The night grew deeper, and at the international port of Georgetown on Great Tayman Island, the lights were blazing. If an [Eagle Spirit Warrior] were to transform into a mighty eagle and look down from the sky, one would be able to tell just by the brightness of the lights where in the Bantaan Archipelago the bustling and the backward lay. As a trade-free port, unrestricted in terms of identity and open to both legal and illegal businesses, this international port was even many times more lively than the royal ports of many countries. The only place that might compare was the Black Sails Harbor of the Bahama Archipelago's New Pirate City. However, compared to that poorly-managed, dirty, and chaotic "one of the most depraved places on the sea," the beautifully scenic and orderly international port was truly a heaven. Here, all kinds of white, grey, and black businesses thrived no less than in Black Sails Harbor, yet everything was clear-cut and well-organized. At night, the harbor area, teeming with offices of various major forces, virtually turned into a city that never slept.

At this moment, a team of Privateer Ships that had just returned from a mission docked at the port, guided by the bright lighthouse. The first batch of hard-struggling Colonizers felt it the most. That once dilapidated lighthouse, now resplendent after receiving an ample supply of Spices, seemed destined to grow ever more brilliant.

Aboard the privateer ships, besides the weary Privateering Pirates returning laden with loot after a day of hard plunder, were groups of armed taxation officers. These officers, affiliated with the Governor's Treasury and identifiable by the silver dragon head armbands signifying their official capacity, were also heading towards the harbor area, talking and laughing.

"Congratulations to Captain Ron on the sweet reward after toil," one said. "Not only did you complete this month's tax assessment task ahead of time, you've also acquired a bottle of [Angel's Kiss] and 5 grams of Spices, successfully awakening your Spirituality. From now on, you are one of the extraordinary Transcendents."

Full of envy, the team members ceaselessly congratulated their squad leader.

"This is also the result of your accumulated efforts, Captain, just lacking the final step," another chimed in. "If it were us, even with the right aptitude, it would be impossible to break through so quickly with such limited resources. But the path to Captain 721 Fission Mode is just ahead. We'll achieve it sooner or later."

Some team members were brimming with ambition, equally confident about their future.

"Captain, have you decided which Transcendent Sequence you want to pursue?" someone asked. "Our direct superior in the tax department is Miss Catherine, the [Mithril Dragon]. I heard that if you choose the Gold Sequence's [Golden Eye], [Pawnbroker], or [Treasure Guardian], there will be resource subsidies. It's also said that if you apply for a transfer to Torrent Fortress and switch to professions urgently needed by the company, like [Fortress Guard] or [Fortress Expert], you will also receive resource support. It's just that the initial training might be quite tough."

Not particularly tall but with a decidedly steady stride, Captain Ron listened to the tax officers' discussions with a smile on his face, occasionally chiming in. He was clearly well-loved. He had neatly trimmed, spirited red hair, and even his beard was cleanly shaved, exuding a strong military air from the inside out.

In fact, these men, led by Captain Ron, were the former Castilian Navy soldiers that Byron had rescued from the merchant ship. Because the warship they served on didn't want to pay their salaries, these sailors from various countries had been swapped for the crew of the merchant ship Teapot (Chapter 181). Had they not encountered Byron, they might have all become materials for the Black Sorcery [Shrink Head Spell] practiced by the second mate, ending up decapitated in a tragic fate. After being rescued by Byron, they joined the Pioneer Navigation Colonization Company's internal structure, specifically Catherine's Armed Tax Inspection Division. Everything was modeled after the "Royal Tax Inspection Bureau" inspection squad, which had just been eliminated by a flare. In terms of its system and the purity of its "armed inspection," it was even more genuine than its predecessor. They were specifically responsible for inspecting merchant ships on the east-west trade route. Those who hadn't paid taxes in advance would be boarded and taxed. Those who had paid would still be subjected to random checks to uphold justice for the sailors.

After some time, the Pioneer Pilot Company had built an excellent reputation among sailors. This further encouraged a large number of oppressed and skilled sailors to constantly seek ways to join the company's ranks.

The Privateer Fleet, unlike the formal armed groups of other official forces—which were mostly gold-devouring beasts that only consumed resources—possessed a significant advantage: it could actively generate profit. Furthermore, it operated on the Captain 721 Fission Mode, ensuring everyone from top to bottom earned together. The larger the scale, the more money was made. Referencing the industrial quadrants of cash cow, starving dog, star, and child, it was undoubtedly a "cash cow" business, raking in gold day after day.

"The Transcendent path I want to choose?" Ron mused. "I think I'll pick [Treasure Guardian]. Because every time Miss Catherine addresses the Armed Tax Inspection Division, she says her wallet inexplicably shrinks, and the tighter she holds onto gold, the faster it slips away. I think she might be missing a guard who can dutifully watch over the treasury!"

Although he hadn't heard of the saying that "the ultimate career path ends at the guardhouse," out of gratitude for the company and the Sea Hunter, this honest man still resolutely chose the profession that seemed to save him forty years of detours, all to protect the company's assets.

Just then, Ron suddenly twitched his nose, turning to look at an auction house by the roadside.

"Captain, what's wrong?"

Ron immediately grasped his Flintlock Musket on his shoulder and said sternly, "Alert! There's suddenly a strong scent of blood here!"