Sea Reaper: The Legend of the Black-Eyed “Boy”

Italy – the cradle of European civilization, the resting place of Saint Peter, the fountainhead of the Renaissance… though steeped in glorious history, it was not a single great power, but rather a loose collection of city-states. On the boot-shaped Apennine Peninsula, alliances and wars continually shifted among Venice, Milan, Naples, and the Papal States.

Since we're here to study the financial system, there is only one destination: Florence – the Mediterranean's richest banking hub.

This time, the Red Lion fleet arrived quietly. The ships anchored in a hidden harbor, and Hayreddin disembarked with his first and second-in-command and ship doctor. Victor nearly fell into the sea stepping off the ladder onto the boat—despite three years aboard pirate vessels, he'd never mastered the seaman's step.

"If you nearly drown fetching water, next time I'll stay by your washbasin, too," Nick quipped, grabbing his arm—and earned a volley of insults in return.

Posing as merchants, they traveled by carriage toward the city's prosperous core. Terracotta roofs tumbled across the horizon under sunny skies—Florence thrived on wool and textile. Behind every green shutter, hands worked swift looms.

Nick, who had drifted through Italy for years, knew these streets well. Their carriage passed a busy port where wealthy travelers tossed copper coins into the sea, taunting poor children to dive in after them.

"How base," Victor muttered under his broad-brimmed hat. "Every year a few drown—should prosecute those men for manslaughter."

Nick shrugged, unfazed. "Good swimmers can make a day's wages diving for coins… Too bad I can't swim."

Victor shot her a look. "That's your ambition?"

Carl, astonished that Nick would even consider it, stayed silent.

Hayreddin pulled out a pouch of Spanish pillar silver and tossed it to her. "When we disembark, you'll throw coins in front of those smug men."

Nick counted at least twenty pieces. "Captain, I'm not stooping to their level."

"It's not just yours to keep," he smiled. "Florence is the Mediterranean's biggest market. Once we're done, disperse—buy whatever you like."

Nick's eyes gleamed—shopping in these parts was a luxury. Splitting twenty silver among Victor, Carl, and herself was quite the stipend.

"Victor, you're local—anything worth buying on a budget?"

"No cheap bargains here—quality costs."

Victor tugged his hat down. "Go for a blanket—Florentine wool is top quality: warm, durable, beautifully dyed."

Nich waved her silver pouch dreamily, joined by her companions.

They reached the city center and exchanged currencies. Florence's minted "Florin" was essentially a European gold standard. Bankers set up exchange points on market stalls—table, stool, clerk—offering exchange services for over ten currencies: Spanish, Portuguese, French, Ottoman, Egyptian…

Their group, masked as merchants, queued at one table while scanning the vibrant city around them.

Suddenly, a shout: "Thief! Someone's stolen my purse!"

Chaos erupted. Without thinking, Nick sprinted half a street away, then realized it wasn't her and sheepishly returned.

"Been ages since I had to run like that—nerves, I guess."

Hayreddin sighed. "Sometimes I regret bringing you along."

Victor turned his back, pretending nothing to do with her.

Carl, to ease her embarrassment, asked: "These tables in the market—full of currencies, no guards, clerks buried in bookkeeping—aren't they targets for theft?"

Nick shook her head confidently. "They're Medici-run. Not a penny goes missing—even if the clerk leaves for the loo, the money stays."

Victor explained: "The Medici are the city's mafia."

Born of humble beginnings, the Medici rose to power with money, threats, and force—and have ruled Florence for three centuries.

Hayreddin whispered: "Thirty years ago, Lorenzo the Magnificent and his brother were attacked in a church. His brother died, he survived. The Medici retaliated—killed the rival Pazzi family, even executed their archbishop; Florence's streets ran red. Lorenzo hired Botticelli to record it, and my teacher da Vinci helped. You can see those scenes in City Hall today."

Carl was aghast. "And people got away with that without trial?"

Victor grinned. "Florentines cheered! The public shouted 'Hang them!' The Pazzi patriarch was hanged, disembowelled outside the town hall. That's Florence."

Nick added dryly: "So rule on the streets: steal from God if you must—that table is untouchable."

They soon checked into a hotel. Shortly after, a sleek black carriage drew up. A formal butler greeted Victor respectfully: "Young master…" Victor's face tightened.

Inside the carriage, he smoothed his expression. "Let me be clear—I'm just the cadet branch. No inheritance or responsibility—only broker the deal."

Hayreddin nodded reassuringly. "Relax—you're here on business, not family."

Victor muttered, uneasy. Nick suddenly piped up: "Captain, are we depositing money in Medici bank?"

Hayreddin's answer was diplomatic: "If I'm lucky, I'll sell something to Lorenzo himself." He referred to Lorenzo II, grandson of the famous Lorenzo, current head of the Medici and de facto ruler.

"Is there a problem?"

Nick clutched her hidden sickle. The excitement of Florence vanished in nerve-wracking seconds.

"I'm just saying—if you plan to loot the bank, I need a warning."

Nick, experienced with Italy, knew the Medici's ruthlessness. "If it's just the three of us, escaping will already be tricky."

Carl's hand rose to his sword. Silence fell, the tension thick.

Victor broke it: "Hey, why did you say 'just the three of us'?"

Nick counted her fingers: "Captain, me, Carl—three."

"Well, what about me?"

She stared coldly. "You? Your fighting value is zero—didn't count."

Victor reeled.

A brawl erupted in the carriage—Victor's furious voice, the carriage lurching.

Hayreddin watched, amused. Once Carl wrapped Nick in a protective hold and Victor fluffed his ruined shirt and hat, tension melted away.

Victor finally broke: "If this's actually a 'friendly treaty', I'd waste my time? The current Medici head came to power three years ago, backed by the Spanish—not to mention he's the Pope's nephew. Captain, your connections are 'very friendly' on all sides!"

Hayreddin grinned. "Thanks, I'm well aware of my network. The Medici's ties to the Ottomans are strong—Ottoman trade is Florence's main business. They don't hold political loyalties, just money. We'll take a gamble—no great loss if it fails. Besides, you've been sending letters of goodwill."

Victor groaned. "When will you stop this vague diplomacy? No allies, no enemies—fun for who?"

Hayreddin's eyes sparkled. "It's thrilling! If I wanted stability, I'd have bought orchards in North Africa. This is the game—risk for reward. Just like pursuing a woman: you only truly want her when she stays just out of reach, distant and alluring."

Victor was speechless. Hayreddin turned to Nick, who stared back attentively.

"Understand anything? Explain it to me."

Nick spoke thoughtfully: "I like the orchard idea. Also that you wanted maximum return on relationships."

"Return?"

Nick answered bluntly: "You meant—sleep with them all, so they all pay you more."

Hayreddin winced. "No, no—I said ambiguous, not intimate! Doesn't that make sense?"

Nick blinked. "Not intimate… you negotiate, then slip your boot under the table?"

Victor collapsed in laughter. Carl blushed, begging to drop this topic. Hayreddin realized: never discuss this stuff around a kid—they twist it.

The carriage echoed with laughter, argument, and debate. Outside, the butler flicked his whip, grinning.

Master seems to have found his perfect companion…