Chapter 001

My name is Hunter Wind, and I am a pirate. Please do not associate me with eye patches and iron hooks; no, I do not possess such items. My ship, the "Dragon Crocodile," can glide through the universe at sub-light speeds and perform spatial jumps that even conventional warships cannot achieve. The universe has granted me a space countless times broader than that of the Age of Exploration. Indeed, I am an interstellar pirate

When discussing this matter, one cannot overlook an organization—the Pirate Alliance. The Pirate Alliance is a united organization of 485 pirate factions across the universe. New pirates who have not received recognition from the Pirate Alliance are not acknowledged within the pirate community, and they are ineligible to participate in any collective actions of pirates. In the year 511 of the Space Era, humanity officially began its migration to outer space, and the Pirate Alliance was formally established. Thirty years later, the Pirate Alliance recognized the enormous profits of underground boxing and organized a black market boxing competition for the entire Pirate Alliance, attracting a large number of wealthy individuals from various star systems. The Alliance's underground boxing has now been ongoing for 110 years. According to the original regulations, each pirate faction must send at least one representative to participate in the boxing matches to ensure the normal operation of the events. Every year, the Pirate Alliance earns substantial profits from underground boxing, and all pirate captains are unwilling to give up this treasure trove. Countless pirates fall in the boxing ring each year, never to rise again.

When my father died, I was only seven years old. He sacrificed himself to save everyone, engaging in a mutual destruction with the opposing gunner, preventing the enemy's main cannon from firing one last time, thus preserving the entire pirate ship and saving everyone's lives. As a result, I, at the age of seven, was not cast into the boundless universe like other orphans, but lived on the pirate ship until I was thirteen. At thirteen, I began to join everyone in plundering ships. During my first mission, amidst the brutal battle, I was stunned by the flying debris and the beams of light from high-explosive material bombs, nearly losing my life. It was Uncle Brandon who saved me. Uncle Brandon was a person of color, with a dark complexion and a strong physique. He was my father's best friend during his lifetime and took great care of me on the ship. At that moment, a dark gun barrel was aimed at me, and I was equipped with the cheapest, simplest light armor. If I were hit, I would surely be dead. In a critical moment, Uncle Brandon abandoned his opponent and lunged to push me aside. Uncle Brandon held great authority on the ship because he was the best fighter among us, often being the first to board enemy vessels, which meant he received the largest share of the spoils. He was a lifelong bachelor, spending all his money on upgrading his equipment and drinking. His gear was the best on the ship, second only to the captain's, featuring a heavily reinforced armor that had been modified three times, covered with thick magnetized plating. After accelerating to full speed, he moved as fast as a bullet, but he was still struck in the back by the opponent's laser knife. The invulnerable laser knife pierced through his armor, leaving him severely injured.

Thinking back to that battle, I feel a bit of fear. I was truly fortunate; although the magnetic cutting knife is also a type of energy weapon, it is not as indestructible as a lightsaber. With just a light stroke, it pierced into his chest. I was indeed quite lucky—or perhaps the luck of that security personnel was simply unfortunate, as he had encountered counterfeit armor.

In modern interstellar warfare, warriors are equipped with mechs. Generally, these mechs are amphibious, capable of operating in water, land, and air. However, outfitting them with mechanical arms, weapons, and armor requires significant financial resources. Typically, each pirate ship has its own mechanic who does not participate in combat but is responsible for upgrading the equipment for the pirates. Among the crew, the mechanics are the least busy, and they earn a substantial income by designing and installing new mechanical arms, armor, and weapons, charging high fees. Compared to ordinary pirates, they face little danger. At the same time, mechanics are crucial to the entire pirate ship; having good equipment increases the chances of survival in battle, and if the ship encounters issues, the mechanics are called upon for repairs. Therefore, they are highly respected. For a time, I dreamed of becoming a mechanic, but the tuition fees for apprenticeships with reputable mechanics are prohibitively high, and I do not have that kind of money, so this dream was ruthlessly shattered. Pirates are not regular troops; they can modify their equipment freely as long as they deem it suitable and have the funds to do so. In contrast, the equipment of regular troops is standardized, which, of course, is much more powerful than what we have, but it is not as well-suited for personal use as ours. Pirates are not regular troops; they can modify their equipment freely as long as they deem it suitable and have the funds to do so. In contrast, the equipment of regular troops is standardized, which, of course, is much more powerful than what we have, but it is not as well-suited for personal use as ours.

My father named me L猎风, of course, because his surname is L猎, which is quite rare. It turned out to be quite good, as such surnames are generally convenient in the household registration system, reducing the likelihood of having many namesakes. My father deceived me like this when I was young, and at that time, I thought his words made a lot of sense. However, as I grew older, I scoffed at such behavior of deceiving children—what pirate would register their identity with the government? By then, my father had already "ascended to the West" and died during a raid, so I naturally had no one to question about it.

The underground boxing matches are not only intense but also bloody. Every year, a large number of wealthy individuals and gamblers flock from various star systems, armed with wads of cash, to witness these thrilling yet brutal and bloody competitions. When I was nineteen, one of the fighters on our ship, the "Killer Bee," was killed in the ring. The Pirate Alliance sent a message to the captain, stating that a new fighter must be delivered within half a month, or else the "Killer Bee" would not receive its share of the profits from this year's underground boxing. As the end of the year approached, Captain Seven Fingers naturally would not give up on the lucrative opportunity at hand; he needed to select someone to go to the underground boxing training camp as a fighter.

Uncle Brandon usually taught me martial arts. He asked me to carry a 50-kilogram iron block every day for practice, as he believed that this weight was similar to that of wearing powered armor. Therefore, the techniques trained under such conditions would be effective in battle later on. The personnel from Zeus Shield Security Company rushed towards me, and one of them swung down a knife. I attempted to draw my magnetic cutting knife, but for some reason, it got stuck. In a panic, I took a step back and fell to the ground, narrowly avoiding that strike. I scrambled towards Uncle Brandon, and the assailant took another step forward, raising his laser knife high. As I turned around, I managed to draw my knife just in time, but before I could stab, he collided with me. The magnetic cutting knife pierced into his chest, and blood flowed from the wound. His raised hands suddenly froze, and in disbelief, he looked down at the magnetic cutting knife embedded in his chest. I saw the red light in the eye sockets of his powered armor's visor slowly dim until it disappeared. Looking again at the magnetic cutting knife lodged in his chest, I was so frightened that I hurriedly dropped my knife and fell to the ground, scrambling on my legs to crawl to Uncle Brandon's side. Blood flowed from the wound, and his raised hands suddenly froze, unable to believe as he looked down at the magnetic cutting knife in his chest. I saw the red light in the eye sockets of his powered armor's visor slowly dim until it disappeared. Looking again at the magnetic cutting knife lodged in his chest, I was so frightened that I hurriedly dropped my knife and fell to the ground, scrambling on my legs to crawl to Uncle Brandon's side, and then I picked him up in a panic and returned to the pirate ship.

I need to carry Uncle Brandon back to the pirate ship. Uncle grabs me, points at his opponent who is approaching us, and says, "Go, kill him! Use the methods I usually taught you!" I timidly shake my head, "No, I can't..." Uncle pushes me forward, "You can!" I stumble towards that person. He is wearing a modified agile exosuit, with the chest armor engraved with the emblem of Zeus Shield Security Company. It seems he is the bodyguard hired by this ship—Zeus Shield Security Company ranks fourteenth in the universe, a prestigious name. Can their security personnel be defeated by a thirteen-year-old child like me? I feel my legs trembling, and through the man's mask, I seem to see his confident eyes and the mocking curve of his lips. He charges at me with a laser knife, the glowing blade spinning twice in his hand. I glance back at Uncle Brandon; he has already fainted, blood streaming from his back, staining the deck. Remembering how Uncle Brandon had taken care of me before, and the injury he sustained while saving me just now, I grit my teeth—I'll give it my all!

My Pirate Place | Zhi Xiu concluded with such a perfect ending after enduring a messy process, during which I killed a person for the first time. Later, I received 150 cosmic coins—according to our regulations, the captain takes half of the spoils, and the remaining is first divided into halves for the two gunners, then each person receives spoils based on the number and rank of the enemies they killed. Generally, killing a regular soldier earns one share, killing a level two officer earns two shares, a level three officer earns three shares, and so forth. I was quite lucky; by sheer coincidence, I ended up killing a level three officer and received 150 cosmic coins. However, Uncle Brandon's injuries dampened my spirits—he lay in bed for two months. Uncle Brandon never saved money; although he received a lot each time, he either spent it on equipment or at the bar, never saving a single coin. During those two months, he couldn't go out to work, and I no longer had such good luck, only able to target some easy prey, with the money earned barely covering the living expenses for both of us. Helplessly, Uncle Brandon, with his injuries, was given all the nutritious food available, while I had to settle for plain rice and vegetables. That first 150 cosmic coins? I had already spent it on Uncle Brandon's medical expenses.

I have officially been a pirate for six years, and Uncle Brandon has grown somewhat older, while I have matured into a true man. I have learned about eighty percent of Uncle's skills, and the rest is about application. In recent combat situations, I have been able to independently eliminate the third-level commanders of the security company, and this is based on my strength, not merely the luck I had the first time. At this moment, something happened that changed my life.

I am destined by fate to become a pirate. My father is a pirate, and I have no mother. I do not understand why my father, even in this era, still holds such a strong belief in the importance of passing on the family line, insisting on having a child. Unfortunately, no dancer is willing to bear a child for a pirate, even though my father offered a high price of 20,000 cosmic coins—an amount that represents his entire life savings, enough for an average person to live comfortably for five years. But who would trade one year of their life for five years of living? If it were me, I certainly would, but I am not a dancer, so they refuse. I truly cannot comprehend; is it not just about having a child? When my father finally failed in his last attempt, he walked out of that bar, which was said to solve any problem, feeling dejected. Just then, he saw an advertisement for a hospital, and thus I came to be, a test-tube baby.

In battles against interstellar pirates, once we board the enemy ship, we typically employ close-combat weapons such as laser swords, synthetic material knives, and boarding axes. This is because, in such situations, conventional ranged weapons like Gauss rifles and laser guns are prone to causing friendly fire, and thus are generally not used. However, similar to how some pirates in the Age of Exploration utilized firearms, there are occasions when these ranged weapons are still employed.