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

A fierce, nameless storm struck the Mediterranean coast—with howling winds and relentless rain, Italy descended into gray chaos.At the same time, news spread of the death of Emperor Maximilian of the Holy Roman Empire. His passing ignited a far-reaching succession crisis, pulling all of Europe into turmoil.

Two contenders emerged most fiercely: France's King Francis I and the grandson of the "White-Robed War Goddess"—King Charles V of Spain. The imperial crown would be decided by 19 Electors, and both rivals marshaled every resource—political influence, military might, money, and religious sway—to secure victory.

Despite the downpour, Nick's shopping spree continued unhindered: she disappeared early each morning and returned late into the night.

Finally, the news Red Lion had been waiting for arrived—storm-tossed but definitive.

"The man who came with Leo X to Florence is none other than Pedro de Toledo, Marquis and Governor of Naples."

Hayreddin crumpled the paper and flushed it out the window; the wind and rain shredded it before the words faded completely. Nick stood at the sill, fists clenched, her face unreadable as the name sluiced into oblivion.

Pedro de Toledo was Charles V's most trusted envoy, overseeing Spanish domains in southern Italy. His appearance in Florence wasn't for sightseeing alongside the Pope.

Victor poured fresh goat's milk into his tea, studying the white swirl: "The Pope introducing Toledo to Lorenzo is an obvious play—both men are here to make money. Florence's bankers have long lived off political investment, loaning routinely to monarchs."

"Charles lacks the funds? But he controls half the Mediterranean—and all of the Americas," Carl protested.

Hayreddin shook his head. "The king's gold isn't his alone. Buying the imperial throne requires massive bribes to the Electors. And many Spaniards still oppose him—Charles must dig deep for campaign funds."

"If Lorenzo truly backs him..." Carl mused.

Hayreddin stared into the rain-drenched sky. Then he smiled, crimson eyes reflecting flashes of lightning: "Letting your enemy grow bold is never my style. Nick—get out there. I'll triple your overtime pay."

Hayreddin's one weakness was intelligence gathering. His fiery hair and striking presence made stealth impossible—so he relied on Nick's skills.

Three hundred yards from the Palazzo Medici, a street urchin in a turban—small, masked in filth—who served as flunky, odd-jobber, petty thief, blended into the shadows.

Nick had been staking out the palace for two days, as instructed: find out whether Governor Pedro had secured Lorenzo's backing. If he hadn't, fine. If he had... then nothing short of eliminating him would do.

Rain lashed down. Markets were closed. Nick shivered under an overhang, wet and cold as steel. Memories of that old subterranean trial resurfaced: the bishop, the execution... and him.She pressed her nails painfully into her arm to stop trembling. His face, his voice, his voice that ordered: "Open her eyes, let her see her uncle."

She remembered only glimpses: a serpent's cold gaze. No name, no trace—everyone denied ever seeing him. But tonight, Pedro de Toledo had revealed himself.

Footsteps splashed up the street.

"You forgot your umbrella again," said Carl's familiar voice.

"Don't follow." Nick's answer was clipped.

"Now I'll help," he replied, holding an umbrella over her. Carl insisted: "I'll go with you to Naples." He was determined.

Nick hated it—but accepted.

The next morning, Pedro departed Florence in the Pope's carriage, riding south under heavy escort.

Hayreddin and Victor sailed around the bay. Nick and Carl trailed on rough-market wagons filled with peasants—jostled, muddy, hidden.

Carl watched Nick tense beside the window and asked softly:

"You... do you want to talk about your past?"

She faced away:

"You'd guess I'm an aristocrat's bastard?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Before age three I lived well with a woman, then Asa took me. He'd never confess fatherhood—so I figure that man was her lover."

Carl shook his head:

"Do you want that life back?"

"No. He's dead—my past ended with him."

"But if people are waiting...?" he tried.

Nick stared into the dark:

"That's not my problem."

"You drowned before—those memories... dark as the seabed. After revenge, you'll forget it all."

Before reaching Naples, she laid it all bare.

Naples, over two centuries under Spanish rule, felt more Madrid than Rome. The weather remained treacherous; waves battered cliffs and buildings stood grim and muted.

Pedro entered his fortress-turned-castle alone. Nick reconnoitered the perimeter: a single guarded path up the cliff.

"I'll climb from the back," she said.

Carl objected:

"You'll plummet."

"I'm not Victor. I'll bring a rope…"

"Who will tie it?"

She fell silent.

He continued:

"Two of us aren't enough. Let's return and ask the Captain for reinforcements."

Nick's reply was resolute:

"I want to kill him myself. And don't forget the triple pay."

Carl sighed—but could not refuse. They found a shabby inn and waited days while Nick tried other infiltrations: riding in a produce cart, posing as a carpenter, even attempting to feign flirting—none worked. Guards were too alert and Carl too noticeable.

Then—an opportunity.

A gilded coach, bearing the Medici crest, arrived at a luxury hotel. Lorenzo II emerged, demanding to be received by Pedro himself.

Nick and Carl staked out by a window as a vain back-and-forth unfolded. Eventually, Lorenzo returned alone. A door left open. Nick slipped inside the reception area, followed by Carl and Victor.

"Victor, you're here too?" Lorenzo sneered as the trio emerged.

Victor hissed, embarrassed. Lorenzo recoiled.

Victor yelled:

"You're not Lorenzo—you're faking it!"

Nick teased:

"Your poor thief's focus betrays you!"

Victor flared:

"You fools! Captain is annoyed—he's the paperwork guy!"

Carl stepped forward:

"Since you're here, help us get him. Pedro hides like an old hare. He never leaves."

Victor grimly accepted and joined the "assassin trio." They planned their move for the next night. Nick and Carl slipped out; Victor stayed covertly as Lorenzo.

Down the long hotel corridor, a conspiratorial wave passed unnoticed.

Thus, their hunt begins.