Chapter 288: The Return of the Golden Ram

Charlot stood at the port, gazing at the vast sea for a while.
The diary in his arms remained silent; he knew he had not yet gained full control of Saint Michael Island.

The ships still docked at Saint Michael Island were mostly in the hands of second- and third-tier pirates, slave traders, and underground merchants. These individuals did not believe anyone could successfully rebel on Saint Michael Island, so few of them had fled.

Charlot moved swiftly, taking control of nearly 90% of the ships. He instructed Ban Lamorak to command the fleet and transport a group of liberated slaves to Cappadocia.

The fleet under Ban Lamorak’s command had just disappeared beyond the horizon.

Charlot gazed at the now empty port of Saint Michael, devoid of a single ship, and allowed a faint smile to surface.

Ban Lamorak had sailed off with all the ships, not primarily to transport slaves, but to deliver the fleet to Menielman.

Charlot intended to send all the slaves from Saint Michael to Cappadocia. Those who wished to return home could wait for merchant ships in Cappadocia, while those who wanted to settle could find a new life on Goring Island. As a massive island, it could easily accommodate this group of freed slaves.

For those willing to join Menielman’s forces or Charlot’s faction, the transition would be even simpler.

As for the pirates of Saint Michael, Charlot planned to integrate the lower-level ones into his West Wind Knight Order, even though some had committed crimes. He lacked the resources to try each one individually and would conduct a brief screening process instead.

The mid- and upper-tier pirates, on the other hand, Charlot intended to hand over to Ban Lamorak. They would serve as a significant contribution to his military achievements.

Charlot planned to leave behind only a small, elite force to guard Saint Michael Island. If Herolf, the Golden Ram, returned safely, Charlot would immediately retreat. If other scenarios arose, he would adapt accordingly.

Charlot felt no regret about not conquering the first level of Saint Michael City. He had already gained immensely from this endeavor and dealt a heavy blow to the Golden Rams Fleet, fulfilling his “strategic objective.”

The pirates themselves didn’t care about the slaves or the lower-level crew members, viewing them as expendable. However, without these expendables, the city’s operations would grind to a halt.

Much like many large cities, having only well-dressed elites at the top would not suffice. Despite holding most of the wealth, they depended on the labor of the lower classes. Without them, the city would become a dead husk, incapable of functioning.

Herolf, the Golden Ram, likely didn’t understand this principle, nor did many people on the Old Continent.

High Priest Auguslatin, dressed in his flowing ceremonial robes, remarked with a smile, “For my share, there’s no need for tangible assets. Just transfer it to my account at the Savings Union in Strasbourg.”

Charlot returned the smile and said, “Why would such a trivial matter require the High Priest’s instructions? I’ll ensure it’s done flawlessly.”

As Charlot looked out at the empty sea, he prepared to leave with the High Priest. Suddenly, the distant roar of cannons broke the silence.

The two exchanged glances and decided to stay, waiting patiently. Before long, two fleets appeared on the horizon, locked in fierce battle.

One fleet was smaller, with just over twenty ships, but it boasted a magic alchemy warship. A tall, burly figure hovered above the ship, relying on the magical array onboard to fight against three Saint rank opponents simultaneously.

High Priest Auguslatin commented, “This is the true use of a magic alchemy warship. Its greatest function is as a mobile magic array. As long as Herolf doesn’t stray far from it, not even Zimourman could do much to him.”

After observing for a moment, Charlot asked, “High Priest, would you like to join the fight?”

The High Priest shook his head and replied, “Even with my involvement, it wouldn’t change the outcome.”

“Fortunately,” Charlot said, “Herolf’s ancient magic warship was stolen. If he still had it, he might even manage to turn the tide.”

Charlot couldn’t help but click his tongue in amazement. While he understood that the ancient magic warship was more formidable than ordinary magic alchemy warships, he couldn’t fathom just how powerful it truly was. To him, the current magic alchemy warship already seemed incredible.

Since the High Priest showed no interest in the battle, Charlot didn’t press the matter. Instead, he said, “According to your analysis, does this mean Senior Menielman is unlikely to win?”

The High Priest nodded. “Exactly.”

Charlot sighed. “In that case, let’s retreat as well.”

“At the current pace, Herolf will return to Saint Michael Island in a few hours.”

“If he still controls the island’s secrets, Senior Menielman will have no choice but to withdraw.”

The High Priest agreed with this assessment.

Although Charlot felt a tinge of regret, he understood when to fight and when to let go.

“Young people often make the mistake of giving up when they shouldn’t or stubbornly persisting when it’s pointless,” he reflected.

“They think failure brings experience, but often, they’re just wasting time. Those who succeed directly will leave them far behind.”

“This world has no shortage of inspirational platitudes, but none of them can truly fill an empty stomach.”

Charlot and High Priest Auguslatin led their “pirate rebels” away from Saint Michael Island before vanishing from sight.

A few hours later, Herolf, while fighting a retreating battle, suddenly sensed a surge of energy enveloping him. He raised his hands high, emitting a radiant light.

A towering figure, dozens of pimi tall, with wings on its back, materialized in the sky above Saint Michael Island. Herolf’s aura climbed rapidly.

With just one glance, Menielman ordered a retreat.

The three Saint rank individuals dispersed. Even with the magic alchemy warship, Herolf dared not pursue them. After all, Menielman was still formidable. Without the warship’s support, he had no confidence in defeating the Fars Empire’s First Rose in a one-on-one duel.

Herolf declared coldly, “Menielman, as long as Saint Michael Island remains under my control, you’ll never lay claim to it.”

“Without a magic alchemy warship, even with two Saint rank allies, you’ll never stand a chance against me.”

Menielman’s expression remained calm, but her eyes stayed fixed on Saint Michael Island rather than Herolf.

She couldn’t help but wonder about Charlot—had he escaped safely?

Yet, she knew she couldn’t continue the assault. Saint Michael Island’s hidden powers were far beyond her current capabilities to overcome.

“I hope my junior is safe!”

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