Zeff stood motionless, while Charles's face was ashen with despair.
Aramis held his katana against Charles's neck but refrained from delivering the killing blow. Instead, he turned to look at William.
William didn't even bother to stand. He remained seated in his chair, smirking coldly at Zeff. "Captain Zeff, do you still wish to continue this fight with us?"
Zeff's expression shifted unpredictably. He was certain that if he said "yes," William would give the order without hesitation, and Aramis would slit Charles's throat on the spot.
Zeff couldn't bring himself to watch one of his crew members die without doing anything. After a moment of silence, and just as Aramis pressed his blade harder against Charles's neck, drawing a thin line of blood, Zeff finally spoke. "Fine. I agree to a ceasefire between our crews."
William rose from his seat and walked over to Zeff. Ignoring the furious glares of the Cook Pirates, he raised his left palm and said, "Shall we seal this agreement with a handshake?"
Zeff, expressionless, slapped his hand against William's left palm. Then, as if disgusted, he wiped his hand on his shirt, as though William were filthy.
"Aramis!" William called out, smiling nonchalantly and without looking back.
Aramis, who had observed everything, moved his blade away from Charles's neck at William's signal. He gave Charles a shove, causing him to stagger back toward his crewmates.
"Captain, I..." Charles, full of shame, tried to apologize, but Zeff raised a hand to stop him. Several members of the Cook Pirates quickly helped Charles and clumsily tended to his wounds.
Zeff turned to William and said in a deep voice, "Aren't you afraid I'll go back on my word?"
"If you do, it'll just mean resuming the fight. Do you think I'd be scared?" William smirked. "And if that happens, the only one who'll lose face is you."
William wasn't particularly worried about Zeff or his Cook Pirates. He simply didn't want unnecessary conflict interfering with his future plans. Moreover, he had a specific strategy in mind for the next step. If Zeff were to break the truce, it would only be his own disgrace.
Zeff snorted coldly, casually greeted Dampier, and then led his crew out of the meeting room in a huff.
Watching the angry pirates leave, Dampier turned to William with a displeased expression. "It seems I've lost a major client because of you. I thought you came here to negotiate a ceasefire with Zeff, not to humiliate him."
"I brought plenty of wine ashore this time. You can send someone to my ship later to fetch some for your bar," William said dismissively, waving his hand. "Besides, I achieved peace through struggle. Retreating or showing weakness would never have brought peace—it would only have led to further bullying."
What William didn't say was that, as a new captain, he had no intention of showing weakness to outsiders. Doing so would only undermine his authority among his crew.
Dampier scoffed. "A few bottles of wine? Do you think that's enough to make up for my losses?"
"Then how about my designs?" William sat back down in his chair, smiling.
Hearing this, Dampier's expression grew complicated. He pulled out a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it. The paper was covered in strange sketches. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that the drawings depicted firearms and their components. To someone like William, who was a transmigrator, it was obvious that these were designs for a revolver and a bolt-action rifle.
This design was the key reason Dampier, who had only met William once before, agreed to act as the intermediary to invite Zeff.
To call it a "design" was a bit of a stretch. In truth, William had little expertise in firearms. His knowledge came mostly from the internet and movies in his previous life. As a result, the drawings were full of scribbles and omissions, especially for minor components. However, the critical structures, such as the revolver's cylinder and the integrated bullet design—combining the projectile, propellant, casing, and primer—were clearly outlined.
From a professional perspective, the quality of the drawing was laughable, akin to something a kindergartener might produce. Most transmigrators with thinner skin would be too embarrassed to show such a crude sketch to anyone. But William, with his thick-skinned confidence, not only presented the design but did so with an air of pride.
Though Dampier had already reviewed the design, he couldn't help but glance at the crude sketches again. He said flatly, "This drawing itself isn't worth much. The true value lies in the creativity of the designer, which is indeed remarkable."
Historically, it would take over a decade before Luffy and his crew encountered the Baroque Works agent Mr. 5, who wielded a revolver—a new weapon imported from the South Blue. At this point in time, such a weapon concept was still highly innovative in the East Blue.
"You flatter me," William replied without a hint of modesty, readily accepting the compliment.
"However," Dampier changed his tone, shaking the design in his hand, "this is just an idea, a concept at best. To create a functional prototype would require extensive experimentation and research. Only after producing a working model could we determine its actual effectiveness."
William's smile faded. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the meeting table, and locked eyes with Dampier. "I don't believe for a second that you can't see the value of this design or the potential of these new weapons, even before a prototype is made."
"I'm a researcher, but I'm also a businessman," Dampier replied calmly. Having witnessed William kill Barbarossa and take control of his crew, Dampier knew William was now a Pivotal Figure in the East Blue. He wasn't foolish enough to try and steal the design and cut ties. He was simply being pragmatic. "As a researcher, I can see the immense value in this design. But as a businessman, I have to consider the costs of development and experimentation, as well as market conditions that could impact the final product's success. You should remember that my earlier attempt to market a repeating musket didn't sell well."
"In that case, I have a better idea," William said, leaning back in his chair and smiling again.
"Oh? What is it?"
"Let me invest capital and this..." William tapped his temple with his index finger. "Let me become a shareholder in your arms business!"
Months later, as autumn arrived and the weather began to cool, the hearts of the pirates in the East Blue burned with excitement.
This was the season of harvest. For farmers, the goal was to reap the crops in their fields. For pirates, it was to plunder the wealth that hardworking civilians had painstakingly accumulated.
In Black Reef Town, the tavern owner Mary held her daughter Isha's hand as they ran with the crowd toward the outskirts of town.
The mother and daughter's faces were pale, both from the exertion of running and the terror of the pirates' arrival.
Two years ago, Black Reef Town had suffered a pirate attack, so its residents were somewhat experienced in dealing with such situations. Under the mayor's direction, women and children were sent to hide outside the town, while the men armed themselves with crude weapons to protect their loved ones if necessary.
Yes, only if necessary—and only to protect their families, not their homes.
Most of the town's young men had been killed or injured in the previous attack. Those who couldn't bear the hardship of rebuilding had left, leaving even boys as young as thirteen or fourteen to shoulder the responsibility of defending the women and children. Their youthful faces were tense as they gripped blacksmith-forged swords and scanned their surroundings warily. Everyone knew they couldn't protect their homes from the pirates' weapons. Painfully, they had to make sacrifices.
The advent of the Great Pirate Era affected not just pirates and Marines but the entire world.
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