The Black Sail Pirates, of course, would never enter any respectable tavern.

There were many dancing ladies performing energetic shows.

Tonight's expenses were completely waived, the duty manager had climbed his way up to his position due to his savvy. Although the former Black Sail Pirate Group weren't considered extraordinary, nowadays they were well-known, and these pirates whose bounties were removed by the Cross Alliance, visiting this establishment, definitely had an internet-celebrity effect.

Mika had thought that at this level of notoriety, groupies would be flocking to him, but he realized he'd thought too much — pirates would always be pirates. Others might get free treats for looking handsome or being admired, but people of his profession would only attract bottom-of-the-barrel types.

But no matter.

The people around the booth became interested when Morison said he would tell a story, curious about what he did before he started power-leveling for others, his mentors, and where he originally came from.

"Of course, if you said you came from the M78 nebula, I'd believe you."

Anyway, Mika figured Morison wasn't any sort of upstanding citizen.

"Nine years ago, North Yangkton."

Rein began to add some bizarre background.

Morison shook his head, trying to recall where his hometown was.

Ten seconds later.

"Where exactly was it? Do you even need to think about this?"

Rein sternly criticized this cliff-hanger behavior.

"Damn, it seems I really forgot."

Morison furrowed his brows deeply. Ever since his training at Dragon Gang, he had forgotten too much. That kind of training wasn't just about effort, but also about destiny's strength, and his seemed okay.

He just didn't know when his funeral would be.

Haywood, Swan, and Saleret were straight-laced people, naturally not the type to seek entertainment.

As a hall-of-fame adventurer, Chuan Che was upright—previously, for his reputation, he wouldn't mess around, but now he was stuffing bills into the undergarments of strippers, leaving the attractive young dancers speechless.

Because of its isolation, the East Sea only recognized Golden Dragons.

On the Narrow Sea side, however, all countries traded, recognizing both Pedan's Crystal Coins and Lostra's paper money because Lostra's anti-counterfeiting technology was extremely reliable.

One Aran Copper Noah was roughly equivalent to six Lostra dollars.

The highest denomination of Lostra paper money was five hundred dollars, which roughly equated to two silver coins.

Since this place was a large venue, with unimpeachable decor and high-quality girls, stuffing five hundred for a feel seemed perfectly logical, whereas the cavemen were crazily taking advantage of the smaller fifty and one hundred denominations.

The group completely disregarded the cautions of General Fen about maintaining their image, which they had been reminded of just before leaving. If it hadn't been for the duty manager—who had been signaled to take good care of them, and who could even call his sisters for the after-party, with the manager covering the cost of bringing them out—these money-changing, frantically-touchy fools would have long infuriated the attendants. The cavemen from the East Sea Pirates just didn't have the quality of those from the Narrow Sea.

Ben also liked to indulge in eating, drinking, and gambling, always mixing with those from the Cannibal Tribe—a BBQ joint full of old acquaintances.

As everyone knows, Ben was sneaky, liked secret rummaging through boxes for the satisfaction of his curiosity.

He already knew the identity of the man in the helmet, and only Morison's identity gave Ben cause to exert considerable effort, sneaking into his house for a search when Morison was busy.

As one might expect, there was nothing odd, except for some cheap weapons from a rundown armory and some tabletop game props.

The only peculiar item was a capsule about the thickness of a thumb and three inches long, hermetically sealed in metal, with a very ancient feel. The metal surface was engraved with incomprehensible patterns, resembling scattering beams, and characters unknown to Ben, clearly not something that carbon-based life forms could craft.

Considering the countless stolen goods Ben had handled and his expertise in valuation, even he could not discern what it was, but he speculated it had something to do with a secret religion.

This disfigured face could have quite the backstory.

"Speaking of Liszt, hasn't he become very strange? Logically, he should have come out drinking with us."

Shadi truly was the prince of the nightclub; his looks brought many over to chat him up.

The port on the Narrow Sea featured a cultural melting pot from the Western Continent, with people from all over the world harboring exceedingly progressive thoughts—even women watched stripteases.

Many daughters of wealthy businessmen or women of noble descent and affluent backgrounds all wanted a piece of Shadi.

But he rejected all of them; he was concerned about Liszt, with whom he had spent six or seven years. He knew Liszt's quirks all too well; Liszt liked to play the fool, not to cough but to pretend—as to the extent of his pretense, he might even clear out the place tonight to have all the strippers dance together in some sort of Woodpecker 48 girl group.

That guy has been acting way too serious lately; I'm afraid he might have gone dumb from playing the boss.

"Liszt, I feel like he's been a bit gay lately."

Mika also voiced his guess; something was really off with Liszt. Could he be gay? Impossible! Don't take away my brothel pass!

"Playing the theme of a hunter, who is the cunning fox."

Rein was surrounded by two beautiful half-Furry Yisu people, kissing one and then biting the lips of the other, his gaping mouth drooling all over their faces. Although the Yisu girls with him could only chuckle and scold him playfully, he spoke the truth without even knowing it.

"Someone might be impersonating him; Liszt might already be dead."

Morison said abruptly.

"Why would you say that?"

Shadi was confused, and so were the others.

Gan, Wen, and Cui were also alert; even when they were at sea and came across Liszt, they felt something was off.

Morison was silent for a while; he wasn't entirely sure either. He said this because of some extremely subtle details.

Everyone has their own unique muscle memory, and these habits are hard to change—traces of training, ways of walking, postures when relaxed, and movements of limbs when eating or working.

Morison could easily tell what kind of weapon a person was good at using, what techniques they used. It wasn't just Saleret who could predict the future—Morison could read a person's moves just by watching.

Liszt's fighting style is similar to that of the current Black Sail Doctor, Weber—rash, power-oriented, explosive.

But the current Liszt somehow seemed a bit darker, sharing a similar "body sub-language."

Of course, Morison wasn't entirely sure—it was just an intuition.

After Morison shared his guess, Gan, Wen, and Cui couldn't hold back either.

"Fuck, the more we talk about it, the weirder it gets. Should we verify it?"

Shadi suggested this; if it was true, that would be crazy. Liszt... was he really dead?

Ben also realized, having been so frivolous lately that he temporarily forgot himself; Diaz had come looking for trouble.

Rein, too, wasn't in the mood for kissing; the idea of Liszt being dead was unthinkable. It had to be said, the East Sea's stability was due to Hened and other leaders' support. Liszt's reputation as the Northern Realm OG carried substantial weight; otherwise, suppressing the rebellion would be extremely difficult.

He was also clever. A secret kept is a death unconfirmed. Even if Liszt was indeed dispatched, it had to be kept a secret. Even if the current Liszt was fake, they had to keep it up.

Until the day Rein's grievances were cleared.

"What's there to verify? It has to be real; otherwise, it couldn't be so elusive."

Rein laughed it off.

Having said this, indeed, how could abstraction be replicated? Perhaps Liszt was just sending his cape, longing for his beloved at Heaven Port.

"You're right; this East Sea Boss would rather die than go to Hell."

Morison didn't say anything further; he knew he could be mistaken sometimes.

So the music continued and the dances went on; the nightclub remained as sensual as ever.

But Rein already had an idea. Tomorrow, no, tonight, he would seek out Liszt to have a thorough chat and see whether he was real or fake.

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