Life is pretty damn screwed up.
Just yesterday morning, Gawain had passed the civil service interview in his hometown's county office. He thought he'd be starting a stable job in a few months, ready to coast through the rest of his life with a secure future.
Sure, the life of a civil servant was dull and predictable, but in an era where turning thirty-five basically meant being declared obsolete, who could say no to a permanent meal ticket?
Low salary? Tough to find a partner?
Ha! In today's meta, those issues were barely worth mentioning.
In fact, when it came to the dating market, civil servants were definitely top-tier.
So how the hell did he wake up on a deserted island?
Worse, he was wearing tight-fitting black leather armor, had fresh scars on his body, and blood slowly seeping through makeshift bandages.
It hurt. A lot!
And just as he groaned, trying to make sense of it all, he heard a chaotic chorus of voices...
"We've shaken off that bastard Morgan for now, but he'll find this place in two or three months at most!"
"Our ship took heavy damage during the last battle. If we can't repair it, we're stuck."
"Captain, what are we going to do next?!"
Dozens of pirates surrounded him, talking over each other. Panic saturated their voices.
Gawain's head throbbed. Dizzy and irritated, he barked:
"Quiet!"
The sudden silence helped him sort through the chaotic jumble of memories in his mind.
He was the captain of this pirate crew. The infamous pirate "Knight" Gawain, with a bounty of 8 million berries.
A few days ago, he'd crossed paths with Morgan at sea. The battle had gone poorly—he'd been defeated and barely escaped with a few survivors, retreating to this remote island.
Apparently, he'd not only inherited the name of a certain famous knight, but also his aesthetic—down to the heroic armor from that one Chaldean iteration. Of course, he wasn't a real heroic knight. He just lacked the guy's overpowering midday cheat code.
At that moment, Gawain felt like life had screwed him over twice.
As if being isekai'd wasn't bad enough, he'd landed in the One Piece world with a bounty on his head and the Navy constantly hunting him down.
And judging from the current situation, the best-case scenario was ending up in Impel Down—a fate worse than death. The worst-case? A watery grave.
Neither was exactly an ideal retirement plan.
As for Morgan... yeah, Gawain remembered that clown.
To be honest, in the grand scale of One Piece's world, Morgan was a barely-relevant East Blue has-been. Anyone from the Grand Line could take him down with one hand tied.
But here's the thing:
Gawain couldn't beat him.
His predecessor had fought Morgan recently—and been absolutely crushed. His sword, once a symbol of knightly pride, now bore deep chips from Morgan's axe.
Say what you will about that Axe Freak, the guy could draw blood from Old Man Garp with one good swing. Not just anyone could do that.
This gave Gawain a very clear self-assessment:
Trash-tier.
Compared to the monsters roaming this world, he was nothing.
Gawain couldn't help but frown.
He wasn't the type to wallow. He focused on the here and now. And right now, the priority was survival.
How was he supposed to survive Morgan's inevitable pursuit?
He thought hard.
No answers came.
He glanced at the pirates gathered around him.
Most of them looked visibly shaken. They'd been on the run for half a month. Morale was shot. Rumors of mutiny were already spreading.
Until now, Gawain had kept them in check with brute strength. But now...
He looked at his bleeding side.
From the crowd, someone was watching his wound with ill intent. A smug grin curled on the man's lips as he stepped forward, his voice sharp and grating, like nails on glass:
"If you ask me, we should all just split up."
"We've been following the captain for months and got nothing out of it. He won't even let us attack civilians. Brothers, what kind of pirate life is this? We can't even eat!"
"What, we're just going to stay here and die?"
"Or... maybe it's time we got ourselves a new captain."
A ripple spread through the crowd. Pirates who had been encircling Gawain stepped back instinctively.
Gawain stared at the man who spoke.
A bald brute over three meters tall, his body a mass of bulging muscle. And yet, his voice was unsettlingly high-pitched, almost feminine.
Lancer.
His so-called first mate.
In name, anyway.
In truth, Lancer had been eyeing the captain's seat for a while now. He'd always resented Gawain's refusal to raid civilians and had spent months gathering supporters, slowly building his own faction within the crew.
Now, with Gawain wounded, he clearly thought it was time to make his move.
A pirate crew with fewer than a hundred members, and already this many pests? Gawain could only sigh.
Small temple, big wind. Shallow waters, lots of turtles.
In any other pirate crew, someone challenging the captain would've been beheaded on the spot.
But the original Gawain hadn't done that.
Bound by some delusional knightly code, he spouted nonsense about honor, mercy, and chivalry like it was gospel.
If you're going to be so noble, why become a pirate at all?
Is it because you slept with the princess of the Goa Kingdom?
Her name was Guinevere was it?
Bro, are you sure you're in the right story?
Wasn't that scandal supposed to be caused by the purple-haired traitor who hated your guts?!
The key is, you're the one who's happy, but I'm the one stuck cleaning up the mess?
Gawain's eyes narrowed, his expression turning cold.
A mutiny, or even just dissatisfaction among the crew, could easily turn into a death sentence for the loser.
Gawain didn't plan on dying—so someone else would have to.
Although he had transmigrated into this world, the memories and combat instincts left behind by his predecessor were still embedded in this body. Inevitably, they influenced his thoughts and reactions.
As for killing...
Sure, his predecessor had followed the ideals of knighthood. But he had still become a pirate—and what pirate didn't have blood on their hands?
Besides, a knight's mercy was reserved for their own. On the battlefield, they often played the role of executioner.
At this moment, Gawain possessed something his predecessor lacked: decisiveness—and a clarity of purpose his old self had never achieved.
He might not be able to deal with the monsters roaming the Grand Line… but as for the traitors standing before him?
He could handle them just fine.
Gawain raised his gaze toward Lancer, his voice icy and commanding:
"What was that?"
"You planning to challenge me?"
Clang—!
The knight's sword slowly slid from its sheath, its cold steel catching the firelight as it gleamed with deadly intent.
In that instant, Gawain's aura transformed—sharp, wild, and murderous. The very air around him seemed to grow heavy.
The surrounding pirates froze, stunned. They had followed Gawain for years, but never—never—had they seen him radiate such pure killing intent.
Lancer grit his teeth. A flicker of fear flashed in his eyes, but it was too late to retreat. The arrow had already been nocked—there was no turning back.
Even wounded, Gawain was still dangerous. Lancer knew that a frontal assault wouldn't be easy.
But he also knew Gawain's nature: soft-hearted toward his crew, hesitant when it came to making hard decisions. Those were the traits that made him easy to manipulate—and easier to overthrow.
Lancer slipped his hand toward the flintlock tucked beneath his coat, forcing a pained expression onto his face.
"Captain… do you really want to watch all the brothers die before you're satisfied—!"
Swish!
He never finished the sentence.
In a single breath, Gawain crossed the distance between them. His sword flashed, a streak of silver under the firelight.
By the time the others realized what had happened, it was already over.
A head dropped to the dirt with a sickening thud, and the flintlock Lancer had drawn was split clean in half.
Snap!
The broken barrel spilled a puff of unfired black powder, scattering like dust in the wind.
Lancer's headless body remained standing for a heartbeat longer, arm frozen mid-draw—then twitched once and crumpled backward, blood pooling rapidly beneath him.
Swish.
Gawain flicked the blood from his blade. His gaze swept coldly across the crowd, voice low and steady:
"Anyone else?"
Silence.
Utter, bone-deep silence.
The scene before them was enough to terrify even the boldest among them.
None of them had expected Gawain to act so decisively—not even giving Lancer the slightest chance to explain or bargain.
This wasn't the Gawain they knew. The old captain would never have drawn his sword on his own men unless absolutely cornered. That mercy was exactly why Lancer and his followers had dared to try and oust him despite lacking the strength to truly oppose him.
But now... everything had changed.
And strangely, that change didn't scare them. It made them feel—safe.
This was what a pirate captain should be: ruthless, cold-blooded, terrifying.
Only such men could survive on the seas.
When no one spoke, Gawain returned to his seat.
A few pale-faced pirates stepped forward to drag Lancer's corpse away, leaving a crimson trail behind them.
For a long moment, nothing but silence hung in the air.
From Lancer's attempted coup to Gawain's brutal counter, less than twenty seconds had passed—but the shock it left behind was deeper than anything the crew had ever experienced.
The knight who had once clung to honor and mercy… had finally bared his fangs.
And in that moment, the eyes of the crew changed.
Where there had once been mere obedience, now there was something more—faith.
Just a minute ago, they had only looked to Gawain because he was their captain. But now, they saw him as something else entirely:
Their savior.
Not that Gawain cared about their shifting expressions.
Just then, a mechanical voice echoed in his mind:
[Ding!]
"Captain System Activated!"
"Congratulations! Badge Unlocked: 'Captain's Fury'!"
"Subordinates' Stamina Recovery Speed +20%!"