On the lookout platform of the Moby Dick, Marco's hands trembled violently as he gripped the telescope.
"Even at that extreme distance… one shot, one kill!"
"And… hitting the enemy's ammo hold exactly?"
"No—it's not chance. This… is astonishing foresight!"
"Vice-Captain's Observation Domain has reached heights human minds cannot grasp!"
Shock, exhilaration, fervor—his emotions raced. Adrenaline surged.
He felt an urge to charge at the Navy ships and unleash his reckless passion there.
---
On the bridge of Skull Ton, McGuy also watched the damage inflicted on the Navy fleet through his clear telescopic lens.
He'd nearly wet himself when the flagship made that bizarre hard-left maneuver to "catch" the shell.
Previously, he'd grudgingly licked the deck himself—fear of Vice-Captain's unknown might, plain and simple.
But now?
He was genuinely convinced.
The more convinced he was, the more terrified he felt about his previous boasts.
"With the Vice-Captain commanding the cannons… he turns rust into wonders!"
"One flagship's front cannon alone produced that result."
"So what if it's all 48 ships, coordinated under his command? The firepower coverage would be… unimaginable!"
Countless scenarios flashed through McGuy's mind. The vision was intoxicating—he literally trembled with excitement.
"If that kind of naval warfare were possible, being a part of it would be the greatest honor and pleasure in life!"
---
The Whitebeard fleet began their final acceleration.
Across the water, the Navy's 30 warships cut in at a visible angle.
The pirates—48 in total—adjusted course slightly off the wind, keeping pace and closing distance.
They were essentially parallel, moving in formation—but the gap was shrinking fast.
---
Though outnumbered in training and discipline, the allied pirate captains weren't hopeful.
"Close-range cannon duels are not our strength. This is where things get dangerous."
The Navy's fleet fight in tight formation and their cannon capabilities—range, density, rate of fire—they were on another level.
Pirates excelled at boarding maneuvers.
Their only real chance was to close the distance and engage in melee combat.
---
All eyes of the allied captains turned toward the Moby Dick.
Without flag signals, they wouldn't know what to do next.
But Vice-Captain Roya remained composed.
---
"Left rudder, 7 degrees."
The helmsman repeated calmly, and the ship slowly swung left.
Conventional wisdom said that this would increase cannon exposure to enemy fire…
But after witnessing that one miraculous shell shot, everyone treated Roya's orders like gospel truth.
If he told them to uproot the rudder and devour it, they'd do it without hesitation.
Nearly fifty ships mirrored the 7° turn.
---
On the Navy flagship, Bastille smiled in relief as his lookout reported:
"As I thought—the Whitebeard fleet has turned command over to that rookie Vice-Captain."
"That shell was just beginner's luck, nothing more!"
"They're trying to cross our bow for a flanking approach."
He scoffed. Eyeing the fleet, he commanded:
"All ships—right rudder, 10 degrees!"
"Starboard batteries, load and stand by!"
His signals cascaded rapidly. Thirty ships readied for full engagement.
---
Dalmatian stood by, expression grim.
He didn't argue—Bastille had fleet-combat experience, and given the losses, they needed a decisive strike to save face.
---
Roya, however, immediately issued a new command:
"Left rudder, 10 degrees!"
"Full sail, maximum speed! Oars at the ready—prepare to row!"
At once, the fleet surged like a glimmering row of sea dragons.
From the gunports of the five largest ships, long oars slapped the water in unison—wings shaping them into swift beasts of war.
---
But this time, the captains of the allied pirate fleet hesitated.
"Another 10° left turn?"
"At this speed and heading, we'll walk right into their cannon fire!"
"If we use rowers for a sudden push, we lose maneuverability—and risk being cut down mid-bow!"
"Enough of this rookie nav dramatics!"
They refused to follow blindly.
Ships split:
Some held course.
Some right-turned back parallel to the Navy.
Only two stayed with the flagship: Squard and McGuy.
One was the sword-servant; the other fully dedicated at a cellular level.
The rest pulled out.
---
Bastille's lookout reported this shift.
He roared with triumph:
"See that, Dalmatian? That is the true nature of pirates!"
"A rabble of backstabbers—who would dare to stand tall before me?!"
He glared and commanded:
"All ships—open fire!"
"Take down Whitebeard's flagship!"
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