A moment ago he'd been standing tall and breathing — now his body looked like a victim from a carriage accident, mangled and motionless.
The sudden contrast, the grotesque gore — it left Spandine frozen on the spot.
Two or three seconds later, his body reacted before his mind could.
"Uuugh!" He doubled over, vomiting up his breakfast of sandwiches and milk, looking utterly disgraceful.
"Sir, here's a handkerchief!"
"Sir, some water!"
"Sir, are you all right?"
His agents hurried to his side, offering a towel and a flask while one patted him on the back.
Then — whoosh!
A gust of wind swept through the camp as the tent flaps were thrown open.
Brian strode out, barefoot, a cloak hastily thrown over his lower half.
"Are you all trying to die? Who let this pack of vermin in here?!"
He pointed at the surrounding marines, spittle flying with every word. Every soldier wished they could dig a hole and hide — everyone knew their commanding officer was never to be provoked when woken up in the morning.
"Caesar! Caesar!"
After venting for a bit, Brian began shouting for his adjutant.
Lieutenant Colonel Caesar, pale and trembling, scurried out of the crowd toward him.
He didn't even make it two steps before Brian's foot slammed into his gut, sending him flying several dozen meters.
"Ahh!" Caesar hit the ground, curling up like a boiled shrimp, clutching his stomach.
"Looking to die, are you? What did I tell you yesterday — already forgotten?"
"Lord Brian, p-please… please forgive me this once…"
Brian ignored his pleading completely, turning instead to the marines nearby.
"Drag him aside and give him two hundred lashes. Let's see who dares disobey me again."
"Mercy, Lord Brian! I'll never do it again!"
Caesar knelt, pounding his head against the ground in panic. The marines looked uneasy — they all pitied him — but no one dared disobey. They knew that if they refused, they'd be next.
Whip! Whip! Whip!
The barbed lash tore through flesh with every strike.
By the hundredth blow, Caesar's back was a ruin of blood and exposed bone.
He was still screaming when he lost consciousness, and by the one hundred and twentieth stroke, he had stopped moving entirely — breath shallow, eyes rolling back.
One of the executioners hesitated and glanced toward Brian.
"Keep going," Brian said coldly. "My word is law — divine decree. Finish the count."
"Yes, sir!" they shouted, teeth gritted, and continued the whipping.
Even Spandine, who had seen his share of darkness, was stunned by the savagery. He had wanted to come here to accuse Brian of crimes, but now? He couldn't even form words.
At last the final lash landed. Caesar's corpse slumped lifelessly in a pool of blood.
"So fragile," Brian scoffed. "Can't even take a couple hundred lashes. What a waste."
He turned to Snow, his aide.
"Pen and paper. Record this."
"Yes, Lord Brian." Snow produced both instantly, clearly practiced.
Brian began dictating like an official report:
"On the morning of April 17, Sea Circle Calendar Year 1500, a large pirate fleet attempted to invade Ganaba Port.
Lieutenant Colonel Dieter Caesar led his forces in defense, bravely repelling the attackers.
Though victorious, he sustained grave injuries and died in service.
The officers and soldiers of the West Blue Ganaba Fortress express their deepest condolences."
"Lord Brian," Snow asked softly, "and… the pension?"
"Ten million Beli to his widow and child. That should be enough for her to remarry."
"Yes, sir. I'll arrange it."
A living, breathing man — a Navy lieutenant colonel — killed on the spot, then immediately repackaged into a heroic martyr's tale.
Spandine had heard rumors that Brian was a tyrant who ruled through fear, but he'd never imagined cruelty like this.
If he could kill his own officer so casually, then maybe those five dead government officials in Nasia really were his doing.
But even if Spandine had the guts of a lion, he wouldn't dare confront him now.
This was Brian's territory — if the man decided to make him a "hero" next, who would stop him?
Then Brian turned, eyes cold.
"And who the hell are you people, barging into a military base? Trying to steal Ganaba Fortress secrets?"
Spandine's stomach dropped. He had already abandoned his plan to extort Brian, but Brian clearly wasn't letting him off that easily.
There's a saying:
"The word for 'official' has two mouths — one speaks reason from above, the other from below."
Brian's reason for never becoming a pirate was simple — he was drunk on power.
With power in his hands, he could bend truth, law, and even life and death to his will.
Yes, Spandine was the head of CP9, a special intelligence agency directly under the World Government.
Yes, he had privileges — but this was the West Blue, in the Kingdom of Nasia, in Ganaba Port.
And here, Brian's word was absolute. Even if Spandine somehow reported straight to the Five Elders, it would do him no good.
A single accusation of "trespassing on a military installation and stealing classified intelligence" was enough to make Spandine's face go pale.
Because that was his own trick — the same way he'd extorted officials, nobles, and merchants in the past.
And now someone was using it on him.
"Major General Brian," he stammered, "I'm Spandine, director of CP9—"
"CP9? What's that? Never heard of it."
The bastard was pretending ignorance!
Spandine gritted his teeth. He knew he'd have to pay a price to walk away from this alive.
"After careful investigation," he said quickly, "my department has concluded that Major General Brian had no involvement in the assassinations of the government officers and legal officials last April and August."
He looked at Brian, forcing a weak smile.
"That should settle everything, right, Lord Brian?"
It was a strategic retreat — a reminder that Brian shouldn't push too far.
Brian tilted his head.
"What nonsense are you babbling about? World Government officials die and it's my fault?
What's next — your wife can't bear a son, that my problem too?"
"Brian, you've gone too far! I am the director of CP9, a direct— mmmph!!"
Before Spandine could finish, Brian's hand shot out — and with a sickening crack, he dislocated the man's jaw.
Then, without a flicker of emotion, he turned to Star, Snow's younger brother.
"Send this pirate scum and his lackeys to the worksite," Brian ordered coldly.
"Let them dig and sweat for a while — call it reform through labor."
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