At night, the ship of the newly renamed Morgan Pirates dropped anchor by an unknown island.
The crew didn't understand why William, who had been going by the alias "Stolte," had chosen such a name for the pirate band. But since William was now captain, they could only obey.
William, however, knew well enough. For a bunch of uneducated, roughneck pirates, the depth or elegance of a name hardly mattered. What mattered most was something direct and obvious, something that highlighted the captain's identity. William cared deeply about this. He believed it was the simplest way to subtly increase his authority and influence over his men.
Since he didn't yet have a bounty or a feared nickname like "Redbeard," he simply used his own surname, naming the group the Morgan Pirates. It was, after all, the most common naming practice among pirates.
Inside a cramped cabin, dim lamplight flickered. The first mate, Felton, and the ship's helmsman, Diego, were drinking together. Their eyes were glazed, their faces flushed; no one knew how long they had been at it. Their only snack was peanuts, rather meager fare for men who were supposed to be the second-in-command on the ship.
Felton downed a mouthful of liquor and slammed a peanut shell onto the table, cursing:
"Damn brats! They've just boarded and already think they run the place, just because they're clinging to Stolte's leg. I invite you to drink, and when I ask for something from the kitchen, that little punk Nadal has the nerve to say, 'Need to ask the captain first!'"
After William became captain, he hadn't immediately overhauled the crew's structure. Felton still carried the title of first mate, but everyone knew it was in name only. His days in that seat were numbered.
Diego, the helmsman, was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, one of the ship's veterans. He had short brown hair, a stocky build, and callused hands. He took his cup, downed it without hesitation, and refilled it without bothering to reply to Felton's grumbling.
Felton cursed in his heart, though he kept his expression in check. With a slurred tongue, he pressed on:
"I swear, this ship is getting unbearable. A bunch of greenhorns who barely joined have flipped the whole order upside down, pressing us veterans into the dirt. It's damn unfair."
Diego chewed on a peanut, unfazed.
"New blood always climbs by stepping on the old. Wasn't it the same with Barbarossa back in the day?"
"And why the hell should we let them climb over us?" Felton muttered, hinting at something more.
"He doesn't need to climb over you. He already cut down Barbarossa himself. And even if he did, what could you do? If Barbarossa could fall, what chance do we have?" Diego exhaled, a note of unwillingness in his tone.
Felton curled his lip in disdain.
"He just pulled a cheap trick. Barbarossa was weak against fire, and William shows up with a burning hot blade. What's so impressive about that?"
Diego sneered. Felton flushed red, though the alcohol and the dim light hid it well enough. Both of them knew perfectly well Felton was only belittling William out of spite. So what if Barbarossa feared fire? Felton knew it too. Would he have dared face that giant head-on?
The Redbeard brothers had been described many times before: burly as bears, their sheer size alone was intimidating. Even without a Devil Fruit, Barbarossa's raw strength wasn't something a man like Felton could ever challenge.
Felton knew Diego wouldn't buy his excuses, so he shifted the topic.
"Forget the rest. But the Devil Fruit from the Swordfish Pirates, he never brought it back. He must've kept it for himself. A hundred million berries' worth. Barbarossa said that was supposed to be split among the crew. Why should he eat it all? If he can't deal fairly now, who's going to believe he'll ever surpass Barbarossa?"
At the mention of one hundred million berries, Diego smacked his lips with regret.
"So what are you getting at?"
Seeing Diego's reaction, Felton pressed harder.
"My point is, once we reach shore, we ditch this wreck. You're the helmsman, and you've got that knife-throwing skill. I've still got plenty of men loyal to me. Add a few more veterans, and we'd have strength, experience, and talent. Anywhere we go, we'd be welcomed as honored guests. Better than taking orders from a pack of snot-nosed kids."
He grinned smugly.
"Let him play captain with his little followers. I can't wait to see his face when he realizes he can't even sail the ship without us!"
Diego gave a thin smile, but no firm answer.
Felton didn't like that. He pushed and pushed, but Diego never gave ground. Finally, in frustration, Felton left, taking his bottle and peanuts with him.
Once he was gone, Diego drained his last cup, even tilting it to catch the dregs, unwilling to waste a drop. He set the cup down with a thud and muttered with contempt:
"Idiot."
He recalled William's speech on the bow three days ago. That had been his true unveiling. The earlier clash with Zepp, the subtle ways he had won men over, none of that compared.
Diego could swear, had anyone dared voice even the faintest objection that day, William would have slaughtered half the crew without blinking. He had already killed Barbarossa, the biggest obstacle on the ship. There was no way he'd tolerate dissent now. His killing intent had been plain for all to see. Even Felton, who hated him, hadn't dared breathe a word.
From the balance of power, William wasn't weak either. Cro had sided with him, Harden too. A few older pirates still friendly with him, and Nadal leading the newcomers.
That day, the whole crew was present. And when William publicly asked if anyone objected, no one spoke. That silence was as good as recognition. William was captain by default.
On a pirate ship, talk of "legitimacy" might sound laughable. But in truth, the heart of the crew mattered just the same.
Felton was still officially first mate, still William's subordinate. To sneak around recruiting men before they'd even reached land, that was handing William the excuse to crush him.
Word always leaks. Felton couldn't possibly keep it to just Diego. Someone would carry it to William sooner or later.
Diego figured better him than someone else. Why let another man take the credit of exposing a traitor, when he could claim it himself?
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