Dragon Raja 5; Chapter 90: Whale Song (59)

Dragon Raja 5

Suddenly, a yellow light pierced the fog, a deafening whistle blared, and a skyscraper-like figure slowly emerged from the thick fog, complete with a blood-red maw and stern white teeth! Even Caesar couldn’t help but tense his muscles.

If the ship had not sounded its horn to signal, it might have been mistaken for the giant whale they were going to hunt.

Although it cannot be compared with a 100,000-ton oil tanker, this ship can still be called a “giant ship” with a black and red hull, a wide body, and a bloody white shark mouth painted on the bow.

If those large oil tankers are docile blue whales, then this ship gives people the ferocious feeling of a man-eating shark.

“Icebreaker? EVA bought an icebreaker?” Finger stared at the thick icebreaking armor on the bow for a long time, then turned to Schneider.

“This ship is pretty good, it looks like it’s military grade.” Schneider also looked up at the giant ship and nodded approvingly.

“We bought a military-grade icebreaker just to go whaling?” Finger was dumbfounded. “Do we have enough money?”

“In the history of the secret party, there have not been many times when there was a shortage of money,” said Schneider.

While others might think this was a boast, Schneider was simply stating the truth. Half-bloods have always excelled at amassing wealth, and the Secret Party is no exception. Otherwise, funding for such a grand undertaking as slaying the dragon would be difficult to come by. To this day, the academy still operates numerous businesses, providing a steady stream of wealth.

“If they bought an aircraft carrier, I would be surprised, but this is just an icebreaker,” Caesar said casually. “We are going to the Arctic, so of course we need a big ship that can break through icebergs.”

He was not saying this to show off his wealth. The men in the Gattuso family had never worried about money. Moreover, as an eyewitness to the incident in the Three Gorges of the Yangtze River, Caesar knew very well that the stronger the equipment, the better, not just enough, because you could never predict what your enemy would be like.

“Jealousy is tearing me apart!” Finger said indignantly, turning to look at Abbas. “What about you, President? You’re trying to provoke a poor man like me without saying a word?”

Abbas smiled and said, “I have no money, just like you.”

After saying this, he picked up his Persian knife, looked up at the icebreaker and prepared to board the ship.

Abbas truly didn’t have much money; he even completed his studies on a scholarship from the principle. But he didn’t need money at all. He had no hobbies except meditation, which, of course, cost nothing. He lived in a luxurious house that resembled an Arab palace, but it was rented and decorated by an adoring Arab student—whose family was said to own dozens of oil wells—and insisted on using it for his meditation. Abbas didn’t refuse, but he wasn’t particularly grateful either. To him, the difference between meditating in a palace and meditating in the wild was the difference between mosquito bites and not getting bitten.

Such a person certainly has no concept of money, but in Finger’s opinion, this guy is similar to Caesar. When he sees a lot of money piled up there, it’s like seeing a lot of sheep dung piled up. He will nod and say, “Oh, that’s quite a lot,” and then move on.

A tower crane was even installed on the icebreaker, which lifted the entire cargo ship onto the rear deck.

Caesar just stood on the deck when a familiar voice came from behind him, “Master, welcome aboard.”

Caesar turned around, saw who it was, and frowned slightly, “Why are you here?”

In a black dress, perfectly ironed trouser seams, and a fine silk scarf, even on an icebreaker, the man dressed like a dutiful British butler. But with his silky blond hair, long enough to cover his eyes, he looked like a nobleman being waited on by a British butler.

Caesar’s secretary, Persy Gattuso, had once served Caesar’s uncle, Frost, and knew more about the Gattuso family than Caesar, the heir. Caesar didn’t like having this secretary around, but Persy was the family’s designated secretary, and sometimes Caesar had no choice.

“The family is worried about the young master’s safety and sent me to see if I can be of any assistance,” Percy said respectfully. “In addition, I have brought some of the young master’s daily needs, which should be enough for this trip.”

“My daily needs?” Caesar didn’t understand.

“50 bottles of aged port, 500 cigars, 100 bottles of red wine, 100 bottles of champagne, and 200 bottles of white wine,” Percy paused. “Since we’ll be eating more seafood at sea, we’ve prepared more white wine this time. I’ve also prepared 500 pounds of various red meats and 300 pounds of various white meats, including Japanese dried abalone and French blue lobster, all of which you’ll like. In addition, I’ve transferred two chefs from Rome to accompany you. One of them was the executive chef at the Four Seasons Hotel in Florence for 15 years…”

Schneider sighed and turned away, but Abbas didn’t leave. He continued to listen with a smile, but it seemed that it was purely out of politeness.

Caesar’s face darkened. He had almost forgotten his lifestyle as a nobleman, but Percy’s reminder brought it back. He had indeed been like that back then, bringing his own wine and food, even his own wine glasses, to every voyage around the world. When supplies ran low, he’d dispatch a plane to the destination first and then deliver the goods to the port. Of course, all this was accompanied by wine parties, champagne parties, and barbecues on board.

But he’s no longer on that path! He’s so pragmatic now, he even drinks instant coffee! Why bring this up? He doesn’t want to look like a second-generation rich kid who can’t endure hardship in front of his competitor—that smiling Abbas.

Just as he was considering whether to gag him with Persy’s scarf, someone patted his shoulder and leaned over affectionately.

It’s Finger.

Finger looked at Percy affectionately, not with the tenderness of a woman, but with the tenderness of a baked shank. “Chairman, your secretary is truly excellent! He’s a talent! You must train him, so that he can achieve great things in the future and become your right-hand man!”

Schneider walked on the giant ship, feeling the chill entering his lungs through his respirator.

The deck was also shrouded in fog, but the massive seven-story ship’s cabin and towering bridge were still visible. A massive torpedo tube was being lowered from the sky by a tower crane. Engineers from the equipment department were remotely controlling four teams of walking robots—more like robot dogs, to be precise—to carry the torpedo tube and bring it to the bow for installation. Schneider watched the robot dogs from behind, smiling silently beneath his mask.

There were footsteps approaching from the side. Schneider turned around and looked over. A man in a white uniform walked out of the fog and strode up to Schneider.

Schneider looked at the man. He had blue eyes and short chestnut hair, a typical Slavic appearance, tall and strong, with strong muscles. The sea breeze and sun made his skin look old, but he still looked energetic and enthusiastic.

“Excuse me, are you the new ship owner?” The man extended his hand toward Schneider. “I’m Sasha Rybalko, the captain of the YAMAL. I’m at your service!”

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