William waited until beads of sweat began to form on Felton's forehead before finally speaking. His tone was calm and deliberate, yet carried an unmistakable edge. "What's the matter, Felton? My dear first mate, are you suggesting that I don't even have the authority to lower a small boat into the sea?"
The words "first mate" were spoken with a subtle emphasis, laced with sarcasm.
Felton struggled to respond, his voice stiff. "The captain said—"
"Oh, 'the captain said,'" William interrupted with a mocking smile, his tone dripping with derision. "Did the captain also say he'd let you take a bite of the Devil Fruit after he brings it back?"
Felton's face flushed with embarrassment as he clenched his teeth in frustration. But before he could muster a retort, William had already turned away, addressing the surrounding crew loudly without looking back. "Just follow the captain's orders and stay put on the ship. I'm going to have a private chat with our captain—about the future of the brothers aboard this ship."
By aligning himself with the rest of the crew, William subtly positioned himself as one of them, rather than an outsider. Combined with his established reputation, the pirates instinctively parted to make way for him.
With a casual toss, William threw the barrel of liquor onto the small boat before leaping aboard with practiced agility.
"Stolt, do you need me to go with you?" Harden, leaning over the railing, called out loudly. He was clearly a man unafraid of danger.
William laughed heartily. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to have a private chat with the captain."
With that, William began rowing the small boat toward the Swordfish Pirates' battered ship.
Once William had departed, Felton finally felt the weight of his fear. Barbarossa was not a forgiving man. If he returned to find that William had disobeyed his orders and that Felton had failed to stop him, the consequences would be dire.
Seething with frustration, Felton shouted at the remaining crew, "You lot didn't help me stop Stolt! What will you tell the captain when he comes back?"
Felton stormed off with his two closest allies, his face filled with anger. Whether that anger was genuine or merely a façade to distance himself from responsibility was anyone's guess.
Harden, however, paid no mind to Felton's petty scheming. Instead, he frowned slightly, watching William's small boat disappear into the distance with a hint of concern.
The other pirates who had been watching the scene began to disperse. Wood, the ship's doctor, stood on the now-empty deck with a worried expression, sighing softly.
Next to him was Hatcheson, the old pirate who had once helped William adjust to life aboard the ship. Hatcheson, who had a good relationship with Wood, took a swig from his flask and tried to offer some comfort. "No matter who ends up coming back to the ship, you've got nothing to worry about. You're the only doctor we've got."
"Let's hope so," Wood muttered, running a hand over his increasingly bald head. "Who do you think will survive?"
"I don't know," Hatcheson exhaled a cloud of stale breath, "but I hope it's Stolt. Without a navigator, how are we supposed to get back?"
Wood pressed his lips together. In truth, he shared the same thought, and he suspected many of the other pirates who had just walked away felt the same. No one wanted Barbarossa, who had grown increasingly unhinged, to return.
By the time William rowed his small boat to the Swordfish Pirates' ship, the deck was devoid of any living crew.
The Swordfish Pirates had never been a large crew to begin with, and after enduring battles in the Grand Line, the hazards of crossing the Calm Belt, and the betrayal of Selkirk and his loyalists, their numbers had dwindled to barely twenty. With Selkirk, their strongest member, abandoned, no one aboard could stand up to Barbarossa.
The deck was littered with blood and corpses. In his haste to claim the Devil Fruit, Barbarossa had gone on a killing spree. Now, the only living souls aboard the ship were William on the bow and Barbarossa in the navigator's cabin at the stern.
…
Meanwhile, Barbarossa was in a disheveled state. His hair and beard, which had been used to strangle and slash through his enemies, were soaked with blood. Without pausing to clean himself, he headed straight for the captain's quarters.
After betraying Selkirk, Caruso had taken up residence in the captain's quarters, bringing the box containing the Devil Fruit with him. Barbarossa had already extracted this information from the mouths of the dying Swordfish Pirates.
The captain's quarters of the Swordfish Pirates' ship were far less luxurious than Barbarossa's own. Though spacious, the room was sparsely furnished. A large nautical chart hung on one wall, while a rough but sturdy desk in the corner was piled with books, including a logbook.
Barbarossa, however, had no interest in any of this. His single eye scanned the room quickly and locked onto a small iron box. He pulled a key from his pocket—the one he had taken from Selkirk—and hurried to open the box.
Pushing open the heavy lid, he was greeted by the sight of a fruit resembling a pineapple, covered in strange, swirling patterns.
Just as Barbarossa reached out to take the Devil Fruit, the sound of approaching footsteps made him freeze. Quickly, he shut the box and turned toward the door.
Standing in the doorway was William, holding a katana glowing red-hot in one hand and a small barrel of liquor in the other. His icy gaze was fixed on Barbarossa, who was crouched near the box.
"Stolt, I knew you were a restless one," Barbarossa said as he slowly rose to his feet. His face betrayed little surprise, remaining unnervingly calm. However, the writhing, claw-like movements of his hair in midair revealed his true emotions. "You want to steal the Devil Fruit?"
William shook his head, a crooked smile forming on his lips. Yet the long months of scheming and waiting for this moment, combined with the burning desire for revenge, twisted his smile into something almost feral.
"Captain, I'm not here for the Devil Fruit. I'm here to borrow your head."
Barbarossa's gaze flicked to the red-hot katana in William's hand, and he sneered. "So, it's mutiny. And you think you're up to the task?"
Without a word, William uncorked the barrel of liquor and took several deep gulps. Then, with a sudden motion, he hurled the barrel toward Barbarossa.
Mid-flight, William swung his katana.
A red flash streaked through the air, followed by a loud boom as the barrel shattered, releasing a burst of flames that surged toward Barbarossa.
Barbarossa stepped back, his beard growing wildly to form a hairy shield in front of him.
The flames collided with the shield, melting through it like a hot knife through butter. Barbarossa quickly swiped at his beard with one hand, severing the burning strands before the fire could spread to his body.
But by then, William had already charged forward like a whirlwind. The flames illuminated his face, casting a fiery glow as he swung his katana. The smoldering remnants of Barbarossa's shield exploded into sparks, some of which landed on the wooden bookshelves and papers, igniting them.
A stray ember landed on William's face, but he seemed unfazed as he swung his blade again.
Barbarossa lashed out with the iron hook on his left hand, catching the edge of William's blade. He reached for the hilt of his curved sword with his right hand, but William twisted his katana, sliding it through the hollow of the hook and thrusting it toward Barbarossa's shoulder.
Barbarossa's chest and arms sprouted hair in an attempt to entangle the katana, but the searing blade emitted a puff of black smoke as it burned through the hair, piercing his shoulder.
"I'll kill you!" Barbarossa roared, his face contorted with pain and rage at the betrayal.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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