Chapter Forty-Three: Night Flight

Qiubai walked to the bow, hanging a gas lamp emitting a dim yellow beam onto the lamp post. This time at sea, he was only running errands, not out for plunder. Even if only for the ship’s sake, he still had to pay attention to the necessary details.

The North Sea was vast, but a moment’s carelessness could send two ships colliding. After all, the Interna was merely a communications boat; if an accident did occur... In short, the ship must not sink.

Just imagine the trouble if the boat were to go down: First, Qiubai was not truly a gifted individual, though he pretended to be. If the boat sank, he’d be fine—he could dog-paddle competitively if need be—but his lie would be exposed. Second, things would be more complicated for Rocinante. He did possess abilities, but concealed that fact; if he was thrown into the water, he would certainly sink to the bottom, a truth impossible to hide.

Night had already fallen.

After hanging the lamp, Qiubai settled back by the gunwale, draping a thick wool blanket around himself. Rocinante sat opposite, his face mottled with bruises. After a minor tumble and a major flare of temper, Rocinante seemed slightly dispirited.

But only slightly—habits become second nature. Rocinante was well-trained, having fallen year after year, day after day, so he had gained some life experience. He knew how best to protect himself in sudden collisions.

Qiubai glanced at Rocinante, who sat with eyes closed, resting. Lowering his gaze thoughtfully, Qiubai hid his intentions deep within.

For now, it was best to get some rest.

But before that, Qiubai stretched out his leg and tapped the cabin wall. “Mr. Navigator, it’s all up to you now. Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep tonight.”

He had to make sure Beppo didn’t nod off; night sailing was perilous. After issuing this grave and prudent reminder, Qiubai felt perfectly justified in relaxing—and promptly fell asleep.

Many carnivorous animals, when angered, pull their lips back to reveal sharp teeth, growling deep in their throats to display their hostility and strength. In this way, Beppo seemed to give Qiubai a faint, well-meaning smile.

But Beppo was not to be relied upon—not because he was a bear, but because he was too young.

A solitary lamp drifted on the ocean. At first, it held to a steady course; later, it truly drifted, its light tracing an S-shape, then a B-shape across the waves.

Night navigation demanded more than simply staying awake; it required unwavering vigilance. Even the Mink Tribe could not endure it.

They should have anchored at an island for the night—sailing by day, resting by night was the sensible choice. The first half of the night, Qiubai slept soundly, until a sharp clanging of bells woke him.

A massive silhouette loomed ahead of the Interna—compared to Qiubai’s small boat, it was like a castle afloat on the sea.

Startled awake, Qiubai swept his gaze around and quickly grasped the situation. The warship was brightly lit, positioned less than a kilometer ahead—far too close for two sailing vessels.

Qiubai was about to stand when Rocinante pressed a hand to his shoulder, thrusting a slip of paper nearly into Qiubai’s face.

Narrowing his eyes, Qiubai carefully deciphered the message:

“Don’t move. Vice Admiral.”

The Interna was inching straight toward the vice admiral’s flagship, about to demonstrate the true meaning of “an egg striking a rock.”

Night concealed the naval ensign high atop the warship’s mast, but from the ship’s size—and especially from the unique tone of the bell—a seasoned ear could tell just what rank was aboard.

It was a Vice Admiral of Navy Headquarters.

Qiubai might lack the experience, but Rocinante knew full well—even from the distinct timbre of the bell, he could already identify which Vice Admiral stood on deck.

A Vice Admiral was certainly a formidable figure, but Qiubai’s mind turned to other thoughts... At this range, perhaps he could take down the behemoth with a single arrow. A hundred percent—well, eighty percent—chance.

But Rocinante immediately proffered another slip of paper, and Qiubai promptly abandoned his reckless idea.

This time, a single word:

“Tsuru.”

“Vice Admiral Tsuru”—her presence here was as intimidating as “Vice Admiral Garp.” Taking down Tsuru’s ship was wishful thinking—even if sinking a ship by surprise wasn’t difficult, a ship was just an object. But such an act would be tantamount to a declaration of war. And after sinking the warship? He couldn’t expect Tsuru to go down with her vessel.

Tsuru could reduce a crew of small fry pirates like them to a side dish—or, more aptly, hang them out to dry like laundry.

Qiubai nodded at Rocinante, signaling his understanding.

To run into a Navy Vice Admiral at sea—let alone someone of this caliber—what kind of luck was this?

“Beppo, turn the rudder!”

Qiubai called softly, but the little bear was already deep asleep. The Interna remained resolutely on course to ram the warship.

So what was Qiubai to do? All he could do was keep smiling.

And so he did—he even waved up at the looming deck. Someone seemed to be observing them from the high warship rail.

The one thing to be grateful for was that, preparing to dock earlier, Qiubai had taken down the pirate flag—and had never bothered to reattach Doflamingo’s grinning emblem. Otherwise, they might have been blasted to bits while they slept.

“No problem, turning now!”

The Interna hadn’t even started to turn, but from the warship came a woman’s voice, and then the giant vessel began moving away of its own accord.

Apparently, they had confirmed that this was merely a harmless civilian boat.

A figure on the warship’s rail glanced down one last time at the red-haired youth waving and smiling below—clearly dissatisfied. What were civilians doing at sea so late at night? Rushing to a family home, perhaps?

Once the warship had finished turning, presenting its stern to the Interna, Qiubai seemed spring-loaded—he dashed into the cabin and gave Beppo a thorough scolding.

Had they just brushed past a warship? No, they had brushed past Impel Down itself—though, truth be told, a small fry like Qiubai wasn’t even qualified to enter Impel Down.

Not long after the warship left, distant cannon fire rolled across the sea—clearly, some hapless pirates had crossed the Vice Admiral’s path.

Committing crimes at sea by night was a deadly risk.

Qiubai spared a moment’s sympathy for his fellow travelers, then wasted not a second more—he set off at once, determined to run as far as he could.