Darkstone Code-Chapter 882 - 880: I Want to Play a Game with You

The captain knew he was careless when the first gunshot rang out.

The female telegraph operator mentioned that the people and the fire were over here, and the cruiser was still traveling fast. He didn’t think that the warlords’ men disguised as pirates could board the ship at this time.

But nonetheless, they boarded at that exact moment, and the gunfire explained everything.

Surprisingly, aside from a few low exclaimed voices, there wasn’t an immediate panic on the ship.

The faces of those wealthy Federation magnates looked unpleasant, but not desperate.

Isn’t the purpose of these pirates hijacking the cruiser just for money?

Bluntly speaking, everyone here is worth billions; if one person leaks a little, it would be enough to stuff these pirates full.

Moreover, they aren’t too worried that the pirates would harm them. Offending so many magnates at once, unless they dare to kill all the witnesses.

Just a hint of it getting out would mean those pirates would spend the rest of their lives in despair.

Besides, if the magnates don’t survive, they won’t get the money.

Going outside at this time is the most foolish thing to do. The pirates might mistake them for crew members and kill them directly.

It’s better to sit in the cabin and wait until the fight for control outside ends; it’s relatively safer.

The sound of gunfire, slaughter, cries, curses, and the noises of things stumbling and falling.

The pungent smell of gunpowder and stench stimulated people’s nerves; many were sweating profusely, unable to concentrate.

They could only smoke one cigarette after another or take small sips of pure color, trying to use nicotine to force themselves to calm down.

Lynch sat quietly on the sofa, holding a goblet, admiring the moon and blood outside the window, savoring the fine wine.

He was not nervous at all, even somewhat amused.

Just now, he felt a noticeable jolt, which meant the cruise ship’s speed suddenly decreased.

A ship racing across the sea isn’t easily found and accurately located, but a slow-moving cruiser is.

The probability of being found by aircraft increased.

The resistance and gunfight continued until after nine, not completely ending until almost ten.

Except for sporadic gunshots in the lower cabins, the ship couldn’t be seen as having a significant confrontation anymore.

At half past ten, all the lights on the ship were turned on, but it wasn’t like any previous day.

Soon, someone knocked on Lynch’s door.

The female manager stood outside the door, her face pale, her body trembling.

"Mr. Lynch... They want me to invite you to the deck..."

Lynch got up from the sofa, buttoning up, "Lead the way!"

Perhaps Lynch’s calm demeanor affected the female manager; her body seemed to stop trembling.

As soon as Lynch stepped out, he saw people coming out from the rooms to the left and right. There was no verbal exchange, just brief eye contact as they glanced at each other.

They all proceeded towards the same place, the deck where various large events used to be held.

Blood was visible everywhere on the deck, and a lot of it on some stairs, dried and sticky from the sea breeze.

Strands of it hung between the suspended structures, fresh blood trickling down.

Many people had died.

Lynch saw some obvious non-crew members throwing bodies overboard, the rhythmic splashing sounding like a haunting tune.

Arriving at one side of the deck, a crowd had already gathered, and the first mate, who left a "deep impression" two days ago, was hanging from a lamppost.

A wire was wrapped around his neck, his entire head turned bluish-purple, his tongue partially extended, unmistakably dead.

To Lynch’s surprise, the captain wasn’t dead, though his condition was far from good, seemingly shot, barely standing and supporting himself before the people.

A scar-faced man wearing a beret stood with his back to everyone, rhythmically swaying the forepart of his right foot up and down.

The military boots struck the blood-stained deck with each step, making a crisp "pat" sound.

Each "pat" sound seemed to strike heavily upon everyone’s hearts, and the brutality in the eyes of those soldiers brandishing guns from high positions left the magnates in a haze.

The power of money seemed suddenly insignificant; this was not a good omen.

Once everyone was almost gathered, someone whispered something in the beret-wearing man’s ear, and someone handed him a microphone.

He quickly turned around, with a radiant smile on his face, looking at everyone on the deck, and tapped the microphone, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"

He spoke with a distinct Mariluo accent, short on breath compared to Federation pronunciation, with some extra nasal sounds, easily distinguished.

"I’ve longed to meet you all for a long time, though someone delayed our meeting a bit, but the result remains unchanged." He kicked the back of the captain’s leg.

The body’s supporting center was broken, the captain’s knees bent forward, landing on the ground.

Lynch could even hear the sound of bones hitting the deck — it must have hurt.

Yet his face showed no signs of pain, still indifferent.

"It’s this guy who’s been blocking me from meeting you all, so to apologize, I..."

A soldier behind him pulled out a pistol and placed it on his extended, open hand.

He aimed at the captain’s head and fired, the bullet piercing through the back of the captain’s head, obviously lifting off half of the forehead, blood and innards instantly scattered all over.

There were few screams, causing Beret to furrow his brows slightly.

He originally thought these wealthy people would be easy to manipulate, but he didn’t expect that his little plan didn’t seem to be working.

Keeping the captain alive until now was meant to create psychological fear for these wealthy people, but it doesn’t seem very effective.

He couldn’t help but recall some rumors he heard about the Federation while in Mariluo, rumors that said the Federation’s capitalists are monsters that eat people.

The workers were chained together, working in factories until they collapsed, before they could rest, their meals worse than the capitalists’ dogs, yet doing many times more work.

Every month, the capitalists would find ways to withhold their wages, sometimes workers wouldn’t get a penny and even had to pay the capitalists.

Even the devil would ascend to the Celestial Kingdom upon meeting the Federation’s capitalists, that’s how Mariluo people are prejudiced against them.

Looking at it now, it might not just be prejudice.

He kicked the captain’s body hard, pushing him off the small stage.

"Alright, let’s skip these unpleasant matters, the reason I’m eager to meet all of you this time is because I heard you have a tradition of donating."

"In that charity auction held by the First Lady, a lighter sold for a million, it shows that you are keen on charity."

"And I, coincidentally, am a poor person in need of help, I hope you will also eagerly donate to me as you did at the charity gala!"

He didn’t bother to introduce his thoughts, makes sense too, why would a gang of robbers self-introduce, would that be because they think they’re living too comfortably?

He looked at the gentleman closest to the stage, pointing at him and his female companion, "Bring them up."

A gentleman in his fifties and a lady who looked to be only in her thirties came up onto the stage together, their expressions seemed very calm.

This made Beret somewhat annoyed, these people aren’t afraid of him, could there be any robber more unsuccessful than him?

He glanced askew at this wealthy pair, his face gradually darkening, "At the charity gala you’d donate items, today you don’t need to donate, I’ll donate."

He beckoned with his finger, a bandit brought over a box, he reached in and grabbed a handful, presenting it in front of people.

It was a handful of bullets, smooth and shiny.

"This is what I’m donating, you must bid for it!"

When Beret said this, everyone understood his meaning.

The gentleman on the stage looked at the handful of bullets in Beret’s palm, honestly he didn’t know how many there were.

Looked like there might be twenty?

He was silent for a while, his mind in fierce turmoil, gave a price he thought was appropriate, "Two million."

Beret whistled, "Two million, not bad!"

He tightened his grip on the bullets, palm facing down, then released one.

As the bullet fell, he counted, "One!"

"Two!"

"Three..."

"You’re certainly good at counting!" Beret said with a smile.

He counted while joking, until the end.

"Twenty!"

The last bullet slipped through his three fingers, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, Beret’s smile seemed warmer too.

The wealthy man and his female companion also breathed a sigh of relief, the wealthy man straightforwardly asked, "Can we leave now?"

Beret’s smile suddenly disappeared, he flipped his hand over, palm open, there was still a bullet inside.

This sudden change took everyone by surprise, they clearly saw him count to twenty, holding the last bullet between his thumb, index, and middle finger...

He hid one!

The next second, Beret raised his gun without leaving any gap and pulled the trigger.

The bullet penetrated the wealthy man’s female companion’s head, her body immediately fell.

Before that, she had held the wealthy man tightly, causing him to be pulled down as well.

Beret took two steps forward, the wealthy man’s face finally changed, his expression twisted with fear, deeply satisfied Beret.

He extended his hand, "Don’t worry, that extra bullet has been taken by someone, you won’t have to bear any extra bullets!"

He pulled the wealthy man up, doing some small actions with his hand, "Take him down and clean up, the smell is too strong!"

After saying this, he turned his head with a grin, showing his white teeth, looking at the other wealthy people, "Who’s next?"