Axel
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Chapter 300: Charlot Mecklenburg, You Let Your Guard Down
🕑 Added 2025-03-04 16:10:01 +0000 UTCMenielman Soumet’s heart was filled with surging emotions. When she was sent to the Imperial Navy, she knew it would be a challenging journey. She was also aware that, due to Zimourman Axel Robin, she had become a thorn in the side of many noble families who had lost their sons. Menielman had mentally prepared herself for the difficulties ahead.
But she had never imagined that her dire situation would unexpectedly turn around because of a casual favor she had offered to a junior schoolmate.
Back then, when Charlot Mecklenburg told her he was about to be promoted, Menielman knew he was lying. Nevertheless, she gave him a small opportunity. As the First Rose of the Empire, she didn’t expect much in return for this modest gesture of kindness.
At most, he would be another young admirer.
Menielman had never lacked admirers.
But she never expected to encounter a young man who could rival Zimourman Axel Robin—an individual so exceptional that even the harshest standards could not find fault in him.
When Charlot said, “Menielman, senior sister, please allow me to present you with a little surprise,” she momentarily thought she was looking at someone she never wanted to see again—that man.
Charlot’s eyes lacked Zimourman’s rebellious arrogance but were equally filled with wisdom and confidence. At times, there was even a subtle trace of aloof indifference, as though nothing in the world could truly faze him.
This was the hallmark of a transmigrator.
Every transmigrator carried an innate psychological advantage over the "natives," regardless of whether the latter were heroes, famed beauties, kings, or even evil gods.
Menielman could not comprehend this transcendent “indifference” that exceeded earthly bounds.
Charlot casually offered her a magical alchemical warship.
It wasn’t for show, nor was it to flaunt his elegance—he genuinely didn’t care about the ship.
Even Zimourman Axel Robin, in his heyday, might not have been capable of such disregard.
Menielman took a deep breath, suppressing her emotions with reason, and said, “I do need it. Thank you, my dear junior.”
Charlot smiled faintly and was about to hand over the ship’s magical restriction codes when Menielman added with a subtle air, “But are you sure you want to name it Imperial Rose?”
“Not Queen Anne?”
Charlot was instantly flustered.
He awkwardly replied, “Senior sister, you must be joking.”
Charlot had, indeed, considered giving Annie Mecklenburg a grand gift, but Annie was clearly not in a position to accept something like this yet.
Charlot could easily guess that if he gifted a magical alchemical warship, it would undoubtedly end up in Earl Bretagne’s hands. Moreover, he urgently needed Menielman’s full support, while Earl Bretagne would prioritize his family’s interests.
A transmigrator calculates benefits over emotions.
Their precarious existence doesn’t allow for sentimentality.
Menielman smiled faintly and said, “Like my cousin Dolores Soumet, I sometimes enjoy seeing others squirm.”
“Charlot Mecklenburg, you’ve let your guard down!”
Charlot’s cheeks flushed faintly red—he actually felt slightly embarrassed.
...
Herolf, the leader of the Golden Rams Fleet, watched from afar as the Imperial Rose joined Menielman’s fleet. His heart bled. Obtaining that magical alchemical warship had been no easy feat for him. While it was inferior to the Queen Bee, it was still his most prized possession.
He had thought his position was unshakeable—with an impregnable island stronghold, two magical warships, tens of thousands of followers, and the implicit respect of even the Ingrima Empire. Many Imperial Navy officers were secretly in league with him.
But Herolf never imagined that his power would crumble in an instant.
First, the Queen Bee was stolen. He deeply regretted his negligence, realizing he shouldn’t have stayed on Saint Michael Island and left the transaction on Britain Island to his subordinates. After all, it had been a routine deal, one they had done countless times. Who could have anticipated such a disaster?
Then, Menielman lured him into losing his main fleet. Although it pained him, he had believed that as long as he returned to Saint Michael Island, he could quickly rebuild his forces. Little did he expect that the island city had been thoroughly plundered.
Even the ruthless Van Gogh Clan wouldn’t go to such extremes.
And now, even his last magical alchemical warship had been seized.
When Herolf saw Menielman rise into the air, her body radiating with the glow of a magical array, he felt the stark reality of the warship’s transfer of ownership. Tears streamed down his face.
It was both agony and despair.
This pirate lord, who had once dominated the Aggras Sea, had never been in such a dire state.
Clenching his fists, he murmured, “I still have Saint Michael Island!”
“As long as Saint Michael Island remains under my control, no one in this world can truly defeat me. Give me a few years, and I will rebuild the Golden Rams Fleet.”
“Menielman, Charlot—you treacherous couple. Just wait. I will have my revenge.”
...
Herolf returned to the first level of Saint Michael City. Drowning his sorrows in alcohol, he awoke the next day with a faint sense of unease but brushed it aside and drank more.
Seven or eight days later, he suddenly shouted, “Why is there no more wine?” Only silence greeted him.
Herolf stepped outside, only to find the entire first level of Saint Michael City eerily empty. There wasn’t a single soul left.
A chill ran down his spine. Sobering up instantly, he took to the air and surveyed the island. Sure enough, it was completely deserted. It finally dawned on him—over the past few days, all his men had fled.
Without ships, even transcendent beings couldn’t cross the ocean unaided.
But not far from the island, a fleet hovered. Most pirates were adept swimmers, and even those who weren’t could improvise with floating debris to reach the fleet and surrender to the enemy.
Menielman hesitated about accepting these surrendering pirates. While they were elite fighters and included dozens of transcendent individuals, their unruly nature posed a constant risk of rebellion, potentially destabilizing her fleet.
Balancing old and new subordinates had always been a challenging task.
Sabastine, observing Menielman’s hesitation, suggested leaving the matter to Charlot. His handling of recruits during their last integration had been swift and effective, proving his talent in such affairs.
Charlot, meanwhile, had been enjoying a relatively relaxed few days, spending his time in seclusion, honing his skills, and delving into Agmirlas’s Labyrinth. His goal was to achieve yet another breakthrough, but he hadn’t expected to have a new challenge dropped into his lap.
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