William waited until Felton's forehead began to bead with sweat before finally speaking. In a calm, unhurried tone, he asked, "What's the matter, Felton, my first mate? Do you think I can't even lower a dinghy into the sea while I'm aboard?"
William deliberately emphasized the words "first mate" with a hint of mockery.
Felton stammered, "The captain said..."
"Oh, 'the captain said,'" William interrupted with a sneer. "Did the captain also say he'd let you have a bite of that Devil Fruit once he brought it back?"
Felton, humiliated by William's taunting, clenched his teeth in frustration. But William paid him no further attention and turned to a new crew member carrying a small barrel. Without looking back, he said loudly, "Just follow the captain's orders and stay put on the ship. I'm off to have a private chat with our captain about the future of the brothers aboard this ship."
By aligning himself with the crew and emphasizing their shared interests, William easily gained the favor of the surrounding pirates, who instinctively made way for him.
He tossed the barrel of spirits onto a small boat, then leaped aboard with agility.
"Stolte, need me to go with you?" shouted Harden, who was leaning over the railing. Known for his fearlessness, Harden wasn't afraid to offer his help.
William laughed heartily. "Thanks for the offer, but I want to have a 'private' chat with our captain."
With that, William began rowing the small boat toward the Swordfish Pirates' battered warship.
Once William had left, Felton finally felt the pangs of fear. Barbarossa was not a man known for his generosity. If he returned to find that William had defied his orders, and that no one had stopped him, the punishment would undoubtedly be severe.
Felton, in a fit of rage, shouted at the crew, "Why didn't you help me stop Stolte? Just wait and see how you explain this to the captain when he gets back!"
Felton stormed off with two of his trusted men, his anger a mix of genuine fear and an attempt to absolve himself of responsibility.
Harden, unimpressed by Felton's behavior, watched William's boat disappear into the distance with a frown of concern.
The other pirates on deck gradually dispersed. The ship's doctor, Wood, looked at the now-empty deck with a worried expression and sighed softly.
The old pirate Hutchinson, who had once helped William adapt to life aboard the ship, stood beside Wood. A close friend of the doctor, Hutchinson took a long swig from his flask and offered some comfort: "No matter who comes back to the ship in the end, you don't have to worry. You're the only doctor we have."
"I hope so," Wood said, rubbing his increasingly bald head. "Who do you think will make it back alive?"
"I have no idea. But I hope it's Stolte," Hutchinson said with a heavy exhale. "Without a navigator, how would we sail back?"
Wood pressed his lips together, silently agreeing. He suspected that many of the scattered pirates shared the same hope. Nobody wanted the increasingly deranged Barbarossa to return.
When William arrived at the Swordfish Pirates' warship, the deck was eerily empty.
The Swordfish Pirates had already suffered significant losses. Between battles on the Grand Line, accidents crossing the Calm Belt, and the abandonment of Selkirk and his loyalists, their numbers had dwindled to barely twenty. With Selkirk, their strongest member, cast away, no one aboard could stand against Barbarossa.
The deck was littered with blood and corpses. To hasten his acquisition of the Devil Fruit, "Redbeard" Barbarossa had slaughtered indiscriminately. Now, the only living souls aboard were William at the bow and Barbarossa in the navigator's quarters at the stern.
On the other side of the ship, Barbarossa was a disheveled mess. His fur and beard, having been used to strangle and tear apart enemies, were soaked with blood. Without pausing to clean himself, he made his way straight to the captain's quarters.
After casting Selkirk overboard, Crusoe had moved into the captain's quarters and secured the Devil Fruit there. Barbarossa had already forced this information out of his enemies.
The captain's quarters of the Swordfish Pirates were far less opulent than Barbarossa's own, with a stark contrast in decor. Although 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 had no interest in any of this. His single eye scanned the room quickly, and he soon spotted a small iron chest. Pulling the key he had taken from Selkirk out of his pocket, he opened the chest eagerly.
Inside, he found a fruit that resembled a pineapple, covered in strange patterns.
Just as Barbarossa was about to reach for the Devil Fruit, he heard footsteps approaching from outside the room. Startled, he slammed the chest shut and turned toward the door.
Standing at the doorway was William, holding a red-hot blade in one hand and a small barrel of spirits in the other. He glared coldly at Barbarossa, who was crouched on the floor.
"Stolte, I knew you were a restless troublemaker," Barbarossa said slowly as he stood. His face betrayed no surprise, remaining eerily calm, though his hair, writhing like living tendrils in midair, revealed his true emotions. "Are you here to steal the Devil Fruit?"
William shook his head, a twisted smile creeping onto his face. Years of scheming and biding his time had finally culminated in this moment of revenge, making his smile more feral than joyful.
"Captain, I'm here to borrow your head!"
Barbarossa's gaze flicked to the blade in William's hand, and he sneered. "So, you want to usurp me? Just you?"
Without replying, William uncorked the barrel and took a few deep gulps. Suddenly, he hurled the barrel at Barbarossa.
As the barrel flew through the air, William swung his blade.
A flash of red light cut through the air, and with a loud boom, the barrel exploded into a burst of flames that surged toward Barbarossa.
Barbarossa took a step back, and his beard grew wildly, forming a furry shield in front of him.
The flames struck the shield and melted through it like a hot knife through butter. Barbarossa quickly swiped at his chin, severing the shield to prevent the fire from spreading to his body.
But by then, William had charged forward like a whirlwind. His blade cleaved through the flaming shield, sending sparks flying. The embers landed on the wooden shelves and books, quickly setting them alight.
One ember landed on William's face, but he seemed unfazed, slashing at Barbarossa again.
Barbarossa swung his iron hook to catch William's blade and reached for the scimitar at his waist. But William twisted his blade and thrust it through the hollow of the hook, stabbing Barbarossa's shoulder.
"You're dead meat!" Barbarossa roared.
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