When I opened my eyes again, I was blinded by something shiny.
I blinked, trying to adjust my infant vision. Was I in heaven? Was this the afterlife?
No. It was worse.
I was lying in a crib made entirely of solid, 24-karat gold.
I reached out and touched the bars. Cold. Hard. Utterly impractical.
Who buys a gold crib?! I screamed internally. Do you know how soft gold is? If I teeth on this, I'll leave bite marks! And the thermal conductivity is terrible! I'm going to freeze at night!
I tried to pull myself up. The bedding wasn't normal cotton, either. It was purple velvet, embroidered with real pearls—my pearls, apparently.
I did a quick mental calculation. The gold weight alone... at current market value... this crib could fund a small village for three years.
And here I was, drooling on it.
"Oh, you're awake."
I looked over the golden railing. Princess Isabella was sleeping on a makeshift bed, a pile of silk cushions, on the floor of the cabin. She looked exhausted. Her platinum hair was a bird's nest, and there were dark circles under her emerald eyes.
Raising a baby—even for one night—had clearly humbled the Royal Princess.
She sat up, rubbing her face. "Did you sleep well, Lady Pearl? You better have. That crib cost us three merchant ships."
Three merchant ships.
I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Not a heart attack, just the phantom pain of an accountant watching assets depreciate.
We need to liquidate this crib immediately. Put me in a cardboard box. I don't care. Invest the gold in low-risk bonds!
I couldn't speak, so I did the next best thing. I reached out my chubby arms and made a grabby motion.
"Meh-meh!"
Isabella sighed, a small smile touching her lips. "You are very demanding for someone who can't walk."
She stood up, smoothed out her nightgown, and lifted me effortlessly out of the golden cage.
"Come on. Let's see what the idiots are destroying today."
The sun was high when we stepped onto the deck of the Leviathan.
The fresh sea air hit my face, but I didn't have time to enjoy it.
I immediately spotted a crime against capitalism.
Captain Drakon was standing near the railing, holding a magnificent, ancient vase. It was blue and white porcelain, likely from the Lost Dynasty. A museum piece. Priceless.
"This jug," Drakon grunted to Gorak. "The neck is too narrow. I can't fit my hand in to get the pickles."
"Smash it," Gorak suggested helpfully. "Get pickles."
"Good idea."
Drakon raised the priceless antique over his head, preparing to shatter history just to reach a salty cucumber.
My eyes locked onto the blue patterns. I recognized that design. In Chapter 10 of the novel, the author spent two whole paragraphs describing the Jade Twin-Dragon Vase that Drakon stole from the Emperor's summer palace. The author explicitly wrote: A masterpiece worth 50,000 gold coins, enough to buy a small castle.
50,000 gold! My soul shriveled. That is a castle he is holding! Use a fork, you moron! Use a fork!
I tried to yell, Stop!, but all that came out was a frustrated gurgle.
Drakon didn't hear me. He started to bring the vase down.
I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't watch 50,000 gold vanish.
I had to intervene.
I took a deep breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and unleashed the only weapon I had.
"WAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
The sound tore through the peaceful morning air.
Drakon froze, the vase hovering inches from the deck. "By the abyss! Not again!"
And then, it happened.
The moment my cry hit Isabella's ears, her body went rigid.
The arm holding me tightened—not painfully, but securely, like a vice.
I felt a strange heat radiating from her. I looked up.
Isabella's emerald eyes were glowing.
Not a soft, magical glow. A terrifying, blood-red, demonic crimson.
The air around her shimmered. The veins in her neck bulged. Her elegant posture vanished, replaced by the hunched, predatory stance of a beast protecting its cub.
"TOO. LOUD," Isabella growled.
Her voice didn't sound like a Princess. It sounded like a grinder chewing on gravel.
Drakon turned around, holding the vase. "Isabella? What is wrong with—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Isabella moved.
She didn't walk; she blurred. One moment she was by the cabin door, the next she was in front of the Pirate King.
With her free hand—the one not holding me—she grabbed the collar of Drakon's tunic.
Drakon is six-foot-five. He weighs nearly 300 pounds of muscle and ego.
Isabella lifted him off the ground with one arm.
"NOISE!" Isabella roared into his face, her teeth bared like a feral wolf. "MAKE NOISE STOP!"
"I didn't do anything!" Drakon shrieked, his legs dangling in the air. The priceless vase slipped from his fingers.
Oh no.
Ren, moving with the speed of light, slid across the deck and caught the vase just before it hit the wood.
Thank you, Ren. You get a raise.
"THE BABY IS UPSET!" Isabella bellowed.
She wound up her arm and threw the Pirate King.
Drakon flew across the deck, crashed through a stack of crates, and slammed into the main mast with a sickening crunch. Wood splintered. The ship shook.
I stopped crying immediately.
Holy...
I looked up at Isabella. The red glow in her eyes faded slightly as my silence registered. She blinked, looking down at her hand, then at the groaning pile of wood that used to be the Captain.
"Did..." Isabella whispered, her voice returning to normal. "Did I just throw the Captain?"
Drakon exploded out of the debris. He wasn't hurt, but he looked terrified.
"Isabella!" he roared, pointing a trembling finger at her. "You just suplexed me! I am the Scourge of the Seas! You are a pampered Princess! How are you stronger than an Orc?!"
Isabella looked at her hands, trembling. "I... I don't know. I just felt... a rage. A pure, blinding rage because Pearl was crying."
"It's the potion," Ren said from the corner, carefully placing the vase down. "It has to be."
Drakon's golden eyes snapped toward the Quartermaster. Malachi was trying to float away quietly, hoping to blend in with a shadow.
"MALACHI!" Drakon screamed.
Malachi froze. "Y-yes, Captain?"
"Come here," Drakon said, his voice dangerously calm.
Malachi floated closer, clutching his book.
"Is there a way to reverse this?" Drakon hissed, gesturing to Isabella, who was currently sniffing my head aggressively to check for injuries. "Is there a cure?"
Malachi's skeletal jaw clicked. "Well... technically... the elixir is experimental. I don't actually know the side effects. Or the antidote. Or the long-term mortality rate."
Drakon's face turned a shade of purple I didn't know existed on human skin.
"You gave her..." Drakon choked out. "You gave the woman holding my potato an experimental combat drug without an antidote?!"
"It was for the potato!" Malachi shrieked, hiding behind his book. "She needed milk! I improvised!"
"I WILL KILL YOU!" Drakon roared, drawing his sword. "Why would you give her something you didn't really know about?! She just threw me through a crate!"
Drakon lunged at Malachi.
Malachi screamed and cast a shield spell.
BOOM!
The impact of the sword against the shield created a massive shockwave. The sound was deafening.
My ears!
The noise startled me. I didn't want to cry, but the explosion was scary.
"WAAAAAH!"
Like a switch being flipped, Isabella snapped.
Her head whipped toward Drakon. The red light flooded her eyes again.
"SILENCE!" Isabella screeched.
While Drakon was trying to decapitate Malachi, Isabella charged.
She grabbed a loose cannonball from the deck. A twenty-pound iron ball.
She pitched it like a baseball.
It hit Drakon in the back of the head with a CLANG that echoed across the ocean.
Drakon face-planted into the deck.
Malachi laughed. "Ha! Take that, you—"
Isabella grabbed Malachi by his robe and slammed him into the floorboards like a wet towel.
"YOU ARE LOUD TOO!"
It was total chaos.
Drakon was trying to strangle Malachi.
Isabella was beating Drakon with a mop she found.
Gorak was hiding behind a barrel, eating the pickles from the vase.
And Ren was just standing there, watching the scene with a bored expression.
I watched from the safety of Isabella's left arm.
I stopped crying.
I watched Isabella deflect a fireball with her bare hand. I watched her kick the Pirate King in the shin so hard he whimpered.
A slow, gummy smile spread across my face.
This is incredible.
I had worried about surviving on a ship full of villains. I had worried about Drakon accidentally squishing me or Malachi cursing me.
But I didn't need to worry.
I had just acquired the ultimate security system.
The Potion of Matriarchy didn't just give milk. It turned Isabella into a biological weapon triggered by my tears.
If I cry, she kills.
If the crew wastes money? I cry, Isabella beats them up.
If Drakon tries to go on a dangerous raid? I cry, Isabella knocks him unconscious.
I looked at the chaos unfolding before me—my new mother piledriving a dark mage into the deck—and I felt a sense of deep, profound peace.
Retirement wasn't just a dream. It was a guarantee.
I patted Isabella's chest. Good job, Mom. Hit him again. He wasted a golden goblet.
Drakon, currently in a headlock, looked up at me with a bruised eye.
"Ren," he wheezed. "Write this down. New Rule Number One."
Ren pulled out a notepad.
"Rule Number One," Drakon gasped as Isabella tightened her grip. "Do not. Upset. The Potato."
I giggled.
Finally. Some order on this ship.