Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks-Chapter 416 - 101: Newcomer

Yaroslav awoke.

A drop of icy seawater trickled down his furry beard.

Before his eyes appeared the roof of a cabin that was still exuding droplets of water, already decayed and blackened. The cold seawater dripped onto the ground, quickly absorbed by the floor, seeping further below.

"Where is this?"

"Where is that monster?"

Yaroslav wanted to get up from the ground but found himself completely powerless.

"How did I survive? What about the others?"

Confusion filled his heart.

"Could it be that I awakened my ancestral bloodline?"

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed possible. After all, his Rurik Family were Vikings who came south and mingled with the Rus people. His ancestors were said to have the blood of the Nordic Gods, which was how they could lead the tribe to land on the Neva River and establish rule over all the Rus States.

The sea cannot drown me.

The Sea Monster cannot harm me!

"You’re awake."

A cold voice rang from the cabin door, a tall captain wearing a tricorne hat with pale skin slowly walked in.

"Where is this?"

Yaroslav asked, "Who are you?"

"This is the seabed of the Mist Sea Region."

Hog’s slightly hoarse voice sounded unhurried: "I am the captain of the ’Ocean Disaster,’ the ship beneath your feet."

"Did you save me?"

A playful smile appeared on Captain Hog’s face: "You could say that, but for you, it might not be such a good thing."

Why did he say that?

Yaroslav was somewhat puzzled but did not rashly ask, for he had the so-called "barbarian" recklessness but was by no means a brainless fool: "I am the son of the Tver Duke. If you send me to Greek territory, I assure you a handsome reward."

Captain Hog muttered, this kid doesn’t seem to grasp the situation.

Yaroslav asked in confusion, "What did you say?"

"Follow me to the deck first."

Hog turned and walked. At this point, Yaroslav also realized he could actually move. He quickly got up, skillfully grabbed a short-handled axe from the table and tucked it into his waist before following him.

The cabin was very dark.

"Not even a lamp lit."

Yaroslav murmured softly as he followed the tall captain ahead, silently wondering whether these people were friend or foe, and how he would resist if they intended to sell him to the heretics in Alexandria as a slave.

"Boss, a newcomer?"

A cold male voice suddenly sounded.

Hog nodded slightly, glancing at Yaroslav.

Yaroslav was startled because the speaker before him was so massive that, even hunched, he blocked the entire corridor of the cabin—he was at least one and a half times Yaroslav’s height.

What astonished him more was that this little giant emitted a green glow, with a large portion of his cheek already rotten, exposing dark red gums.

"A z-zombie?"

Captain Hog sneered: "He is my most loyal first mate. Next, you’ll spend a long time learning from him."

Yaroslav was momentarily at a loss. When the so-called "first mate" squeezed past him, he grinned and said, "Welcome aboard the Ocean Disaster, you unlucky lad."

Yaroslav chuckled dryly.

He felt that this zombie before him would surely be more troublesome than those water ghosts and drowned ghosts he had once dealt with.

"Don’t make that face; you’re no different from him now, only your body is fresher."

Captain Hog’s face displayed a mocking kindness: "You didn’t think you actually escaped from that monster’s mouth, did you?"

Yaroslav shuddered all over.

He raised his hand. His pale palm had not a drop of blood, and—despite no oil lamp in the cabin, he could see clearly. Everything indicated that this guy wasn’t lying.

"Have you figured it out?"

A bitter smile appeared on Yaroslav’s face: "I thought I had awakened some extraordinary ancestral bloodline."

"Now that you understand, follow me."

"To do what?"

Still not quite recovered, Yaroslav asked in confusion, "To guide souls and send them to Hell? Are you the Ferryman of the Nether River?"

"No, to meet our master."

"Our master?"

A hint of surprise appeared on Yaroslav’s face: "The Lord of the Netherworld?"

Hog shook his head: "No, he is the lord of Transjordan and Limassol."

A secular lord?

Yaroslav was momentarily stunned and instinctively said: "But I am the son of the Tver Duke."

Yaroslav wasn’t quite sure what the titles of Transjordan and Limassol Military Zone General were, but he believed they couldn’t surpass his father, the Tver Duke, who was a highly regarded lord among the Rus.";

"Ha, the identity of a secular lord is not noble; it’s our master who is noble."

Hog’s face showed a trace of disdain, and then he continued: "Oh, and all the ladies on this ship are not to be offended. For instance, your companions were devoured by Miss Prajna’s Shield."

"What do you mean?"

Yaroslav didn’t understand Hog’s words.

"It means that although we’ve died once, we must still hold reverence."

In the darkness, Captain Hog’s face was utterly serious.

...

On the deck.

Losa was playing dice with a sailor. The rules were simple: each person rolled six dice, and straights, small straights, and designated numbers got points. Whoever reached four thousand points first won—simpler than Gwent Card rules.

"Three ones, count as a thousand points, skip."

The sailor opposite said with a big grin: "Boss of bosses, I’ve won again."

Losa stared expressionlessly at the zombie sailor opposite, his eyes spinning incessantly. Finally, with a plop, they fell onto the wooden tray they were playing dice on.

"How did you cheat?"

The zombie sailor argued: "Boss of bosses, don’t talk nonsense; I didn’t cheat. Dice rolling relies on luck and skill. There’s no such thing as cheating."

"Alright, let’s call it your superior skills this time."

Losa flicked a silver coin over to the other party.

In the monotonous life of sea voyages, playing dice was undoubtedly a great way to pass the time. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"Sir, that special little fellow has woken up."

Captain Hog’s voice rang out.

Losa looked over at the newcomer.

He was a tall and burly Slav, whose age was indiscernible because his face was fully bearded—it would be easy to mistake him for a middle-aged man, even if he were a young one.

The dark aura was so intense...

Yaroslav found himself at a loss for words under Losa’s overwhelming presence.

"Sir, this lad claims to be the son of the Tver Duke."

In Rus culture, a duke wasn’t quite the same as in Central and Western Europe, but the Tver Duke was a prominent feudal lord among the Rus kings.

"Yaroslav, I regret your ordeal deeply."

Losa very politely said to him: "Did you see its appearance clearly?"

Yaroslav opened his mouth, thinking he had been fearless by nature, yet he couldn’t form a complete sentence.

"Greek or Latin, which one can you use?"

Losa switched languages proficiently.

...