The private dining room was dimly lit, the golden glow of candlelight flickering across the table between them. Baccarat sat with perfect poise, every movement graceful, the very picture of refinement. Teach leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth curved into a slow, knowing grin.
"Although I don't know what you see in me," he said, voice rich and amused, "I still want to make this formal, woman. Join my crew."
Baccarat paused mid-bite, her emerald eyes flicking toward him. His tone wasn't pleading—it was an invitation that carried weight, promise, and something more dangerous: destiny.
She smiled faintly. The more time she spent in his presence, the stronger the pull became. His aura was magnetic, devouring, and endlessly fascinating. Beneath that easy grin lurked a vast, bottomless ambition.
And she wanted to see where it would take her.
"Then you'll have to protect me from now on, Captain," Baccarat said softly, her smile as smooth as aged wine.
Teach threw his head back and laughed. "Zehahahah! From now on, you'll be our ship's goddess of fortune!"
Baccarat's eyes sparkled with interest. "What's your crew called, Captain? And the flag?"
"The Nightfall Pirates," Teach said. "We don't have a flag yet. But we'll make one soon enough. For now… we move quietly. The time for names and glory will come when the world is ready to tremble."
His tone was calm, yet beneath it, Baccarat could feel the roaring current of ambition. He wasn't chasing fleeting fame. He was waiting for a storm, the one Roger would unleash when he announced the dawn of the Great Pirate Era.
Teach knew what was coming. The world's order would fracture. The seas would turn crimson. The Marines would drown in chaos. And in that chaos, his darkness would rise.
"When darkness falls," Teach murmured, his grin widening, "even light must retreat."
Baccarat repeated the words under her breath, tasting them. They were heavy, prophetic. A chill ran down her spine, not of fear, but exhilaration.
This was the man she had been waiting for.
By the next morning, the Nightfall Pirates were officially four. Teach now had a direction; he needed a ship.
The Spring Queen Kingdom's harbor bustled endlessly with merchants and trade ships. Its location made it a nexus of commerce, and the royal family grew fat on its profits. The Queen's Shipyard, owned by the royal house itself, dominated the docks, a sprawling complex of cranes, docks, and hammering workers.
Teach spent 50 million Berries to buy a sleek, 26-meter single-masted ship. Not large, but sturdy, perfect for a small crew. The rest of the money went into renovations: a reinforced training room, a proper kitchen, and eight individual cabins with their own washrooms.
He even bought slaves, former sailors captured by pirates and sold into bondage. Teach removed their collars, gave them food and clothing, and set them to work as temporary crew.
For the first time, the Nightfall Pirates set sail.
The ship cut through the waves under a moonlit sky. The ocean glittered black and silver. For a while, everything was peaceful.
But peace never lasted.
In the shadows of the lower deck, whispers stirred.
The freed sailors gathered together, eyes gleaming with greed.
"Tch. That guy bought us like pets," muttered one. "Only four of them aboard — two women, one mink, and that captain. We've got twelve men. Why take orders from him?"
A broad-shouldered man with a scar across his cheek, Pete, once a pirate with a 40-million-Berry bounty, grinned, his teeth yellow in the moonlight.
"We strike tonight. Kill the captain and that beast-man first, take the women, then sell the ship. Each of us will walk away with millions. Easy money."
Lustful laughter rippled through the group.
"Hah! The red-haired one's fine as hell."
"The younger one's not bad either. Maybe we keep them a few days before selling 'em!"
Pete chuckled darkly, but behind his smirk, calculation flashed. He didn't intend to share the loot. After they did his dirty work, he'd slit their throats in their sleep.
But none of them realized their plans had already reached Teach's ears.
Inside the training room below deck, Teach continued his exercises, massive muscles flexing with every motion. His grin widened slightly as he felt their whispers through the floorboards.
"Gar," he said calmly, not even turning his head. "Go deal with them."
The Mink warrior stood from the shadows, eyes glinting blue in the dark. "Understood."
Teach didn't bother to look again. "Don't take too long. And clean the deck when you're done."
The sailors' laughter died as heavy footsteps echoed on the deck above.
Thud... thud... thud...
Each step grew louder, closer, heavier — like the march of something primal. Under the pale moonlight, a towering figure emerged from the darkness.
White fur shimmered faintly under the stars. A pair of cold, bestial eyes glowed like twin lanterns.
Gar stepped forward, the double-edged sword at his hip glinting wickedly. His presence alone was suffocating, the scent of blood and death rolling off him like mist.
The sailors froze.
"Wh-what's wrong, big guy?" one stammered. "We're just... getting some air!"
"And... admiring the moon!" another squeaked. "Beautiful night, huh?"
Their voices shook. Sweat poured down their temples.
Gar said nothing. He simply walked toward them, each step deliberate. His silence was worse than any threat.
Pete swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand tall. "Don't panic! He's just one man! Kill him and the ship's ours!"
His men hesitated.
"Go!" Pete bellowed, charging first. His fist shot forward, slicing the air toward Gar's face.
The blow landed—
—but Gar didn't move.
He looked down at Pete, his lips curving into a smile that showed rows of sharp teeth.
The other men rushed in, blades flashing. Knives and daggers stabbed and slashed, biting into Gar's fur and muscle. Blood trickled down his chest but he didn't even flinch.
Instead, his breathing grew heavier. Excited.
Then came the roar.
A deep, guttural RRRAAAAGHHHH! that shook the deck and froze every heart in place.
In the next second, he was gone...
...and then among them.
Claws, blades, and screams tore through the night. The moonlight glinted red across the wood as blood splashed, staining the white sails crimson.
It was not a battle. It was a slaughter.
Minutes later, silence returned.
Only one figure still breathed—Pete, collapsed against the railing, his body broken, eyes wide in horror.
"Monster... monster..." he choked, trembling.
Gar stepped over him, gaze cold. His shadow swallowed Pete whole.
Then...crack.
Blood sprayed. The deck went still again.
Teach's calm voice drifted down from the cabin, casual as ever. "Gar. Remember to clean the deck."
The beast-man paused, breathing slowing. He glanced at the carnage, then exhaled, setting down his sword.
With a quiet sigh, he fetched a mop and a bucket, and began to wash the blood away under the moonlight, a predator cleaning the remnants of his hunt.