The deck of the Jackdaw was a mess of broken crates, scattered ropes, and some unconscious pirates drooling onto the wooden planks.
The remaining invaders scrambled like cockroaches when the lights flicked on, leaping overboard in blind panic or retreating to their ship with the kind of speed that suggested they'd just remembered an urgent appointment elsewhere.
Their captain, Malko, remained crumpled on the deck, still knocked out cold from Gale's casual slap, his grand dreams of a dramatic battle reduced to a very un-grand snoring session.
Gale, stretching like a man waking up from the world's longest nap, unsheathed his rapier and made his way toward the bound crew. He didn't rush. There was no urgency. It was the kind of leisurely pace one took when deciding whether or not to hit snooze on an alarm clock.
Jack, watching the retreating pirates with barely restrained irritation, let out a growl. "Pick your weapons, men!" he barked, his voice still hoarse from the rag they'd stuffed in his mouth earlier. "Capture those miscreants!"
Before any of the weary sailors could so much as grab a cutlass, Gale lazily waved a hand. "Nah, there's no need." He yawned mid-sentence, rubbing one eye before glancing at the horizon where the sun had just begun its climb.
"They might have interrupted my sleep…" He smacked his lips, as if still savoring whatever dream he'd been having, before exhaling in resignation. "But it's about time I woke up anyway."
Jack, still rubbing his raw wrists from the ropes, shot him a flat look. "That's not why I want them captured, lad."
Gale tilted his head. "Oh? What could possibly be more important than my sleep?"
Jack's eyebrows twitched dangerously.
A vein in his forehead pulsed in what was definitely a prelude to either a stroke or homicide. "I don't know, maybe the fact that they boarded our ship, tied us up, and tried to rob us blind?"
He sucked in a sharp breath before waving a hand in exhausted defeat. "Forget it. Just let them go. My men are too exhausted to chase after them anyway."
Gale grinned, twirling his rapier once before sheathing it. "Smart decision. Besides, chasing pirates first thing in the morning? Sounds like a great way to start a bad day."
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is already a bad day."
"Then my point stands."
Jack groaned. His patience, much like the Jackdaw's neatly coiled ropes before the pirate attack, was unraveling at a dangerous speed.
Gale, either blissfully unaware or completely indifferent to Jack's mounting blood pressure, hummed to himself as he stepped over unconscious Lars, making his way toward Captain Malko's crumpled form.
The man was still out cold, his face plastered against the wooden deck in a way that suggested he'd be waking up with a particularly nasty crick in his neck—assuming he woke up at all.
With an air of casual curiosity, Gale crouched beside him and began rifling through the pockets of his gaudy, patched-up coat. The man smelled like cheap rum and even cheaper cologne, which, when mixed with the scent of sea salt and sweat, created an aroma that could probably be classified as a biohazard.
After a few moments of rummaging, Gale pulled out a revolver and raised an eyebrow. 'Well, that's interesting.'
For a moment, he simply stared at it. It wasn't like he'd never seen a gun before, but in this world? Advanced firearms were rare, mostly in the hands of Marines or particularly well-equipped bounty hunters and famous pirates.
His mind flicked through his memories of One Piece, landing on a particularly ridiculous character—Mr. 5. That guy had a revolver too, claiming it was from the South Blue.
Of course, Gale didn't remember him ever actually using it in a meaningful way, since his main gimmick was weaponizing explosive boogers—which, even now, was a sentence Gale had trouble believing.
Still, the revolver was an intriguing piece.
He flicked it to the side, releasing the chamber. Six bullets, fully loaded.
No room for more.
Huh.
A thought occurred to him—could he use his power on the bullets? Maybe increase their density just before it took flight to hit harder? Or perhaps manipulate the gunpowder inside the shells to make the shots stronger?
'I should do some tests later. Wouldn't want to accidentally blow my own hand off.'
Satisfied for now, he stood up, twirling the revolver in his hand before tucking it into his belt. He then turned to Jack, who was still glaring at the retreating pirates as if sheer willpower could drag them back onto the ship and force them into a fair fight.
"So," Gale said, motioning toward the still-unconscious Malko with his foot. "What are you going to do with this idiot? Throw him into the sea? Maybe make him walk the plank?"
Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. "We don't have a plank."
"Really? You're a merchant captain, and you don't have a plank? I thought that was standard ship decor."
"We have cargo ramps. Does that count?"
"I suppose, but it lacks a certain dramatic flair." Gale made a dismissive wave. "Then how about--."
Jack exhaled sharply, likely counting backward from ten in his head. "We are not making him walk the cargo ramp."
"Pity. Would've been funny."
Jack shrugged, watching his men regain their footing after the brief but chaotic scuffle. "Probably," he admitted. "But alas, we're not savages."
Gale gave him a skeptical glance. "Speak for yourself. I was totally ready to make him do the plank walk, sorry I mean the cargo ramp...."
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose before explaining, "Proper procedure is to toss captured pirates in the brig and hand them over to the nearest Marine branch."
Gale yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "Sounds like a pain in the ass."
Jack shot him a look. "Perhaps, but as luck would have it, Captain Malko Whatever-Beard here isn't just some random idiot with a dinghy and a dream—he actually commands a rather organized crew."
Gale tilted his head, curiosity piqued. "Really? Didn't seem very organized when they were running for their lives."
Jack ignored him, merely clearing his throat before continuing, "Which means there might be a handsome bounty for turning him in."
He gave Gale a meaningful look, the kind that said do the math. "So unless you intend to figuratively hurl a sack full of your own hard-earned cash into the sea, I suggest we hold on to him for now."
For a moment, Gale just stood there, processing. Then, like a candle being lit in a dark room, his expression changed. A wide grin stretched across his face, his eyes lighting up at the mention of money.
He'll get some for defending Jack's ship from the pirate attack, but the more he had, the better.
"Now that you mention it… we can't just disregard due procedure like that, can we?"
Jack gave him a dry look. "Ah yes, your sudden and deeply held concern for due process."
Gale chuckled. He wasn't particularly greedy for money, but truth be told, he had practically nothing to his name.
When he left Torino Island, all he had were a few furs, some medicinal supplies, and the clothes on his back. If he wanted to avoid starving and sleeping in some dingy alleyway the moment he set foot on land again, he needed money.
And what better way to earn some than cashing in a loudmouth pirate?
He turned to Malko, now drooling slightly into the wooden deck. "Yeah, you're gonna be worth something, right?"
The pirate captain remained unconscious, unhelpfully silent on the matter.
...
Several days later...
The Jackdaw glided into port, its sails fluttering as the bustling city of Marcellum—the capital of Centaurea—came into view. Even from the ship, Gale could already tell the place was a beast of a city, ancient and grand, yet built on a foundation of blood and sweat.
Towering marble structures loomed in the distance, their facades gleaming under the noon sun, while massive bronze statues of warriors and past rulers stood guard over the city like silent sentinels.
Near the coastline, however, the city told a very different story. The docks were alive—but not in a lively, cheerful way. It was a chaotic mess of laborers hauling cargo, merchants haggling like their lives depended on it, and beggars eyeing passing travelers with desperate gazes.
The smell of salt, fish, and unwashed bodies mixed unpleasantly in the air, like a mystery stew that would make even a starving dog scowl and turn his nose away.
As the ship pulled into the harbor, Captain Jack stretched his arms and exhaled. "Well, here we are. Centaurea."
"Feels welcoming," Gale said dryly, watching a couple of dock workers get into a fistfight over what looked like a single loaf of bread.
Jack smirked. "You'd fit right in."
The moment the Jackdaw was secured, the crew began unloading cargo while a few of Jack's men dragged a still-tied-up Malko and the handful of captured pirates onto the docks.
Malko, finally conscious again, groaned as he struggled against the ropes. "This is humiliating…"
Jack ignored him and turned to Gale. "Listen, I still owe you for helping us out back there, and I'm good for my word. But I've got business to handle first—need to complete my deliveries and settle a few deals, you know, get my accounts straight..."
Gale shrugged. "Take your time. I'm not in a rush." His gaze flickered toward Malko. "For now, I'll just live off whatever bounty this guy might have. If he even has one."
Malko growled. "If? Of course I have a bounty, you little—"
One of Jack's men promptly smacked him on the head.
Jack grinned. "That's the spirit. My men'll show you the way to the local Marine branch. They're not exactly friendly around here, but they'll pay up if your guy's worth anything."
Gale gave him a lazy salute. "Great. If they try to scam me, I'll just start yelling about due process again."
Jack chuckled. "You do that. Someone might even wait until you're finished before shooing you away...."
With that, Gale turned and followed the crew members dragging Malko and his men toward the Marine headquarters. As he walked through the city, he took it all in—the clear divide between the rich and the poor.
The upper city, where the elites lived, loomed in the distance, a fortress of opulence and power. Massive stone walls separated it from the rest of Marcellum, and behind them, grand mansions with towering pillars and golden roofs glistened under the sun.
The strong and wealthy lived like kings, indulging in luxuries that most people in the lower city could only dream of.
Meanwhile, the lower city—where Gale now walked—was a different world entirely. Cracked stone roads, crowded slums, and market stalls that looked ready to collapse at any moment. People here scraped by, surviving however they could.
Gladiators-in-training sparred in the streets, desperate to earn a spot in the famous Marcellum Colosseum, where victories brought riches and honor and losses often meant death.
"Hell of a place," Gale muttered to himself, stepping over a pile of questionable-looking garbage heap in the street.
One of Jack's men chuckled. "Welcome to Marcellum. If you're strong, you live like a king. If you're weak… well, you don't live long."
Gale smirked. "Sounds like every other place in this world... just with more statues."
And with that, they continued their march toward the Marine outpost, dragging their unwilling cargo behind them.
...
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