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Raphael had the commodore and the few sailors and musketeers loaded onto a small boat. He also handed the junior officer several letters — ransom notes written by the commodore and the other officers begging the governor for help — and stuffed them into the man's jacket.
"Take these too."
The small warship bobbed away toward the south, growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared over the horizon.
Elizabeth stood beside Raphael, watching the ship vanish.
"You kept the commodore?"
Raphael nodded.
"He's useful. Next time they come, he can stand in front and shout for them."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She knew exactly how humiliating that would be for a noble.
The remaining thirty-six Dutch warships sat quietly in the bay, gun ports lowered, decks empty.
Raphael turned around.
"Have the men count how many people those ships can carry."
---
Half a month later, news arrived from Batavia.
The highest ruler of the Dutch East India Company — Governor Hendrik Zwaardecroon — had flown into a rage in the council chamber.
He overturned the table in front of all the directors and declared he would fight the "pirate of the Singapore River" to the death.
At the same time, he had already sent fast couriers to India asking the British East India Company for help.
When Raphael heard the report, he was in the newly built fortress holding a meeting with several Spanish captains.
"British East India Company?"
One captain frowned. "They have over a hundred thousand troops in India and more than a hundred warships. If they get involved…"
Raphael waved his hand.
"The British and Dutch aren't that close. They'd love to watch the Dutch bleed."
He paused. "But reinforcements will still come. The British won't pass up the chance — not to help the Dutch, but to take a slice for themselves."
Elizabeth, standing nearby, couldn't help asking.
"So what are you going to do?"
By now she had completely forgotten she was British herself.
Raphael looked out the window. In the distance, his ten sailing warships were slowly returning to port.
"Wait," he said. "See what cards they play."
---
Before the Dutch and British arrived, Raphael recruited his first batch of Chinese sailors.
The numbers weren't huge — around five hundred — but his total fighting force finally reached a thousand men.
Weapons were plentiful. Between the muskets brought from Trinidad and the ones captured from the Dutch, Raphael could arm an army of three thousand if needed.
On top of that, the thirty-six captured Dutch warships were now part of his fleet. Combined with the original seven Spanish galleons, his power had become impossible to ignore in the region.
He had the prisoners build fortifications around the settlement — digging trenches, setting traps, turning the entire area into a massive fortress.
The prisoners weren't allowed to sit idle.
Raphael set one simple rule: work and you eat.
If you don't work, you starve.
Every morning before dawn, the Dutch prisoners were dragged out to labor — hauling supplies, building defenses, cleaning the camp.
Anyone who slacked got the whip from the overseers.
The captured Dutch commodore initially tried to keep his dignity, standing aside and refusing to work.
Raphael saw him, walked over, and stared at him for three seconds.
"You too."
The commodore's face turned purple.
"I am a noble! I am a commodore of the Dutch East India Company! How dare you—"
Raphael turned and walked away.
"No food for him today."
The commodore went hungry for a day and a night.
The next morning, he quietly picked up a shovel and joined the regular soldiers in the labor line.
The other officers saw what happened and quickly dropped their pride, joining the work gangs without complaint.
Elizabeth stood on the watchtower, watching the dirty, exhausted Dutch prisoners, and couldn't help laughing.
"This move of yours is harsher than killing them."
Raphael gave a cold chuckle.
"Only the living have value. The dead are just rotting meat."
Days passed. The prisoners grew thinner. The fortifications grew stronger.
Three deep trenches now surrounded the Singapore River settlement, each one ten feet wide.
Barricades were dense. Musket positions were adjusted again and again to ensure every inch of ground was covered by fire.
Raphael stood on the watchtower, staring at the southern sea.
He knew the Dutch and British wouldn't make him wait much longer.
---
Two months later, the scouts reported back.
A massive fleet spotted on the southern horizon — at least sixty ships flying Dutch and British flags, heading straight for the Singapore River harbor.
Raphael stood on the watchtower and raised his spyglass.
The horizon was black with masts.
Dutch tricolor and British Union Jack flags snapped in the wind.
He counted.
Sixty-two.
Almost twice as many as last time.
"My lord," a Spanish captain ran up, face pale. "What do we do?"
Raphael lowered the spyglass.
"Follow the plan."
When night fell, the Anglo-Dutch allied fleet dropped anchor outside the harbor.
They didn't rush to land. Instead, they sent several small boats to scout the port.
Only after confirming there was no ambush did they begin lowering landing craft.
The first wave ashore was a thousand Dutch musketeers — well-equipped and well-trained.
They quickly formed up on the beach, then began advancing inland.
Next came two thousand British musketeers — disciplined ranks, high morale.
Raphael stood behind the first defensive line, Force perception fully extended, seeing the entire battlefield clearly.
Then he spotted the man.
On the British flagship, a man in a black robe stood on deck.
Mid-thirties, pale face, cold eyes, a faint mocking smile on his lips.
Lord Beckett.
Chairman of the British East India Company.
The mastermind behind Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and 3.
Raphael felt a surge of dark amusement.
He hadn't expected the bastard to come in person.
Good. Saved him the trip later.
He waved his hand.
"Begin."
Nearly a hundred hidden squads in the jungle struck at the same time.
Gunfire erupted from every direction. The Anglo-Dutch ranks instantly fell into chaos.
They didn't know where the enemy was. They didn't know how many there were. They only knew men kept dropping.
Raphael's tactic was simple — hit and run.
Each squad was only a dozen men. Fire one volley, then move. Never stay in place.
The allies tried to chase but couldn't catch them. They tried to counterattack but couldn't find targets.
After one hour, the allied force had lost over a hundred men — and still hadn't seen a single enemy clearly.
The Dutch commander's face turned green with rage.
"Damn it! Come out and fight like men!"
Another volley answered him.
Raphael didn't take part in the guerrilla fighting.
He hid behind a reef near the harbor, waiting for nightfall.
When darkness came, the allies stopped advancing and set up camp on the beach.
They posted heavy guards around the camp to prevent night attacks.
But they never imagined the real threat wasn't outside — it was already inside.
Raphael changed into black night clothes, slipped into the sea, and quietly swam toward the British flagship.
With Force perception fully open, every guard on the ship was clearly visible in his mind.
He avoided the patrols, climbed the anchor chain, and dropped silently onto the deck behind a stack of barrels.
Lord Beckett's cabin was at the stern, guarded by four soldiers.
Raphael waited until the patrol passed, then moved.
Force locked their throats. All four collapsed without a sound.
He pushed open the door and slipped inside.
The cabin was lit by a single oil lamp. Lord Beckett sat at the desk, studying sea charts.
Hearing the noise, he looked up and saw Raphael. He froze for a second.
Then he smiled.
"So you're the pirate of the Singapore River?"
Raphael said nothing. He walked toward him step by step.
Beckett stayed calm. His hand moved toward a drawer.
"I know you're strong. You captured the Dutch commodore, killed their envoy. But you forgot one thing—"
He yanked the drawer open. Inside was a small copper bell.