms, and... special services. Tonight it was packed to bursting. Weaklings couldn't even squeeze through the door. Drunken men were thrown out into the street in waves. Pirates, thieves, gamblers, and local thugs roared with laughter, curses, and shouts.
Then the door opened again.
A short boy with a long bundle on his back stood at the entrance.
The barkeep glanced at him and snapped, "Scram! No brats allowed!"
But the boy didn't move. He slid aside the man's hairy hand with a fluid motion.
A clear, crystalline voice rang out amidst the din:"Is there no room?"
"You little sh—!"
"Frank! Are you insane?!"
A dark-skinned man rushed over in a panic. Nick recognized him — Eugene, second mate of the Morning Star.
"This is Captain Nick! Our assault leader!!"
The tavern went silent.
Everyone had heard of Red Lion's new lieutenant — the boy who slew two rivals to seize the title. The one with the giant scythe and the blood-soaked legend.
They stared.
"He's just a kid..."
"Shut up! He'll take your head off before you blink."
Nick walked slowly through the parted crowd and sat at the bar.
"Sour date juice," he said.
The room twitched.
"Did… did he just say… date juice?"
The bartender hesitated. "Sir… we only have beer, rum, wine…"
"Idiot! Go buy it!" came a sultry voice.
A tall, full-figured redhead walked out from the back — neckline plunging, eyes shimmering.
Nick looked up. This must be Serah, owner of Medusa.
"I'm Serah. Apologies if we've failed to welcome you properly, Captain Nick."
Men gasped. Serah was a seasoned courtesan — graceful, cunning, the queen of Algiers' nightlife.
Nick nodded wordlessly. Serah smiled, but inside, she felt odd. She had to lean down to speak to him — he barely looked like a teenager. What was he even doing here?
But in this city, you don't mess with the Red Lion's people — especially the second-in-command.
She handed Nick the drink, voice dripping honey.
"They say you're unmatched — ten against one and you still win, huh?"
"Oh," Nick sipped. The cup was fancy, but the juice tasted just like the street stalls.
What do rich people even come here for?
"Ever counted how many men you've killed?" she purred.
That was usually a favorite topic in pirate bars. Fights broke out nightly over it.
Nick glanced at his thin wrist, then the strong hand of the man beside him.
"I never counted," he said flatly.
The crowd shivered.
This boy had no need to count. The dead were beneath his notice.
"What's fun here?" Nick asked.
"Cards, dice, darts, anything you can bet on."
"I don't know how."
"Shall I have the girls dance for you?" She waved.
Two slim girls twirled over, graceful and young.
Serah explained softly, "They're clean. Safe."
Nick stared. Slim bodies, no curves. Then he looked at Serah again — full and mature.
A real man's taste...
Before setting foot off the ship, Hayreddin had told him: "Be generous. Act like a real man."
Nick stood up.
"Drinks are on me tonight."
He tossed a handful of gold on the table.
The tavern erupted in cheers.
"Such a generous captain!"
Serah giggled.
Then Nick handed her a ruby ring.
"This is for you. Got time tonight?"
By the next morning, all of Algiers was buzzing.
The Siren, the Red Lion's mysterious new captain, had claimed Medusa Tavern, won over its stunning proprietress, and moved into her home.
Anyone who dared call him a kid again would hear Serah's voice echoing through the city:
"Nick is the most powerful man I've ever known.A real man — through and through."