The old captain sat on the lookout platform, puffing on a pipe held in his left hand while his right held a strip of smoked meat sprinkled with salt to go with his smoke.
Below him, the veteran crewmen were berating the new recruits. They had not actually done anything wrong, but the lack of anything to fault made the scolding all the fiercer.
His little pirate ship had left the docks and reached the waters outside Fire Island, still within sight of it, as Mr. Alfred had instructed.
Although this was not the time to go out "hunting" again, since the new crew still needed time to settle in, the old captain had decided to obediently do as he was told.
He had accomplished little in his life. After years of hard work, all he had managed to save up for was this little pirate ship, whose only Magic Crystal Cannon was an empty shell that could not fire at all, there purely to keep up the ship's appearances;
He had never robbed any large ships or found any treasure, either. After all, any merchant ship of a decent size these days had more firepower than his, and with so few men aboard, he would have no advantage in a boarding action or close combat.
In any case, he knew his old arms and legs could no longer handle a blade. The water armor he could barely muster might not even stop a single Art Bullet, and it would leave him so chilled that he would wake up with a cold the next morning.
So his ship usually made its money by collecting protection fees from indigenous islands, or information fees from small merchant fleets, telling them about the recent movements of major pirates and changes in currents and