Chapter 8: [8] How to Steal a Navigator Without Dying
Pierre pressed his back against the wooden wall, listening intently to the chaos unfolding above. The screams had quieted somewhat, replaced by a single booming voice addressing what sounded like a captive audience. Perfect. The Redbeards were putting on their show, which meant their ship was likely unguarded.
He peered around the corner, checking for any stray pirates who might have wandered below deck. His head throbbed where he’d hit it, but the bleeding seemed to have slowed.
"Alright," he whispered to himself. "Time to move."
Pierre crept forward, rolling his weight from heel to toe to avoid making the floorboards creak. His new body moved more fluidly despite the injury—taller and stronger than his original form had been. Still, he wasn’t about to test himself against armed pirates. Not when his Strength stat was sitting at a pathetic F-0.
As he approached the stairs leading to the main deck, fragments of the captain’s speech filtered down.
"—the most feared pirate in all the Dawn Sea! When people hear the name Captain Redbeard, they tremble! The Navy doesn’t even dare to—"
Pierre’s mind automatically tuned out the monologue. He’d read enough villain speeches in the original novel to last a lifetime. They all followed the same pattern: I’m powerful, fear me, the authorities can’t stop me, blah blah blah.
Wonder if they practice those speeches in front of their mirror beforehand?
He reached the base of the stairs and paused, listening for any sign of movement above. The captain’s voice continued uninterrupted, which meant most of the action was concentrated in the main ballroom. If Pierre remembered correctly, there would be a service exit near the galley that led directly to the deck, allowing him to bypass the ballroom entirely.
Pierre turned left, following the corridor toward the galley. The ship’s layout matched his memory of the novel’s description, though seeing it firsthand revealed details the author had never bothered to include—the intricate carvings on the support beams, the plush carpet runner that muffled his footsteps, the faint scent of polished wood and expensive perfume that permeated the air.
He was almost at the galley when a low groan stopped him cold.
One of the passengers—an older man in an expensive suit—lay crumpled against the wall. Blood seeped from a wound on his shoulder, and his eyes fluttered as consciousness returned.