"What's going on?" Norrington asked.
"Well..." Turner had just opened his mouth when Morin interrupted.
"He's a pirate," Morin said, pointing at Yuris, who was still lying on the ground, barely able to move.
Turner looked at Morin in shock.
He had expected Morin to rely on money, status, or authority to resolve this.
He hadn't expected this.
To people of this era, pirates were the embodiment of evil. Robbery. Murder. Chaos.
Anyone confirmed as a wanted pirate would be hanged without exception.
Turner's thoughts raced.
The most likely outcome?
Morin would bribe the garrison and have Yuris labeled a pirate.
Wasn't that how all wealthy nobles operated in stories?
Still, Turner chose to stay silent and see what Morin intended to do.
"Not just him," Morin continued, pointing at the six or seven men who had brought Norrington and the garrison over earlier.
"Including them. All pirates."
"Nonsense!"
"That's slander!"
"Outright slander!"
The group exploded instantly, shouting and cursing.
"Sir," Norrington said slowly, looking at them, "are you certain?"
"Slander is a crime. If you're fabricating this, I'll punish you as well."
"You can bring the wanted posters and compare them one by one," Morin replied calmly.
"I have a good memory."
"A man on an island called Hawaii once taught me some memory techniques. Since then, I don't forget faces I've seen."
Norrington glanced at Yuris on the ground.
"Then how did you recognize this gentleman?"
"Those features," Morin said casually.
"I wouldn't forget them."
"Seeing the essence through the surface."
He paused.
"Have someone bring water. Wash their faces. Shave their beards."
Norrington thought for a moment.
"...Go fetch all pirate wanted posters," he ordered his adjutant.
"And bring water and razors."
Morin's tone made him believe him-at least partially.
And there was no harm in checking.
If they really caught pirates, that would be a merit worth recording.
"This is slander!" a few of the men panicked visibly.
"We'll find out soon enough," Morin said, raising an eyebrow.
"If you're innocent, why are you so nervous?"
"I don't care!" someone shouted.
"You're trying to bribe them and frame us!"
"Let's go!"
"Stop."
Suspicion flickered in Norrington's eyes.
Their reactions were strange.
Now that Morin had pointed it out, the bearded faces in front of him looked increasingly familiar.
And increasingly guilty.
"I guarantee," Norrington said loudly, turning to the surrounding onlookers,
"that everyone may watch this process. There will be no favoritism. No bribery."
These spectators weren't the laborers Morin had hired.
They were townspeople drawn by the commotion.
In an era with almost no entertainment, even a small disturbance could spread across the entire town.
As for the hired laborers, they had already resumed working.
None of them even considered running.
Morin crushing a stone into powder with his bare hands had left too deep an impression.
Coupled with the rumors calling him a devil or demon, his image had only grown more terrifying.
Whether demon or not, he clearly knew magic.
Otherwise, how could anyone explain crushing stone barehanded?
When Morin said, I've remembered your faces, they took it as a magical mark.
Running now would be suicide.
"Resist," Norrington ordered coldly, "and I'll treat it as an attempt to escape justice."
"My men will shoot you dead."
The garrison raised their muskets in unison.
"If you're innocent, I'll apologize, have Mr. Morin compensate you, and punish him."
Morin leaned toward Turner and whispered.
"Did you notice?"
"Notice what?" Turner asked, confused.
"If you hadn't accepted my recruitment," Morin said calmly,
"then unless something unexpected happened, even if Elizabeth likes you now, she'd eventually fall for someone else."
Turner froze.
"Norrington has strong professional integrity. Even I admit he's steady and decisive."
"Elizabeth likes you now because she's young. Rebellious. Dissatisfied with her father's arrangements."
"And you're her childhood friend."
"That kind of liking is temporary."
"If you want it to last," Morin said evenly,
"you'll need to learn many things. Do you understand?"
"I... I think so," Turner said hesitantly.
"But... why are you helping me so much?"
"First," Morin replied,
"you've agreed to work at my pub. As the owner, my employees' moral character and personal happiness fall under my jurisdiction."
"If you were single, I might even arrange dates for you."
"Since you already like someone, I'll help you win her and keep her."
"And second..."
Morin paused.
"Norrington is too old."
"Huh?" Turner was completely lost.
"He's nearly forty," Morin clicked his tongue.
"Elizabeth is around your age. That's a twenty-year gap."
"He's been cultivating her for over twenty years."
"That's terrifying."
"We can't let a creepy old man succeed. Even if he's a good person."
"..."
Turner had no rebuttal.
Uncomfortably, he realized part of him agreed.
Some distance away, Norrington suddenly felt a chill.
He glanced around, frowning, unable to pinpoint why.
Soon, soldiers arrived with water, razors, and a large box of wanted posters.
"No! This is our tribal custom!"
"Washing and shaving brings misfortune!"
The six or seven men panicked.
Even Yuris, barely conscious, began wailing about traditions, curses, and death.
Norrington ignored them.
"Proceed."
Faces were washed. Beards shaved.
Their true appearances emerged.
A little weight. Darker skin. Thick facial hair.
Remove them, and people looked completely different.
Time was a pig-slaughtering knife.
Add fat. Add beard. Add darker complexion.
Critical hit.
The men before them weren't that extreme-but unrecognizable enough.
"Interesting," Norrington murmured, comparing posters.
"Yours. Yours. Yours."
"Pirates. From ten years ago."
"That was ten years ago!" someone shouted.
"A pirate for a day is a pirate for life," Norrington replied.
"And you've all committed murder."
He stepped toward the last man.
"...Why hasn't his beard been shaved?"
Yuris.
"Report," a soldier said stiffly.
"It was shaved earlier."
"It grew back."
"...It grew back?"
Norrington stared.
"You're telling me a beard like this grows back in minutes?"
"That... is what happened."
"I told you!" Yuris shouted desperately.
"Only the bravest receive the Beard God's blessing!"
"These beards symbolize courage!"
"Then let's see how brave you are," Norrington said coldly.
He ordered another shave.
The razor cut clean.
And the beard regrew.
Visibly.
"Continue," Norrington said calmly.
Like shearing sheep-eventually, there would be nothing left.
"There's no need," Morin finally spoke.
"I know what this is."
Norrington turned.
"What is it?"
"A curse," Morin said, stepping forward with interest.
"Not courage. Not divine blessing."
The crowd instinctively backed away at the word curse.
"It feeds on vitality. If you continue, you'll drain him until he becomes a skeleton."
"Look closely," Morin added.
"He's already thinner."
Now that it was mentioned, everyone saw it.
"If this curse existed in later times," Morin thought,
"and could be lifted freely, it'd probably be very popular."
"You're lying!" Yuris shouted.
Only Morin saw the deeper changes beneath the beard.
That's when he confirmed it was a curse.
He extended his magic and sensed it.
"...This world's curses are structured differently," Morin thought.
"They don't emit fluctuations unless activated."
The structure was complex.
He couldn't fully understand it immediately.
Different magic systems.
Even he wasn't cheating.
So he memorized it.
Perfectly.
Understanding could come later.
Between studying a curse model and studying a bearded brute, the choice was obvious.
There was also another reason.
Morin wanted Yuris punished quickly.
Earlier words-though unintelligible-had clearly been filth.
Morin was tolerant.
But only toward good people.
Tolerating evil wasn't kindness.
It was stupidity.
"On that Hawaiian island," Morin said lightly, snapping his fingers,
"I learned some curse-breaking methods."
Invisible magic surged, collapsing a key node.
Dominoes fell.
"...And?" Norrington asked, confused.
"It's resolved," Morin replied.
"Shave him again."
"Solved just like that?" Norrington doubted.
"I never lie."
Morin turned and walked away.
"I'll check on my pub renovation. The rest is yours, Commodore."
This time, the beard didn't grow back.
Comparison confirmed it.
Yuris wasn't Yuris.
He was Ricks Havell.
A pirate.
Morin didn't care about the crowd's shock or the spreading rumors.
His objectives were complete.
Pirates captured.
Trust established with the garrison.
Free advertising.
Better than any planned promotion.
Afterward, Morin returned to routine.
Supervising renovation.
Buying nearby houses for wineries.
Preparing raw materials.
Brewing wine.
The knowledge he carried finally became useful.
The first wine sold would be imported stock.
Compared to local brews, the impact was inevitable.
Turner focused entirely on forging the ceremonial sword.
He refused all other work.
Not by quitting.
But by claiming full dedication to Weatherby Swann's request.
Different words.
Different outcome.
Compensation.
Guilt.
Advice from Morin.
Speech was an art.
More than twenty days passed.
Ten days before Norrington's promotion.
The pub was finished.
That same day, Turner completed the sword.
He delivered it.
Saw Elizabeth.
Nearly triggered a melodramatic scene.
That night, Turner came to Morin.
He was ready.
To begin his real work.
Find Advance chapters
And for More Fan fiction
👇
👇
[Support link: pat reon.com/RioRaRyu]
------------
More Bonus Chapters!!!!
Every 250 power stones = Bonus Chapter
Give me more Power Stones
------------