Under the cover of night, the ship, now renamed the Morgan Pirates' vessel, anchored near an uncharted island.
The pirates aboard the ship were puzzled as to why William, who had previously gone by the alias Stolt, decided to name the crew after himself. But now that William was their captain, they had no choice but to obey.
William, however, understood the psychology of pirates—most of whom were uneducated brutes. For them, the depth or sophistication of a crew's name was secondary. What mattered most was simplicity and clarity, especially if the name highlighted the captain's identity. William paid particular attention to this, recognizing it as a subtle yet effective way to enhance his authority and influence over the crew.
Since he had yet to receive a bounty or earn a reputation worthy of a nickname like "Red-Beard," William chose to name the crew after his surname, Morgan, following one of the most common naming conventions among pirates.
Inside a cramped cabin, dim lamplight illuminated the space. Felton, the first mate, and Diego, the ship's helmsman, were drinking together. Their faces were flushed, and their eyes glassy, suggesting they had been at it for quite some time. The only snack on the table was a small plate of peanuts, a rather meager accompaniment for two of the ship's supposed top figures.
Felton took a swig from his bottle and angrily tossed a peanut shell onto the table. He cursed under his breath, "A bunch of bastards. Those fresh-faced brats who've barely been on this ship for a minute, just because they've latched onto Stolt's coattails, now think they can throw their weight around. I asked Nadal to grab us something better to eat with our drinks, and that little punk actually said, 'I need to ask the captain for permission.'"
Since William had taken over as captain, he hadn't immediately overhauled the crew's hierarchy. For the time being, Felton retained his position as first mate. However, everyone on the ship could see that his role was now largely ceremonial, and it was only a matter of time before he was replaced.
Diego, a man in his late twenties, was one of the ship's veterans. With short brown hair, a stocky build, and calloused hands, he looked every bit the seasoned pirate. He picked up his cup and downed another mouthful of alcohol without hesitation, then refilled it from the bottle. Throughout Felton's tirade, Diego remained silent, showing no reaction.
Felton cursed inwardly at Diego's lack of response but didn't let it show. Instead, he slurred, "I'm telling you, this ship is becoming unbearable. Those brats who've barely seen any real action are now calling the shots, while we, the veterans who've bled and fought for this crew, are being pushed aside. It's just not fair."
Diego chewed on a peanut and replied nonchalantly, "Newcomers rising by stepping on veterans—it's always been that way at sea. Didn't Barbarossa rise to power the same way?"
"The problem is, why should we let ourselves be stepped on?" Felton said, his tone hinting at something more.
"He doesn't need to step on us. He's already stepped on Barbarossa's head. And even if he wanted to step on us, what could we do about it? Barbarossa's dead," Diego said, exhaling deeply. His tone carried a hint of bitterness.
Felton scoffed, feigning disdain. "He just used some cheap tricks. Barbarossa's power was weak against fire, and he deliberately prepared a red-hot blade. What's so impressive about that?"
Diego smirked, and Felton's face turned red—not that it was noticeable, given how much he'd already drunk. Both men knew Felton's words were nothing more than an attempt to downplay William's achievement. Even if Felton had known about Barbarossa's weakness, what could he have done? Would he have dared to challenge the infamous Barbarossa alone?
It had been mentioned before that the Red-Beard Brothers were massive, bear-like men. Even the portly Hayreddin was intimidating, while Reis and Barbarossa exuded an oppressive aura simply by their presence. Their sheer size and strength were extraordinary, even by the standards of this world. Without his Devil Fruit abilities, Barbarossa's physical power alone was still far beyond what someone like Felton could handle.
Knowing Diego wasn't foolish enough to believe his words, Felton changed the subject. "Putting that aside, what about the Devil Fruit from the Swordfish Pirates' ship? He didn't bring it back, did he? He must've eaten it himself. That fruit was worth a hundred million Beli! According to Barbarossa, it was supposed to be shared among the whole crew. What gives him the right to keep it for himself? If he's already this unfair, how can anyone trust that he'll be better than Barbarossa in the future?"
Diego couldn't help but click his tongue at the mention of a hundred million Beli, his expression tinged with regret. "So, what are you suggesting?"
Seeing Diego's reaction, Felton felt encouraged and pressed on. "I'm saying, once we reach shore, we leave this wreck of a ship. You're the helmsman, and you've got those throwing knife skills. I've got men loyal to me. If I can rally a few more of the veterans, we'll have strength, experience, and expertise. Anywhere we go, we'd be welcomed as honored guests. Isn't that better than staying here and putting up with those brats?"
Felton grinned smugly. "Let him play king of the kids. He can stay on this ship with those little punks, staring at each other all day. I'd love to see his face when he realizes he can't even get the ship moving!"
Diego chuckled along with him but didn't give a definitive response.
This left Felton dissatisfied. He tried to pry further, but Diego remained noncommittal. Frustrated, Felton eventually stormed off, taking the bottle and peanuts with him.
After Felton left, Diego drained the last of his drink, carefully tilting the cup to catch every drop. When nothing more came out, he slammed the cup onto the table and muttered disdainfully, "Idiot."
Three days ago, William's speech on the deck had been a true display of dominance. Compared to that, his earlier conflict with Zeff and his efforts to win over the crew paled in comparison.
Diego was certain that if anyone had dared to challenge William during that speech—whether by word or action—William would've unleashed a massacre. Even if it meant killing half the crew, William wouldn't have hesitated. Having already eliminated Barbarossa, the greatest obstacle to his authority, William would never tolerate anyone jeopardizing his position. His murderous intent that day had been palpable to anyone paying attention.
That was why, despite his resentment, Felton hadn't dared to speak up at the time. Even now, with William firmly in control, Felton's secret scheming was nothing more than a petty, futile effort.
On a pirate ship, the concept of "legitimacy" might seem laughable, but there was still such a thing as the will of the crew. When William had openly asked if anyone objected to his leadership and no one spoke up, it was as good as the entire crew endorsing him as captain.
Since his captaincy had been tacitly "approved" by the crew, Felton's current actions—conspiring behind William's back while still nominally serving under him—were practically handing William an excuse to deal with him. After all, Felton wasn't like William, whose irreplaceable role as navigator had once shielded him.
With so many people involved, Felton couldn't possibly keep his plans a secret. Sooner or later, someone would report it to their new captain.
Rather than let someone else take the credit for exposing Felton, Diego decided he might as well do it himself.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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