Plop!
With a splash of water, Jiang Hai plunged into the sea once more.
As the bubbles around him dispersed, he flicked on the headlamp strapped to his head and propelled himself swiftly toward the deep ocean. This wasn't his first time—he had been here before and was already familiar with these waters. He didn't expect to retrieve everything in a single dive today. This trip was just reconnaissance.
If there wasn't much left on the sunken ship, there'd be no point in salvaging it.
He wore the thickest protective wetsuit available, reinforced with a wire mesh on the outside. Two spearguns were strapped to his back, along with a waterproof pistol specifically designed for underwater use. A metal sample bag was secured at his side.
Ever since evolving into a dragon, Jiang Hai had undergone profound changes. Besides his physical strength—now four times the human limit—his agility had increased dramatically. Even more, he had gained a new ability: the release of spiritual aura.
But what fascinated him most was his innate underwater adaptability.
He had tested it at his manor. Once submerged, he didn't need to breathe, and water pressure had no effect on him. Even more impressively, his movements in water—once slow and cumbersome—were now agile and swift, almost dragon-like.
While he wasn't quite at the level of swordfish or tuna, he was faster than most boats.
Take tuna, for example: their top speed can reach 160 km/h, though only in short bursts. Being cold-blooded, fish can't sustain high speeds without risking ruptured blood vessels. Even so, their cruising speed hovers around 60–80 km/h, translating to about 33 nautical miles per hour.
Jiang Hai's current speed wasn't on par with that, but it was still impressive. He cruised at about ten nautical miles per hour—18,000 meters per hour—even against water resistance. Considering the Mariana Trench is only a little over 10,000 meters deep, that's fast.
Given his physical capabilities, senses, and weapons, there wasn't much underwater that could threaten him—unless he encountered something truly unknown to mankind. Sharks and other predators were no match. And even if he came across something stronger, his spiritual aura could force submission.
With that confidence, Jiang Hai swam quickly and reached his target in under half an hour.
Under the beam of his headlamp, a weathered Spanish galleon loomed in front of him like a ghost ship lost to time.
European history before 1500 could be summarized as "village chief hegemony." Small territories, constant infighting—today you fight me, tomorrow I fight you. It was chaotic, like China before the Qin Dynasty, where warlords constantly shifted alliances through marriages and betrayals.
But after 1500, everything changed.
Columbus had redirected Europe's gaze to the New World. The age of local power struggles gave way to a race for global colonization. And in this new era, the nation with the most colonies became the most powerful.
The first to dominate were the Spaniards—not necessarily because they were the strongest, but because they mastered seafaring technology. Their crowning achievement was the Spanish Galleon—a ship second only to China's massive Treasure Ships under Admiral Zheng He. But China, uninterested in global conquest, missed its opportunity. After Zhu Di, Chinese emperors focused more on alchemy, carpentry, and Taoism than exploration.
To be fair, the emperors themselves held limited power. The Ming dynasty functioned much like a modern constitutional monarchy, with real control in the hands of officials like Zhang Juzheng—men equivalent to prime ministers. These bureaucrats, steeped in Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucianism, weren't concerned with expansion.
So China missed its chance to rise again—and Spain seized the moment.
For 200 years, Spanish galleons ruled the seas. They were the aircraft carriers of their time: powerful, durable, fast, and highly sought after. Pirates dreamed of commanding one.
Now, Jiang Hai was face to face with one.
But this galleon didn't belong to the Spanish crown—it had once been captained by the legendary pirate Bartholomew Roberts.
You might not recognize the name today, but three centuries ago, he was infamous across Europe and the Caribbean.
Born in 1682, Roberts died in 1722—just 40 years old. Yet he left an indelible mark. He began as a sailor on a British armed slave ship, transporting African slaves to work in gold mines and cocoa plantations. One day, his ship was attacked by pirates. Faced with death, he begged to join them.
The pirates accepted. Crews always needed fresh blood.
Roberts quickly rose through the ranks. After his captain, Davis, was killed in Africa, Roberts took command. His first mission as captain was audacious—he led a nighttime raid on a Portuguese fleet of 42 ships anchored off Brazil. No one expected it. By the time the victims realized what was happening, Roberts had escaped with 40,000 Brazilian gold coins.
From there, his legend grew.
At his peak, he commanded over 400 ships. But his fame became his downfall. With no government backing him, he drew the wrath of Caribbean powers. In 1722, he was ambushed by the British and killed by shrapnel.
His style made him memorable: always dressed in black, adorned with jewels, he never drank alcohol, only tea. He was a devout Christian who forced his men to convert and even tried—unsuccessfully—to recruit priests as pirates.
People called him "The Black Baron" for his vanity and flair.
The ship Jiang Hai had found wasn't Roberts' flagship, but a secondary vessel—possibly lost while collecting tribute in South America. According to maps Jiang Hai had purchased, this wreck might still hold treasures. Whether they were still intact, however, was another question.
The ship in front of him was massive by historical standards. Jiang Hai floated toward it, grabbed the edge of the hull, and carefully climbed aboard.
Unlike the last wreck he explored, this one was remarkably well preserved. It hadn't been smashed into a trench—it had simply settled on the seabed, perfectly upright.
He stomped lightly on the deck. It creaked but held firm.
Clearly, the wood used was rare and durable. After more than 300 years underwater, the structure was still mostly intact. Impressive.
Satisfied with its condition, Jiang Hai drew one of his spearguns and cautiously moved toward the lower levels. The upper deck was barren—tattered rigging, rotted masts, and a shattered cabin. Nothing of value.
He made his way to the staircase and tossed a fluorescent stick into the darkness below. Instantly, small fish scattered in every direction.
He'd seen these kinds of fish before. They weren't a threat.
But what might be waiting deeper inside?
(To be continued.)