Clang!
A longsword pressed against Jamila's shoulder, forcing him to swallow his words.
The tiny Den Den Mushi in his hand crackled with urgent voices, but they fell silent after a few moments, as if the other side realized Jamila had been exposed.
Gawain glanced at the Den Den Mushi, his voice cold. "Have I not treated you well?"
Jamila, as if accepting his fate, lowered the device, his eyes downcast. "The captain's been good to me."
"Then your actions disappoint me greatly."
"Do you know how many die each year because of pirates?"
"Have I ever attacked civilians?"
"But you're a pirate!"
"So what?" Gawain sneered. "You haven't been with me long, but you should know—aside from Lancer and the surrendered captives, nearly everyone on this ship is a civilian forced to sea because they couldn't pay taxes."
"Do they deserve to die?"
"I…" Jamila faltered, a flicker of regret in his eyes.
Gawain gave him no chance. With one swing, he severed Jamila's head.
Thud!
The headless body collapsed, blood gushing from the neck, pooling on the ground.
Gawain looked at the corpse, his heart unmoved.
Jamila might've had his reasons, but the moment he betrayed the crew, he'd made his choice.
As Gawain turned to leave, a low, raspy voice came from the Den Den Mushi on the ground.
"Even without Jamila's intel, I know where you are. I'll crush every bone in your body."
The voice carried absolute confidence, stating a fact.
Gawain recognized it instantly—the voice of Axe-Hand Morgan, the Marine major who'd wounded his predecessor and was now hunting him relentlessly.
If it were the old "Knight" Gawain, he'd be planning his escape. But the new Gawain was different.
He glanced at his bloodied sword, a feral glint in his eyes. "Then I'll be waiting… right here!"
With that, he crushed the Den Den Mushi underfoot, warm blood splattering across the ground.
The next morning, Jamila's body was found by the crew, and word of his betrayal as a Marine spy spread.
Panic gripped the crew.
They'd been training hard, growing stronger than ever, but the gap between them and the Navy's elite—let alone Morgan—felt insurmountable.
The Navy's superior equipment only made the fight seem more hopeless.
Within minutes, some broke down, sobbing on the beach.
"Is the Navy coming?"
"Damn it!"
A terrified pirate cursed, staring at the shore, where only their stranded ship lay.
Its hull was scarred, its mast broken, yet the pirate flag still fluttered in the wind.
Vultures circled above, their sharp eyes scanning before settling near Jamila's corpse, greedily pecking at its soft innards.
The gruesome sight nearly broke the watching pirates.
"With the mast broken and the keel shattered, this ship can't sail. Are we really out of options?!"
"No!" one cried. "We can build a new ship! If we reach a nearby island…"
"The nearest island is hundreds of miles away. Even if the ship could withstand the waves, you'd never survive the bloodthirsty Sea Kings."
Gawain ruthlessly crushed their last hope, drawing their attention.
The man who'd slain Lancer with one stroke, exuding newfound strength, had given them hope. But now, despair crept in.
Gawain had been focused on teaching swordsmanship, his wounds only recently healed. In their eyes, maintaining his former strength was optimistic.
Even at his peak, he'd been no match for Morgan.
Now? Even less so.
"Even you, Captain, can't stand against Morgan…" A pirate shook his head, the crew sharing his dejection.
Gawain said nothing. He walked to the pirate ship, his sword flashing in the air.
Boom!
A deafening roar followed, kicking up a cloud of dust.
His voice cut through, calm and steady. "Morgan's mine."
"All you need to do is train as hard as you can before they arrive, to give yourselves a chance to survive."
"This isn't for me—it's for you!"
As his words landed, the dust cleared.
The crew stared, speechless.
The thirty-meter pirate ship lay neatly bisected, its keel and all split clean through.
One sword to split a ship?
In their minds, only the monsters of the Grand Line could do such a thing. The old Gawain certainly couldn't.
"Is the captain that strong?"
"No! He couldn't do this before—he's grown stronger in this time!"
"We were wrong. He must've been training in secret!"
"He's the hardest worker in the crew!"
Gawain blinked, a flush creeping up his face, but he didn't explain. The system was his greatest secret, and their assumption saved him the trouble.
The crew's excitement grew.
"With swordsmanship like that, he can take on Morgan!"
The pirate who'd suggested building a ship stared at the severed vessel, his eyes reigniting with hope.
The restless crowd quieted, looking to Gawain with renewed faith.
"Back to training."
"Yes!"
Gawain's authority soared, nearly untouchable. The crew grabbed their swords, returning to their rigorous training, instinctively practicing the techniques he'd taught, some even sparring with wooden sticks.
Watching them regain their resolve, Gawain felt a sudden clarity.
In the original story, Moria's dream of becoming Pirate King through his crew's strength was utterly misguided.
It was backwards.
Only a captain with overwhelming power, capable of crushing any foe, could unite a crew and forge an invincible pirate band!
Late that night, the familiar system prompt sounded in Gawain's mind:
Swordsmanship - LV 5: 11/1600 → Swordsmanship - LV 5: 58/1500 Physique - LV 4: 366/800 → Physique - LV 4: 418/800
That day's gains in swordsmanship and physique doubled from before.
Over the next few days, the crew trained like madmen, providing experience at this level consistently.
Physique was less than a hundred points from leveling up.
…
Days later, deep in the night.
The moon hung high, stars blanketed the sky, and a salty sea breeze brought a faint chill.
The crew, done with training, prepared to return to the cave for rest. Looking up, they saw the night sky ablaze with crimson fireballs—countless cannonballs raining down like meteors.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Explosions rocked the island, igniting the forest in a roaring blaze.
The cool breeze turned scorching, like a red-hot blade grazing their skin.
"The Navy's here!"
…
Under the night sky, a massive warship loomed on the sea, like a beast baring its claws.
A burly man stood at the bow, axe in hand.
Who else but Axe-Hand Morgan?
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