The tall and imposing figure made this scarred Western-style military uniform look as if it was made for him, truly bringing out the aura of a battle-hardened, iron-blooded soldier. The pirates, who had dressed themselves up like beggars or thugs, looked on with intense envy.

Standing behind him was the bald giant Monk Brooks, who was simply too robust—he was nearly half a head taller than Henry Clark, who stood in front of him wearing a French military cap. That tower-like, muscular body simply couldn’t find any clothes that fit, so, with no other choice, Henry Clark just let him go bare-chested, showing off those muscles that made men jealous and widows swoon.

Sure enough, fate did not disappoint Henry Clark. After the time it took to burn an incense stick, Henry Clark had already spotted the tall masts of the Spanish galleon through his monocular. “What a beautiful and massive warship. Don’t you think so, Captain George?”

“Yes, sir. Our British warships truly can’t compare to the grandeur and sturdiness of these Spanish galleons.” Although Sir George tried his best to remain respectful, that didn’t mean the proud British Navy would look up to their defeated Spanish rivals. After all, more than a hundred years ago, those massive ships of the Spanish Armada were still sent to the bottom of the sea by the seemingly unimpressive British warships, turning into a paradise for fish.

Henry Clark chuckled, pulled the stub of his cigar from his mouth, flicked it with his finger, and sent it arcing gracefully through the air, landing right on the backside of the “corpse” that Edward Reed had just kicked.

Accompanied by a barely audible sizzle, smoke began to rise from the long-suffering rear end of the corpse. The poor fellow let out a strange yelp and jumped up, only to be doused with a huge bucket of seawater, turning him into a drowned rat. Monk Brooks loyally cleaned up the mess his young master had caused.

Henry Clark’s face flushed slightly as he pretended not to notice the resentful look from the performance artist. He gazed at the Spanish fleet gradually coming into view on the sea. Leading the way was a majestic Spanish galleon, its towering stern, the high-flying flag, and ornate decorations all indicating its identity: this was a royal Spanish galleon. However, compared to the galleons in Europe tasked with escort duties, these treasure-transporting galleons were somewhat smaller and less heavily armed. Still, compared to the two armed merchant ships following behind, it was plenty large and imposing.

At that moment, Henry Clark’s eyes lit up, the desire and possessiveness in his black pupils like a hungry brown bear, just out of hibernation, spotting a plump prey foolishly wandering near its den...

Chapter 8: The Spanish Royal Treasure Fleet

“Captain, I hope you’ll cooperate with me in perfectly staging a maritime rescue operation next.” Henry Clark turned around and flashed Captain George a toothy grin, his white teeth sparkling like gems in the sunlight.

“Of course, I just hope you’ll keep your word like a gentleman.” Captain George nervously wiped the sweat from his brow. He wasn’t afraid of the Spanish warships, but rather of this young leader whose behavior seemed a bit eccentric. The way this man looked at him always reminded him of a lion he’d once seen on a hunting trip in India—a lion that had bitten several strong hounds and still walked away unscathed. “God, I have no grudge against these Qing people,” Captain George prayed desperately, making the sign of the cross in his heart.

The Spanish fleet on the other side had already noticed something unusual. The sailors on the warship sprang into action, and the Spanish soldiers grabbed their weapons, pouring onto the deck from the hold to find cover. The gunports of the galleon were opened, and dark cannons protruded from the openings like the fangs of a giant beast in the shadows. The two armed merchant ships behind quickly moved to close in on the treasure ship.

“Master, looks like they’re getting ready. What should we do?” Edward Reed walked up to Henry Clark, scratching his head under his wig. Honestly, the hat made him feel like he had an upside-down pot on his head.

“Hmm, very good. It’s my turn now.” Henry Clark grabbed a French flag, stood at the bow of the armed sailing ship that had been spotted by the enemy, and waved it vigorously. In his other hand, he held a large megaphone made from a ship’s copper basin and shouted, “Help!…” His fluent Spanish rang out like an aria from an opera.

As he waved the flag with a look of delight on his face, on the Spanish galleon across the water, Baron Edmond put down his monocular, looking curious: “What is that fellow holding in his hand? And why does he look exactly like those Chinese on Luzon Island?”

“Baron, you should know that the French are currently active along the southern coast of Annam, and there are quite a few Chinese there. So, it’s not strange to see a few Chinese mercenaries. You know, the British have plenty of native mercenaries in India,” explained Lieutenant Colonel Louis beside him, trying to sound clever.