Sea Calendar Year 1506, East Blue.
The peaceful and tranquil life of the small town was violently shattered by a group of outsiders. At the dock, a battered multi-masted ship flying a skull-and-crossbones flag swayed gently with the waves under the cover of night. The pirate vessel loomed like a living sea monster, silently observing the town filled with slaughter and screams—as if accustomed to such scenes, unmoved by the chaos it had unleashed.
The outskirts of the town bore the scars of the pirates' assault. Scattered flames from battle illuminated the streets as a group of pirates hurried along, their footsteps echoing through the devastation.
In front of an open-doored tavern, one of them suddenly stopped in his tracks. The three companions following him also paused.
"What's the matter?" asked one of the leading pirates, noticing the hesitation.
The one who had stopped was a boy of sixteen or seventeen, with blond hair, blue eyes, a high nose, and deep-set features that still carried a hint of youthful innocence. Like the other pirates from the ship, his appearance was disheveled and grimy from lack of proper rest. Yet unlike the seasoned pirates whose faces were alight with excitement at the prospect of pillage and plunder, his expression remained completely devoid of joy.
"I'll stay here," the boy said calmly, glancing at the tavern. "The ship's supplies are running low. I'll grab some booze and take it back before everything here gets ruined."
Unlike the boy who showed no interest in looting, the older pirates leading the group grew increasingly impatient. The sounds of their crewmates ransacking homes and the distant cries of women in distress only fueled their eagerness.
The leader of the group, an older pirate, considered for a moment. The town's resistance had already been crushed, so there was no need to stick together anymore. Though he inwardly mocked the boy's decision, he gave him a thumbs-up and said, "William, you're a real trooper. But I don't think you need this many people to help you. We'll head on ahead."
Without waiting for a response from the boy called William, the older pirate gestured to his companions, and they eagerly rushed deeper into the town, their faces alight with anticipation.
Faint mocking remarks drifted back on the wind: "What an idiot." "A clueless rookie."
The remaining pirates scowled in anger at the insults, but William remained unfazed. Perhaps because he was fundamentally different from these pirates—he was a traveler from another world, a stranger in this land. Deep down, he held nothing but contempt for their actions.
In the 21st century on Earth, his name had been Sun Bo, a white-collar worker on the verge of becoming a CEO, marrying a wealthy beauty, and reaching the pinnacle of success. But life is full of unexpected twists. Just as he was climbing the ladder to success, fate delivered a sudden, devastating blow, and his promising trajectory was derailed.
Without warning or explanation, he had dozed off briefly in his office only to awaken in another world. To make matters worse, he found himself thrust into a profession that anyone from a stable society would consider utterly hopeless—piracy.
However, Sun Bo was not one to wallow in self-pity. There was no customer service desk to complain to about being transmigrated, no laws governing such situations, and no way to reverse it through sheer willpower. He had no choice but to accept reality and focus his energy on adapting rather than wasting time on futile regrets.
The customs and habits of this world differed vastly from Earth's, and even the distribution of races seemed peculiar. The body he now inhabited clearly resembled a Germanic type from his previous life. Yet aboard the ship, pirates of Mediterranean, East Asian, and various other ethnicities all spoke the same language despite their diverse appearances.
This strange environment made Sun Bo extremely cautious. He dared not reveal his status as a transmigrator, uncertain whether the people here might tie him to a stake and burn him alive if they discovered his secret.
Fortunately amidst his misfortune, he had inherited the original owner's instinctive memories—language, motor skills, and basic knowledge. The rest of the memories, however, were a chaotic jumble, like a disorganized pile of photographs, lacking coherence and emotional connection.
Nevertheless, this didn't stop Sun Bo from assuming the identity of the body's original owner—Morgan William.
Morgan was the surname, William the given name. Sun Bo, or rather, William, didn't bother questioning why the name resembled English from his previous life while following an Eastern naming order. He had more pressing concerns—like surviving as a pirate.
As someone raised in a peaceful society, William had spent months establishing his footing aboard the pirate ship. He had even managed to rally three peers around him, forming a tight-knit group with himself as the leader.
At that moment, one of the pirates trailing behind William—a dark-skinned, emaciated young man—raised his eyebrows upon hearing the mocking remarks from the older pirates. Without a word, he grabbed the solid iron rod hanging from his waist and prepared to chase after them.
William quickly grabbed his arm and whispered, "Let it go, Gin."
The pirate called Gin was about the same age as William but looked as though he were in his thirties. Besides being dark and thin, his sunken eye sockets and bluish-purple lips gave him the appearance of a consumptive.
William had saved Gin's life during a naval battle, pulling him out of the line of fire just in time. Gin clearly lived by the principle that one should repay kindness with gratitude. Since that day, he had become the most loyal member of William's group, always following his lead without question.
Hearing William's command, Gin, though still seething with anger, stopped in his tracks. He shot a venomous glare at the retreating older pirates and muttered, "A bunch of old dogs!"
William patted Gin on the shoulder and led the way into the tavern. The other three pirates followed closely behind.
The tavern was in complete disarray. Tables and chairs lay overturned everywhere, evidence of the patrons' hasty departure. Judging by the mess, some pirates had already ransacked the place in their usual crude fashion. Broken bottles littered the floor, and the air was thick with the potent aroma of spilled alcohol.
William scanned the room. The tavern wasn't large; aside from the front and back entrances, there was only one wooden door behind the bar, likely leading to other rooms.
He instructed Gin and another pirate to guard the front and back doors, then motioned for a young pirate named Aramis to accompany him to the bar.
Aramis was of average height with short, slightly curly black hair that clung tightly to his head. His harmless-looking baby face always carried a slight smile, revealing a pair of shallow dimples and two prominent little fangs.
Aramis followed William as they crept cautiously toward the door. William drew a loaded flintlock pistol from his coat and aimed it at the wooden door. With a nod to Aramis, he signaled him to proceed. Aramis responded with a swift kick, forcing the door open.
The space behind the door was empty. Aramis shrugged and said, "Judging by the state of this tavern, I doubt anyone's still here."
"Better safe than sorry," William replied, visibly relieved. He wasn't afraid of encountering enemies so much as encountering civilians.
William lowered his pistol and stepped into the hallway beyond the door. Aramis took a moment to search the bar, but aside from a ledger soaked in alcohol, he found nothing of value. Clearly, the money had already been taken by the previous wave of pirates.
Aramis tossed the ledger aside and quickly caught up with William, his tone laced with complaint: "William, you're not even an officer on the ship. Why worry about supplies? When the captain organizes people to bring the booze back to the ship, you'll get your share anyway. We rarely get to go ashore, yet instead of looking for valuables, you're here collecting alcohol! I never knew you were such a drinker."
William glanced at him and said coldly, "What's the point of stealing more money if we're all about to die?"
Aramis froze, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"The Marines," William said, his expression darkening. Being transmigrated into a criminal was unfortunate enough, but being a fugitive with pursuers made it even worse. His tone carried a hint of bitterness and sarcasm. "Don't those idiots with brains barely larger than goldfish find it strange? Even if our ship were in perfect condition, we'd still be caught by that Marine warship. Now, with one of our masts broken, how is it possible that we've outrun an almost undamaged warship that somehow can't catch up?"
Aramis's face flushed red, but he pressed on. "Are you saying we haven't actually escaped the Marines?"
"Who knows? Maybe those Marines were extremely unlucky while we were incredibly fortunate. Perhaps they coincidentally ran into a storm, or perhaps they just happened not to have a sea chart, so they aren't deliberately herding us toward this island," William said as he pushed open a bedroom door. After a cursory search revealing nothing of value, he grabbed a pillow and walked out, continuing, "But I suspect the captain and officers are worried too. Haven't you noticed? The captain, navigator, and other officers, along with their trusted men, aren't venturing deep into town. They're all lingering near the outskirts, close to the ship. Only the reckless fools are eagerly heading toward the town center, away from the ship. Even the smarter old pirates aren't straying too far."
William spat in disgust. "Those idiots wandering around like scattered sheep—if the Marines show up, they'll never make it back to the ship in time."
Aramis, though not unintelligent, realized William's reasoning made perfect sense. He sighed deeply but still clung to a sliver of hope. "But as you said yourself, it's not impossible that we've actually lost the Marines."
"Perhaps," William sighed again, echoing his earlier sentiment. "But better safe than sorry."
Aramis nodded solemnly, then noticed William had stopped walking and was now looking at him expectantly. "What's wrong?" he asked, confused.
William gave him an irritated shove. "Lead the way! Find the wine cellar! Once we grab a few barrels, we're heading back to the ship. If the Marines do show up, at least we won't have to worry about being left behind. And when those old dogs get caught and hanged by the Marines, I'd love to see which of us they think is the real idiot then."
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