When Morin pushed open the door and stepped outside, the soldiers had just finished forming up.
Each of them held a flintlock rifle, all aimed at him.
Morin ignored the guns and looked instead at the man standing in the middle, wearing a tricorn hat and long, white, English-style curly hair.
In this era, people with that kind of hairstyle were usually officials or royalty. Whether it was real hair or a wig was hard to say.
After all, maintaining hair that long every day was troublesome. A wig was far more convenient.
"Are you the governor here?" Morin asked.
"...Yes." Weatherby Swann paused when he saw Morin.
He wasn't like the commoners who had lived in this town for generations. He naturally understood what Morin's skin color represented.
However-
Morin's hairstyle was nothing like what he had seen before. He spoke fluent English and wore unfamiliar clothing.
Now I finally understand why they're calling him a demon, Weatherby thought. This appearance really is strange.
"Who are you?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"
"This is my identification." Morin pretended to retrieve documents from his clothes. In reality, they came from the system space. "I'm just a traveler with a legal identity. I'm here to rest for a while."
"You can check them."
Weatherby gestured for his aide to take the documents.
The aide hesitated, clearly reluctant, and dragged his feet before signaling to a soldier instead.
The soldier paused and glanced at the commoners watching nearby.
They scattered instantly, like startled birds.
Only one man was left behind-a blacksmith who reacted a bit too slowly, standing there with a blank expression.
Blacksmith: "???"
Weatherby glanced at him, and a glint flashed in his eyes.
He swallowed the scolding that almost escaped his mouth.
If it were anyone else, he would have already spoken up. But this blacksmith-
Weatherby knew exactly who he was.
Will Turner.
Many years ago, during a voyage, Weatherby's group had encountered a merchant ship that had been looted and destroyed by pirates.
They had rescued an unconscious child from the sea.
That child was Will Turner.
Will was the son of a pirate, but at the time, Weatherby and the others assumed that a child so young couldn't possibly be a pirate himself. They believed he must have belonged to the merchant ship.
Weatherby's daughter, Elizabeth Swann, later found a gold skull coin on Will and realized the truth, but she hid it.
So Weatherby brought Will back to this town.
But recently-
Weatherby had noticed something between Will and his daughter.
More accurately, Elizabeth was clearly more enthusiastic. Will, mindful of his manners, kept his distance and never openly showed his feelings.
Weatherby couldn't say anything directly to Elizabeth.
Instead, he kept praising General James Norrington in front of her, hoping she would change her mind.
He even commissioned Will to forge the sword Norrington needed for his promotion to commodore, deliberately keeping Will busy so the two wouldn't meet as often.
He hoped their feelings would fade.
For an eighteen-year-old girl, the result was the opposite.
Not just 1 + 1 = 2, but something far worse.
Weatherby didn't know where things had gone wrong. It troubled him deeply. But with his upbringing, he couldn't bring himself to act against Will directly.
Now, suddenly, an idea surfaced.
If he sent Will to retrieve the documents in this situation... and something dangerous happened-
Wouldn't that end Elizabeth's fantasy completely?
Turner felt miserable.
Life in the town was dull.
Even as a blacksmith, he couldn't spend all day hammering iron.
He wasn't allowed to see Elizabeth until his work was finished. So when he heard rumors about a demon appearing, he followed the crowd to watch.
He hadn't expected to be dragged into it.
He couldn't order someone else to go in his place. He wasn't that kind of person.
Besides, he didn't believe in demons at all.
At this point, he was still just a normal blacksmith. He hadn't yet seen the strange things that existed on the sea.
Most importantly, he saw Weatherby looking at him-and not stopping him.
Thinking about what it would look like to back down in front of his "future father-in-law"-
Turner clenched his jaw.
He made up his mind.
He walked straight toward Morin.
"You're a good one," Morin said, sizing him up.
He recognized Turner immediately. His gaze shifted slightly.
"Are you interested in coming to work for me?"
"...Doing what?" Turner asked without thinking.
"A bar waiter. Not right now, of course." Morin spoke casually. "I just bought this place. It'll take time to renovate."
"You can come find me anytime before that's done."
"Become my employee, and I can help you fulfill your wish." Morin lowered his voice. "Just being a blacksmith isn't enough if you want to be with Miss Elizabeth."
Turner froze.
He instinctively glanced toward Weatherby.
Seeing no reaction, he relaxed slightly and looked back at Morin, his eyes unsettled.
How did this man know?
He had hidden those thoughts carefully.
Could he really be a demon who reads minds?
Thoughts raced through Turner's head.
"Here." Morin handed over the documents. "My identification."
"I bought the bar with gold coins. The original owner still has them. Everything was done through proper channels."
Turner had countless questions, but this wasn't the place to ask them.
He took the documents and walked over to Weatherby.
"Mr. Turner!" Weatherby hid his disappointment perfectly and smiled. "It's good to see you. About the sword I asked you to forge..."
"I've already started," Turner replied quickly. "It'll be delivered on time in a month."
"That's excellent."
Weatherby glanced at the documents, then at his aide.
This time, the aide didn't dare refuse.
If he did, he might be demoted tomorrow for something as trivial as getting out of bed on the wrong foot.
The aide accepted the documents nervously, barely daring to look at them, and opened them for Weatherby.
Turner was curious, but he couldn't read, so he gave up trying.
Weatherby read through everything.
He carefully verified the stamps.
Then he exhaled.
"It's real. This was a misunderstanding."
In that case, Morin clearly wasn't a demon.
Weatherby didn't believe in gods or ghosts to begin with. He had only come personally because the townspeople were superstitious, and the rumors were spreading too quickly.
After confirming everything, he motioned for the soldiers to lower their guns.
He walked up to Morin, returned the documents, and asked, "Mr. Morin, why did you come here?"
"I like to travel," Morin replied. "All over the world."
"I've arrived here and plan to stay for a while. I'm opening a bar to make some money, but-"
"I understand." Weatherby nodded. "They probably reacted this way because they've never seen someone dressed like you."
"I'm used to it." Morin smiled. "Long hair is a hassle when traveling. I just cut it."
"When the bar is finished, feel free to come by for a drink. I've been to many places and know quite a few ways to make alcohol. I guarantee you won't be disappointed."
"That would be my pleasure." Weatherby's expression brightened.
Soon after, he announced to the crowd that Morin was not a demon, but a traveler from a very distant land.
Then he left with the soldiers.
With the local administrator speaking, the explanation carried weight. Even so, the commoners still avoided the bar for a while.
Morin didn't care.
He turned around and went back inside.
Once he brewed something decent and held an event, the place would be packed.
The alcohol of this era was so bad that calling it slop would have been insulting to slop.
But I can't just sell alcohol, Morin thought.
Bar owner... logically speaking, legal income comes from everything that happens inside the bar.
Maybe I can add something else.
What makes more money than alcohol?
Bar... bar owner... cards?
Hearthstone. Well played?
Morin seriously began considering whether he could transplant the entire Hearthstone system here.
Attract people with cards first.
Then release card packs.
Golden legendary cards.
Related products.
He could fleece them dry.
His eyes lit up.
Then reality hit.
The literacy rate in this era was abysmal.
If people couldn't read, how were they supposed to play cards?
"...That idea can wait." He shook his head. "Renovation comes first."
"Come in," Morin said suddenly. "Why are you standing at the door?"
Outside, Turner-who had been sneaking around-jumped in shock.
He trusted his skills, but he had still been noticed.
After hesitating, he swallowed, adjusted the rapier at his waist, gathered his courage, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
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