Black Sails

I remembered that Sequence 8 of the Sailor Pathway was Wrathful People. Quincy's temper certainly fit that description—he was practically a hotheaded old man. I bet that even if he didn't understand the Acting Method, he could quickly digest the potion for this stage. Sifa showed no awareness that he was being targeted, merely smiling at Quincy and the boatswain.

Damn noble!

Seeing the smile on Sifa's face, Quincy had the urge to punch that handsome face of his. But reason stopped him. Still, he guessed that if some young nobleman screamed like a girl, it would surely be funny—and satisfying.

At that moment, a low yet imposing voice rang out. "You're quite spirited, new recruit. What, do you think my judgment is so poor that I picked a bunch of Clowns like you?"

Sifa and the other recruits instinctively turned toward the speaker. It was a man walking out of the cabin. He was not particularly tall, and even seemed slightly shorter than Quincy. Yet his build was exceptionally sturdy, giving him a solid, compact presence.

His shoulders were unusually broad and thick. He wore a Taraba shirt common around the Rorsted Archipelago, paired with wide-legged trousers whose cuffs were tucked into leather boots.

A yellowish-brown cloth belt was wrapped around his waist, and he wore a dark long-sleeved coat over it. However, he was not actually wearing the coat; it hung casually from his shoulders like a cape, secured to the buttons on either side by a silver chain to keep the wind from blowing it away.

His black hair was cut short, and an X-shaped scar marked his left cheek. One hand scratched at the stubble covering his chin, while an unlit cigar was clenched between his teeth.

His half-lidded eyes gleamed sharply as they swept back