MM Racing Chapter 154 Alger: This guy looks familiar.
Chapter 154 Alger: This guy looks familiar.
Chapter 154 Alger: This guy looks familiar.
The atmosphere in the captain's cabin of the "Golden Dream" was somewhat somber.
"Iceberg Admiral" Edwina stood in front of the huge nautical chart, her brows slightly furrowed, her fair fingers gently tapping on a spot marked "Shipwreck Location".
Anderson Hood, meanwhile, was sprawled out on the sofa, his usually jovial face now filled with impatience.
"Damn it, have those Storm Church guys gone mad?" he complained. "There aren't any valuable shipwrecks in this area, so why are they sending so many ships around here? Are they fishing?"
They had been in this area for almost two days, intending to investigate thoroughly to see if they could find any trace of Monkey Brando.
As a result, they found nothing except the Storm Church's patrol boats.
The ships bearing the "Storm Emblem" patrolled back and forth in this area like a swarm of annoying flies, forcing Advina, the pirate general, to carefully navigate the "Golden Dream" to avoid unnecessary conflict.
Whether as a pirate or as a glove of the Church of Knowledge, she was naturally hostile to the Church of Storms.
This prevented them from getting close to the target area, directly resulting in their search plan yielding no results.
"It seems I have no choice but to try that newly developed secret technique," Edwina muttered to herself.
Conventional search methods have failed, and she is prepared to use some newly invented, more laborious methods to find Lorne's whereabouts.
Just as she was about to begin setting up the ceremony, there was a knock on the captain's cabin door.
"Come in."
A sailor strode in and respectfully reported, "Captain, we have received an encrypted telegram from Bayam—it's from Danitz."
"Danitz?" Edwina looked up, somewhat puzzled.
In her memory, Danitz's vacation should still be going on for a while. Danitz wasn't the type to enjoy working, so why would he proactively send a telegram to contact her? Had something happened in Bayam?
"What did the telegram say?" she asked.
The sailor craned his neck, glanced warily at Anderson, and gestured. Seeing that the captain didn't move aside but merely nodded slightly, he then reported back to the captain in detail:
"The telegram says—Danitz is on leave. He rescued that Brando, and now that Brando hopes—"
"To be able to go back to the 'Golden Dream' with Danitz and hitch another ride."
An eerie silence fell over the captain's cabin.
"Ha ha-"
"Interesting, this is really interesting!"
Anderson covered his face and chuckled. He'd been adventuring at sea for so many years, and this was the first time he'd encountered something so amusing.
As a "hunter," he had indeed lost track of his prey before, but this was the first time the prey had reappeared in such a fun way.
Even the usually composed and calm "Iceberg General" Edwina was uncharacteristically stunned. For the first time, a hint of surprise appeared in her usually serene eyes.
She never expected that the person she had been racking her brains to find was already safely in Bayam, and she had even run into her subordinate who was on vacation.
Oh well, at least Brando is safe.
Bayam, dock area.
In a dimly lit tavern filled with the smells of alcohol and sweat, Alger Wilson sat alone in a corner, slowly sipping a glass of Zunia Blood Wine.
He had just returned from the sea and still carried a lingering salty, fishy smell.
To be honest, he's feeling a bit down right now.
Upon returning to Bayam, he keenly sensed that something was amiss. This feeling intensified after reporting his mission to his direct superior, Bishop Jogori of the Church of Storms.
He reported truthfully that he had searched the area around the crash site and found that apart from a few pieces of passenger ship wreckage and some pirate corpses that had turned white from being submerged, everything was normal and he had not found any abnormalities or survivors.
Of course, he exaggerated his workload and some of the wear and tear.
After listening, Djogori simply nodded and told him that the mission was temporarily over, and that he should stay in Bayam and wait for further instructions, and not to act rashly.
Alger was unwilling to be left idle. He tried to seize the opportunity and carefully inquired with the bishop, saying that he had heard that the church was carrying out a large-scale operation at sea and hoped to contribute to the church.
Unexpectedly, this remark angered the other party.
"This is none of your business!" Jorgory's face instantly darkened, and he reprimanded him sternly, "Wilson, mind your place! Do your job!"
"I am very sorry, Your Excellency!" Alger immediately lowered his head and apologized with trepidation.
He didn't realize until he left the church that his back was soaked with cold sweat.
hateful-
Djogor's reprimand made him deeply aware of the gap in status and the powerlessness of having little influence.
We must expedite the promotion process!
Only by gaining sufficient status can one access the core secrets of the church and truly take control of one's own destiny!
Just as Alger finished his drink and was pondering his next move, a rough hand gently pressed on his shoulder.
His body tensed instantly, but quickly relaxed. He turned around and saw that the person who had approached was a slightly overweight...
A middle-aged man with a small mustache.
He was the owner of this tavern, and one of Alger's few trusted friends and sources of information here.
He is said to be one of the agents of a well-known intelligence broker in Bayam.
The owner winked at him, said nothing, and turned to walk towards the back of the tavern.
Alger understood immediately, placed a few pennies on the table, and got up to follow.
The two walked one after the other through the noisy bar and the crowded people, and arrived at a small cubicle piled with barrels of liquor and other odds and ends.
The boss closed the door, shutting out the noise from outside.
"Tell me, what noteworthy intelligence has emerged recently?" Alger cut to the chase without beating around the bush.
"Hey, same old thing." The boss pulled a bottle of wine that looked quite old from behind a barrel and said with a smile, "If you want to hear the latest news, you'll have to buy this bottle of my treasured old wine first."
"Does 'many years' refer to this year?" Alger asked.
"yes."
After the joke was over, Alger stopped talking and just looked at the other person quietly.
Seeing this, the boss shrugged and stopped keeping him in suspense.
He gave a few pieces of ordinary information, such as insider deals by a certain pirate group or price increases on a certain trade route. Then, he lowered his voice and adopted a mysterious air:
"Just in the last couple of days, an interesting bounty has suddenly appeared in the industry."
"A bounty?"
The boss held up one finger.
"A reward of ten thousand pounds."
"Ten thousand pounds?!" Alger's pupils contracted sharply.
This number utterly shocked him. Many pirates who had roamed the seas for years only had official bounties of a few thousand pounds. A ten-thousand-pound bounty for a life—what kind of important figure could this be? A deserter noble from some kingdom?
Or is he an extraordinary being who has grasped a shocking secret?
"Who is the person for whom the bounty is placed?" he pressed.
"This is interesting." The tavern owner's smile became even more amused. "We don't know exactly who the pirate who issued the bounty is, but someone who can afford this price must be someone extraordinary."
The person for whom the bounty was placed was an adventurer named "Monkey Brando".
Monkey Brando —
Alger frantically searched his memory for the name, but to no avail. This meant that this guy named Brando was probably a nobody, at least not in Bayam's circle.
How could an unknown nobody provoke a pirate who could offer a bounty of ten thousand?
Alger immediately began to analyze the situation. Anyone who could afford that price must be at least a pirate general. "Do you have a portrait?" he asked.
"Yes." The boss nodded and took out a folded, slightly wrinkled wanted poster from his pocket.
Alger took the bounty poster and carefully unfolded it.
The wanted poster featured a charcoal portrait of a young man, drawn with remarkable skill, capturing his expression and features with remarkable realism.
As Alger looked at the person in the portrait, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
This face...it looks familiar.
Seems