The Shadow of Great Britain

112: Chapter 72: France’s First Offensive 112: Chapter 72: France’s First Offensive Amidst a screen of dust and smoke, Arthur was supporting the pricey Frenchman up the stairs towards the deck, step by step.

In Arthur’s coat pocket, there was still a clean, white receipt, which was the deposit Fred received for the kidnapping—a five-hundred-pound bearer check from the Rothschild bank.

While assisting the Frenchman upward, Arthur asked, “You really don’t come cheap, do you?

The deposit for kidnapping you was five hundred pounds.

If I were to take you back to Paris, the reward could even tempt me.

Just who are you, this French fatso, to be worth so much?”

Upon hearing this, the Frenchman couldn’t help but give Arthur a glare, “Although I am quite polite, if you continue to address me with that disparaging epithet, I refuse to answer any questions!”

“Oh, my apologies, sir.

I really shouldn’t have used that derogatory prefix; it indeed lacks basic politeness and respect.”

Arthur realized his rudeness, and with an apologetic smile, he said, “So, who are you, really, you fatso?”

At these words, the Frenchman turned red with anger and cursed, “So in the dictionary of an Englishman, is ‘French’ more insulting than ‘fatso’?”

Arthur nodded embarrassingly, “How could you reveal this secret?

Alright, since you dislike that appellation, I’ll address you by your alias instead.

Would you prefer I call you ‘Friday’ or ‘Robinson’?

I must say, your choice of alias is quite peculiar.

Only those who haven’t read ‘Robinson Crusoe’ would fail to realize you’re just teasing them.”

The Frenchman, upon hearing this, simply snorted through his nose and adjusted his collar.

“You don’t understand, I chose this alias for a reason.”

“Oh?

Can I hear the reason in detail?”

The Frenchman glanced at Arthur and recited, “Because my fate is just like Robinson’s.

Due to unfortunate circumstances, we were both cast away from civilized world, to an uncivilized and savage island invisible to civilization.”

Arthur couldn’t help but stop in his steps, taking a serious look at the Frenchman.

He pursed his lips and said with a smile, “What you say…

it seems you haven’t read very thoroughly.

Don’t you know that Robinson was an English sailor?

‘Robinson Crusoe’ is the magnum opus of the English author Daniel Defoe!”

“Oh!

Is that so?

Then it seems Robinson was even more unfortunate than me, at least I have seen civilization!” the Frenchman retorted and gave Arthur a scathing look before shaking off his arm.

He no longer needed assistance and walked up the stairs on his own, limping and in a huff.

Arthur grabbed the hair draping over his forehead, pulled it back, and laughed silently, “It was just a joke; how can you be so angry?

The French really can’t take one.”

Agares was sitting on the edge of the staircase while the Red Devil was slapping his thigh, laughing so hard that he was in tears.

“Arthur, you don’t understand.

This unremarkable fatso possesses the highest level of aggression in French history.”

“Really?” Arthur shook his head, “Then he’d better temper his hotheadedness if he intends to live in Britain.

But I must admit, he beats even the beloved Napoleon Bonaparte in certain aspects.”

The Red Devil raised an eyebrow, “Which aspects?

Give me an example.”

“An example?”

Arthur stroked his crumpled glove and said lightly, “Well, for instance, Napoleon never managed to set foot on Great Britain’s land before he died, but this fatso has accomplished that.

From this perspective, his attack is indeed sharper than Napoleon’s.”

No sooner had Arthur finished speaking than he stepped briskly to catch up, leaving behind the peals of unabated laughter from the Red Devil rolling on the ground.

“Arthur, you are the one with the most lethal attack of the 19th century!

If that fatso heard you, he’d probably pounce on you and choke you to death!”

Arthur’s footsteps faltered upon hearing this.

He detected something amiss in Agares’ words.

He mused, “Are you saying that this person is somehow related to Napoleon?

Could he be a relative?

But if he were, wouldn’t a five-hundred-pound deposit for a kidnapping seem a bit meager?”

With a smug look on his face, Agares watched Arthur’s expression of doubt and boasted, “You guess!

I tell you, his relation to Napoleon is neither particularly distant nor close; in any case, there’s no blood relation.

If you want to know more, then you’ll need to bring me a few more pirate lives.”

Arthur, standing in front of the cabin door, glanced back at the Red Devil, “All you think about is business, Agares.

What about your promises?

Your abilities?

Weren’t you the one who can solve all the puzzles in the world?

For such a trifling matter, you have the nerve to ask me for more lives?”

Just as Arthur had become immune to the Red Devil’s rhetorical tricks, the Red Devil was unfazed by Arthur’s provocation.

He pushed up his glasses, flipping through the heavy book in his hand, and said, “Arthur, save your breath.

You’ve already over-killed today, including Fred just now; you’ve taken thirteen lives on the Black Thorn.

The surplus three lives, why not just consider them as my bonus for informing you of the Frenchman’s identity and let me have them, what do you say?”

Arthur ignored the Red Devil’s trade proposal, opened the cabin door, and said, “Forget it.

If you’re unwilling to tell me, I’ll ask him myself.

Keep the extra three lives, but remember to calculate my interest.”

Upon hearing this, the Red Devil hurriedly closed his book.

He pointed at Arthur’s retreating back and swore furiously.

“Arthur, Arthur!

The most powerful voice of Scotland Yard!

Master of Electromagnetism, Hastings Force!

The mightiest offensive force of the 19th century!

Hey!

I’m talking to you, damn it!

How can you, one destined to become the Messiah, be so lacking in grandeur?!”

Arthur stepped out of the cabin, his gaze taking in the sailors of the Black Thorn, all being held at gunpoint by the marines, disarming and surrendering.

The French fatso was clutching his sore back, leaning against the broken mast.

The marine commander grinned as he saw Arthur approaching, the scar on his right cheek twisting along with the curl of his lip.

He walked up to Arthur, pulled out his pipe from his pocket, and offered it to him.

He nodded, gesturing for Arthur to grip it, and then took out a match to light it for him personally.

The commander clapped Arthur on the shoulder with a laugh, “Well done, lad!

It’s been a long time since I fought a boarding battle as exhilarating as this.

The last time I had this much fun was when I was on the ‘Black Jester’ on the West African coast, striking at slaver ships.”

Arthur blew a smoke ring, sighing with relief, and then handed back the pipe, gesturing for the commander to take a puff as well.

He asked, “Are the slave trading operations in West Africa rampant?”

The commander took two puffs and nodded, “Indeed they are.

Portuguese, Spanish, all sorts.

Can’t help it, slaves are needed in both South and North America, and where there’s demand, there’s trade.

But thanks to these slave traders, those of us who have worked on slaver fleets usually manage to make some money off of them.

Aside from being vigilant about infectious diseases like malaria, the earnings are much higher than serving in the fleets back home.”

At this point, the commander gestured towards the French fatso with a nod of his head, “So this is the man you’re supposed to take back?

The moment he came out of the cabin, he burst into a tirade of French obscenities on deck; I almost carelessly kicked him into the sea.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and asked, “You can kick him overboard if you wish, but do you know how to rescue a drowning Frenchman?”

The commander shook his head with regret, “Sorry, I really don’t know that one.”

A passing marine heard this and whistled, “Don’t know?

That’s even better!”

No sooner had they finished speaking, a roar of laughter erupted on the ship, even the disarmed sailors of the Black Thorn couldn’t help but crack a smile.

The Frenchman, his face turning red, pointed angrily at everyone on the ship, “Watch your tongues!

I will not allow you to insult a noble French artillerist in this manner!”

“Oh?” Arthur and the commander stood shoulder to shoulder, laughing, “An artillerist?

Surely you’re not a French artillery lieutenant, graduated from the École Militaire in Paris?”

The other marines joined in the teasing.

“Surname Bonaparte?”

“Named Napoleon?”

The fatso glanced at them disdainfully, then straightened his clothes and, with hands behind his back and head held high, proudly announced.

“Hmph!

I’m honored to inform you that standing before you is:

The upright citizen of glorious France,

The former secretary clerk of the Duke of Orleans,

The republican warrior who accompanied the army in storming the Tuileries Palace during the July Revolution,

The battle hero who was tasked with opening the Soissons and La Fere armouries when the Rebels were lacking ammunition, thereby laying the foundation for the victory of the revolution,

The great example of the French Republic, personally commended by General Lafayette,

The former librarian at the Paris library and captain in the French army,

The acting deputy commander of the French National Guard’s Fourth Artillery Company,

An unyielding exile, who persisted in his republican views, spread republican statements, and rejected the position of the Usurper King Louis Philippe, accused of inciting a second revolution, persecuted for his beliefs,

The strong, resilient, and indomitable, Mr.

Alexander Dumas!”