Chapter 230 – 92 Siege_4
Gold took the slip of paper, somewhat puzzled, “Hmm, seems like… I kind of remember…”
“I said I’d give you a ship, didn’t I?” Winters said with a big laugh, “That fat man owed me a huge favor, so he sold his Bandit Gull to me for a cheap price. Just so happens my mother left me a small inheritance, enough to afford it. Go find him at this address. The Bandit Gull is yours now, Captain Gold… Just don’t go back to being a pirate this time.”
Gold was stunned, the slip of paper in his hand almost fell as he couldn’t hold it steady. He stood there at a loss, his eyes slightly reddened.
“Don’t you dare say ’thank you,’ and definitely don’t cry, you deserve this.” Winters got goosebumps and quickly made a joke, “But if you go back to being a pirate and run into me again, then we’ll have to fight another battle.”
“Sir, what do you think of my luck?” Gold didn’t respond to the joke but asked a seemingly unrelated question.
“Uh…” This question stumped Winters, and it took him a while to reply, “To some extent, your luck is very good… It’s unfortunate to encounter Layton and us, but even so, you’re the only pirate from the entire ship that survived, that’s also a tremendous stroke of luck…”
“Right, that’s what I think too. My luck has always been good, so I’m Lucky Gold. However, there’s someone whose luck is even better than mine, so when I came across this person, my good luck was useless. Who do you think that is?”
“…You’re not talking about me, are you?” Winters was a bit perplexed.
“Exactly, sir, it’s you. I thought about it a lot on the deck of the Golden Lion and finally realized that luck is relative, one person’s fortune could be another’s misfortune. When encountering someone luckier than me, my good luck turns into bad luck. You are that person luckier than me, which is why I followed you on Red Sulfur Island,” Gold stated decisively, “So if I run into you again in the future, I’ll just surrender.”
After finishing, Gold nodded his head in respect, turned around, and walked away with a swish.
Winters was dazed for a moment, then went back to his tent and continued to write a letter that he hadn’t been able to finish the beginning of in two days.
The supply ship from Sea Blue City didn’t just bring provisions, it also brought family letters—of course, only for officers, the soldiers didn’t get this treatment.
Inside Elizabeth’s envelope, Winters unexpectedly found another letter, Anna’s letter.
He couldn’t wait to open Anna’s letter, which didn’t say anything particular: She and her sister had another big fight, she wanted to learn sculpture but her mother absolutely forbade it, an old servant in the house had left, and there was a new fabric from the north that was becoming fashionable in Sea Blue…
These contents were not particularly special, just Anna’s everyday trifles, but for some reason, Winters felt like they were from another lifetime as he read them.
Although his hands were covered in blood, Winters had never been troubled by the people he had killed, not even once. To him, those who died at his hands had brought it upon themselves.
However, the soldiers from the First Hundred Squad, those nailed to wooden stakes, those who followed him fleeing in the dense forest, those who fought desperately in the cramped corridors—Winters would always remember their faces in his dreams.
“Saint Marco Cathedral is undergoing renovations, they hired many painters and sculptors. When you come back, shall we go see it together? Mr. Montani, where are you now? What are you doing? Why aren’t you writing to me? Please write back to me, I hardly know anything about you, please write back.” Anna wrote this at the end of the letter.
Winters really wanted to tell Anna everything, to tell her how he was constantly gripped by fear while trapped on Red Sulfur Island yet still had to appear confident in front of everyone, to tell her about the anger he felt when he saw those desecrated bodies, to tell her about his rage towards Kongtai’er and those behind him, to tell her about the ghosts that invaded his dreams…
He thought a lot but couldn’t write a single word.
In the end, he picked up his pen and wrote, “I’m fine, eating well, sleeping well, maybe I really am just that lucky.”