With Captain Barbossa's formal acknowledgment, Hugo's grip on the Sea Serpent became absolute. He stood at the quarterdeck, replacing the old helmsman, whose knees had finally buckled under the weight of the supernatural terror.
As Hugo's hands closed around the worn oak spokes of the wheel, a strange, electric sensation surged through his palms. It was as if the "Great Navigator" system had fused his nervous system with the ship's very keelson. He didn't just feel the vibrations of the hull; he felt the pressure of the currents against the rudder as if they were pressing against his own skin. He could sense the "Basic Seamanship" skill operating at a fever pitch, translating the chaotic roar of the ocean into a symphony of actionable data.
"Hard to port! Furl the jib-sail before the next swell!" Hugo's voice was like a crack of a whip, short, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
"Five degrees to starboard! Steady her... steady! There's an undercurrent coming from the deep, brace for the roll!"
Under his direction, the pirates were no longer a disorganized mob of drunkards. They were becoming a crew. Hugo's commands were precise, leaving no room for the hesitation that usually got men killed in the Triangle. They moved like shadows across the deck, executing every order with a frantic, newfound discipline.
Gibbs had effectively become Hugo's shadow, acting as a makeshift First Mate. He roared Hugo's orders to the men in the rigging, his lone eye darting between the surging waves and the young man at the helm with a mix of fervent admiration and something bordering on religious awe.
Captain Barbossa stood silently by the rail, watching. The more he observed, the more he realized that he was witnessing a mastery of the sea that defied every chart and manual ever written. Hugo's maneuvers were paradoxical. At one point, Hugo deliberately turned the ship's broadside toward a towering swell. Barbossa had opened his mouth to scream a warning, but before the words could leave his throat, the wave was neutralized by a hidden counter-current Hugo had somehow anticipated. The impact that should have capsized them instead acted as a gentle shove, helping the ship pivot perfectly to avoid a jagged limestone shoal.
Later, Hugo ordered the ship to tack directly into the teeth of the gale. Just as the mast reached its breaking point, he commanded a sharp, violent turn that utilized the reactive force of the wind to slingshot them past a massive, spinning whirlpool.
This wasn't merely navigation. It was a dance. Hugo was the conductor of a creaky, salt-stained orchestra, and the Sea Serpent was his lead soloist. Together, they performed a death-defying waltz on the most treacherous stage in the Caribbean.
Time became a blurred slurry of salt spray and adrenaline. But slowly, the raw power of the storm began to wane. The sky, once an impenetrable ink-black, began to fracture. The rain thinned from a torrential downpour to a steady mist, and the waves lost their murderous, jagged edges. They were through the core.
When the first spear of golden sunlight pierced the clouds, reflecting off the shifting turquoise of the sea, a miracle occurred: the Devil's Triangle fell silent. The water, though still churning with deep undercurrents, smoothed out into a deceptive, shimmering lake.
"We're through..." a pirate whispered, his voice cracking. He looked at the horizon, where the sky had returned to a pale, beautiful blue. "By the saints, we're out! We survived the Graveyard!"
The silence on the deck was momentary, followed by an explosion of sound. Men who had spent the last hour expecting a watery grave collapsed where they stood, weeping openly or laughing with the hysteria of the saved. Some rushed to the rails, shouting curses and prayers at the receding storm, releasing the terror they had held behind their teeth.
Hugo finally released his white-knuckled grip on the helm. As the adrenaline began to drain, the weight of the exhaustion hit him like a physical blow. His vision swam, and the sharp, stabbing pain in his back from the earlier impact flared up, nearly sending him to his knees.
"Sir!" Gibbs was there in an instant, his strong, calloused hand catching Hugo's shoulder. "Steady on, lad. We've got ye."
"I'm alright, Gibbs," Hugo managed, his voice a raspy ghost of itself. He leaned against the wheel, his face pale and slick with sweat.
As he recovered his breath, Captain Barbossa approached. The crew's celebration died down to a low murmur as they watched their old captain face the man who had truly commanded the ship through hell. Barbossa stood before Hugo, his expression unreadable, his eyes searching Hugo's face for a long, heavy moment.
Then, Barbossa did something that left the entire crew breathless. He took a deliberate step back, straightened his shredded coat, and performed a slow, deep seaman's salute, a gesture of respect usually reserved for Admirals or Kings.
"I, Barbossa, Captain of the Sea Serpent, offer my deepest apologies for my previous arrogance," he said, his voice resonant and clear. "You didn't just save a ship today, Hugo. You saved every soul aboard her. We were dead men, and you brought us back from the locker."
Barbossa's salute was a signal. Gibbs immediately stepped back and bowed his head, followed by every man on the deck. Even Billy, the bearded bully who had tried to break Hugo earlier, bowed with a grim, sincere respect.
"Thank you, sir!" the crew shouted in unison, the sound echoing across the now-calm waters.
"We owe you our lives!"
Hugo looked at the row of weathered, scarred faces. He had initially taken the helm out of a cold necessity for self-preservation, but looking at them now, men who lived by the blade and the bottle acknowledging him as their peer, he felt a surge of genuine belonging. It was a loyalty far deeper than anything he had experienced in the modern world.
"Stand up, all of you," Hugo said, his voice gaining strength. "We're on the same hull. If the ship goes down, we all go. We survived because we worked together."
The humility in his words only served to deepen the crew's respect.
"Well said! Brotherhood of the sea!" Billy shouted, stepping forward with a sheepish grin. He reached into his salt-stained coat and pulled out a flat, pewter flask. "Look, Hugo... I was a right bastard earlier. The rum had my wits, and I'm an idiot for it. Please, don't hold it against me."
He offered the flask with a hopeful look. "This is the good stuff. Not the swill the Navy drinks. Proper Jamaican gold. A peace offering?"
Hugo looked at the flask, then at Billy's earnest face. He took it, uncapped the top, and took a long, burning swallow. The liquid was fire and caramel, warming him from the inside out and dulling the ache in his ribs.
"Good rum," Hugo said, handing it back with a nod.
"Haha! He's one of us for sure!" Billy roared, slapping his thigh as the rest of the crew erupted into cheers. The tension that had haunted the Sea Serpent since Hugo was pulled from the water had finally vanished, replaced by the camaraderie of survivors.
Barbossa stepped to Hugo's side, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Brothers! Listen well! To honor our Navigator and celebrate our escape from the Devil's maw, Hugo gets a double share of any prize we take this voyage! And when we hit Tortuga, the first three rounds for every man are on my coin!"
"Huzzah! Long live the Captain!"
"Long live the Navigator!"
Hugo listened to the cheers, his gaze drifting to the system panel in the corner of his eye. Wealth: 0 Gold Doubloons.
He looked toward the horizon. Tortuga lay ahead, a nest of vipers, cutthroats, and opportunities. With a loyal crew at his back and the "Great Navigator" system in his mind, his journey was only just beginning. He wasn't just going to survive in this world; he was going to own it.