At this moment, the musket in Scholar Bennett's hand was raised, and a burst of red flame shot out from the black muzzle. The shrieking bullet instantly bored into the eye of the Spanish soldier who was quietly aiming from the aft deck. That gray-blue eyeball turned into a bloody hole in the blink of an eye. The trace of viciousness on his face didn't even have time to change before he went to meet the God he believed in.

This time, Edward Reed did not rush out, because he had to keep control of the two important hostages. Meanwhile, Monk Brooks's exaggeratedly shaped war blade was already raised high in his rage. If Edward Reed hadn't stopped him in time, the baron and the captain might have been decapitated right then and there.

The last soldier's charge slowed to a crawl when he was about ten steps away from Henry Clark, his steps as heavy as an old ox burdened with a thousand pounds, trembling under the unbearable weight.

"Come on, aren't you here to kill me? See? I have neither a musket nor a throwing knife in my hands now. Is this all the courage you Spaniards have?" Henry Clark's last sentence turned into an angry roar, like a lion displaying its might and strength to a pack of despicable, filthy hyenas.

Hearing this, the soldier's morale, which had just sunk to rock bottom, was revived a little. With a wild roar, he charged forward several steps, his war blade whistling through the air as he slashed straight at Henry Clark's face.

Henry Clark did not retreat but advanced, crossing his hands above his head, blocking and trapping the blade. With a spin of his body, the soldier's angry roar turned into a mournful wail. The hand holding the blade was twisted and deformed, hanging at a strange angle, and the blade was now in Henry Clark's hand.

Henry Clark spun the blade in a flourish, forcing the Spanish soldier against the wall of the aft deck. With a flash of the blade, he drove the war knife through the soldier's other uninjured arm, piercing skin and muscle, and deeply embedding it into the wooden wall, pinning him there.

Empty-handed, Henry Clark turned his head, his powerful body radiating boundless killing intent. A look of violent disgust and danger flickered in his gaze. "Who else?"

"Who else?..."

Henry Clark's roar echoed across the deck. The fluid, decisive kill just now had shoved the last shred of courage the Spanish soldiers had right back where the sun doesn't shine.

The two escort ships were not far from the Spanish treasure ship. Everything happening on the deck was clearly seen by the lookouts on the masts of the two escort ships, as well as the soldiers and officers on the aft deck. All of them avoided Henry Clark's gaze from the treasure ship, a gaze that seemed able to burn holes through one's heart. The seeds of fear had already begun to sprout and bloom in their hearts.

...

The soldiers on the treasure ship had completely lost the will to resist. Even though some still held unfired muskets, it was as if their arms and legs were useless—they simply tossed them aside and obediently walked toward the dark hold.

At this moment, the captain of one of the escort ships seemed to realize his responsibility and repeatedly shouted that if the pirates did not surrender and release the hostages, he would order the gunners to open fire and wipe out these damned pirates. Everyone tensed up.

Henry Clark's face was cold as he watched the escort ship drawing closer. He pulled out a cigar, faint blue smoke curling around his face. Although no one could see his anxiety, in reality, Henry Clark's heart was pounding with nervousness. Capturing this treasure ship hadn't taken much effort, but the problem was that there were fewer than forty pirates on board, while there were over a hundred prisoners below. If the two escort ships on either side got any closer, even if they didn't open fire, once a boarding battle began, Henry Clark didn't believe that just over thirty elite pirates could secure final victory—unless each of them had a submachine gun.

In less than five minutes, the two escort ships had already formed a favorable attack circle. "This is your final warning: release the hostages and lay down your weapons," the captain continued to shout, his face grim.

"Why isn't my father here yet?" Henry Clark looked anxiously toward the distant horizon, unable to think of a good solution to the current predicament. The earlier situation had seemed dangerous, but in reality, it was a surprise attack, and by capturing the leader first, the risk of victory wasn't too high. But now, with this stubborn fool who didn't care about the hostages' fate, things were different.

"Young master, what should we do?" Monk Brooks had already sheathed his fearsome war blade on his back and picked up a musket.

"Ever heard the saying? The tough fear the reckless, the reckless fear the crazy, and the crazy fear those who don't care about their lives. Does he really think that by wiping us all out, he'll get the treasure on this ship?" Henry Clark's eyes darted around, and suddenly he sneered, crushing out his cigar, grabbing a long blade, and dragging the baron up to the high aft deck.

This made Edward Reed's eyes light up. "I understand. You two..." After hurriedly instructing Monk Brooks and Scholar Bennett, Edward Reed looked up at the young master now standing atop the aft deck. It seemed that the master hadn't brought the young master along for nothing this time—he was truly getting some real experience.