The door creaked open.

Blinding sunlight spilled into the stairway, making Mk squint. As his eyes adjusted, the scene before him sent a chill down his spine.

The entire crew stood in formation, a tight circle enclosing the deck, weapons drawn. A wall of men, cutting off any possible escape. And standing at the front, directly ahead, was the man himself—Captain Smollet.

The sun gleamed off the edge of his cutlass, reflecting a faint, sickly green sheen—the poison.

Smollet's presence alone was enough to send a weight into Mk's stomach. He wasn't particularly large, but the way he carried himself demanded attention. His clothing was a patchwork of stolen riches: a royal navy coat draped over one shoulder, torn at the sleeves; a sash from an Eastern merchant wrapped loosely around his waist; rings from different lands, some too big for his fingers. Everything about him screamed this was taken, not earned.

His hat, tilted slightly to the side, cast a shadow over his sharp eyes. Eyes that now locked onto Jack with cold amusement.

Mk gulped.

Gego, clinging to Mk's shoulder, let out a nervous ewk.

Jack, however, simply cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Huh. Expected a bigger audience."

Smollet took a step forward. His boots barely made a sound, his presence pressing down like an unshakable force.

"The most insulting thing you can do to a captain," he began, voice smooth yet cutting, "is embarrass his men. In his very ship. In his very presence."

He stopped a few paces away from Jack, just out of striking distance, though the cutlass in his hand suggested it wouldn't matter much.

"And you, my friend… You might as well have spat in my face, walking so freely on my ship." He tilted his head slightly. "So it's only reasonable…"

In one fluid motion, he unsheathed his cutlass. The blade was thin, curved just slightly, and coated in a dull green poison that shimmered under the sun.

"…That I don't let you off easy, no?"

Jack barely looked at the weapon. Instead, he scratched the back of his head.

"Hey, quick question. You got a compass?"

Smollet blinked. "What?"

"A compass," Jack repeated. "A real nice one? Or even a map? You got one of those?"

Smollet's expression darkened. "What does that have to do with—"

Jack sighed. "Well, I was thinking of taking your ship after this, but, y'know… gotta make sure it's stocked properly. Wouldn't want to get lost."

A few pirates exchanged glances. A couple even stifled laughs. Smollet's grip on his cutlass tightened.

"You're awfully relaxed for a man about to die."

"I'm just trying to make sure you don't get too nervous," Jack said with a grin. "Wouldn't want your hands shaking before we even start."

Smollet exhaled sharply through his nose. His jaw tensed. "You think this is a joke?"

Jack shrugged. "I mean, kinda? You're standing there, real serious, with your poison stick—"

"Cutlass."

"Sure, whatever. And you're going on about respect, honor, all that captain-y stuff." He shook his head. "Honestly, I'm just here to leave. You're the one making it dramatic."

Smollet closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them, all amusement was gone.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"You assume you have the right to leave."

Jack whistled. "Wow. That almost sounded cool."

The captain ignored him. His gaze shifted to Mk.

"And you."

Mk felt his stomach drop.

"I gave you a family," Smollet said, voice smooth but laced with something sharper. "Shelter. A place among us. And this is how you repay me?"

Mk clenched his fists. He knew this was coming. The guilt trip. The attempt to shake him.

Smollet's expression didn't change, but his words cut deeper.

"No matter. Once this is over…" His gaze was cold, his meaning clear. "I'll make sure you reach your real family."

Mk's blood ran cold.

Smollet turned back to Jack. "I assume you're here to challenge me?"

Jack tapped his chin. "Challenge is a strong word. More like… replace."

That earned a full reaction from the crew—angry murmurs, a few outright curses. Smollet, to his credit, only sighed.

Jack spun his rod once before resting it against his shoulder. "So, how do you wanna do this? We could stand here and chat all day, but I'd rather skip to the part where I knock you off your own ship."

Smollet closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them, all the amusement was gone.

"Fine."

He pointed his cutlass at Jack, stance shifting, muscles coiled.

"A duel, then."

Jack grinned. "Now that's more like it."

The tension on the deck reached its peak. The crew stepped back, forming a tighter ring. Mk swallowed hard. Gego clutched his shoulder.

Jack spun his rod once, taking a relaxed stance. Smollet raised his poisoned cutlass.

The wind blew. The waves crashed.

Then—

They moved.

The moment the duel began, Smollet wasted no time.

His movements were swift—graceful yet lethal. His footwork light, almost dancing across the deck as his poisoned cutlass struck with relentless speed. Each swing came fast, slicing through the air with an audible whoosh, forcing Jack onto the defensive.

Jack, for his part, moved just as quickly. His staff spun and shifted, blocking, parrying, weaving through Smollet's strikes. He didn't counter—only evaded, meeting the captain's aggression with calculated patience.

The fight took them across the deck, their movements blurring as they weaved between barrels, over coils of rope, even up onto the ship's railing for brief moments. Every step, every dodge was deliberate. Jack matched Smollet's speed with a relaxed ease, though his grin remained ever-present.

Mk watched, gripping the pistol Jack had tossed him earlier.

He had never seen a duel like this before.

The fights he'd witnessed in the past—scuffles between crew members, brawls in the mess hall—were nothing compared to this. Those were wild, sloppy, driven by drunken rage or desperation.

This was different.

This was like a dance.

Smollet was sharp, every movement refined. His blade cut through the air with terrifying precision. Every step, every shift in weight—it was practiced, perfected over years of experience.

And yet—Jack kept up.

Effortlessly.

Mk had assumed Jack was just some eccentric drifter with quick feet and a sharp tongue. Someone who got by on luck and sheer audacity.

But now?

Jack wasn't just keeping up. He was playing with Smollet.

The longer Mk watched, the more he realized—Jack hadn't even attacked yet.

He was toying with the captain.

"Not bad," Jack mused, narrowly ducking a diagonal slash. "I was half-expecting you to be all talk."

Smollet didn't answer, merely pressing forward, his blade a silver blur.

Jack hopped back, spinning his rod to deflect a thrust. "So tell me, do you sharpen that thing, or do you just let the poison do the work?"

Smollet's jaw tightened. He pivoted, swinging a rapid trio of strikes—one, two, three.

Jack parried all of them.

"The latter, huh?"

Mk swallowed. He had never seen Smollet struggle like this.

And he wasn't the only one who noticed.

One of the pirates standing in the circle shifted.

The pirate's thoughts swirled as he gripped his sword tighter.

This was wrong.

Captain Smollet was the fastest, the deadliest. That's what they all believed.

And yet—this stranger was matching him.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

If the captain struggled, then what did that mean for the rest of them?

The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine.

He glanced at the boy—the stowaway traitor—and the damn monkey beside him.

His mind made up.

If he couldn't help his captain directly, he'd make it easier for him.

With a sudden step, he lunged toward them.

Mk's breath caught. He fumbled with the pistol in his hands, shaking. The pirate was fast, faster than Mk could react. He tried to lift the gun, but—

The pirate was already there.

Before Mk could even think to pull the trigger, Gego leaped.

The monkey, small but fierce, latched onto the pirate's face with a screech. A blur of brown fur and flashing steel. Gego's small knife struck again and again, slicing at the pirate's arms, shoulders—wild but effective. The man screamed, stumbling back as he tried to yank the furious monkey off.

Mk stood frozen, heart hammering. But then—

Another pirate moved.

From behind.

Mk didn't see him. Didn't hear the footsteps. The second pirate raised his blade, about to strike—

And then—

A sound.

A thunderclap.

Lightning.

For a split second, the entire ship was illuminated by a brilliant white flash. The air itself cracked.

And then—silence.

Everyone turned.

The second pirate—the one who had been about to cut Mk down—was gone.

No—he wasn't gone. He was there.

But his head—

His head was buried into the wooden deck, his body stiff, unmoving.

A crater formed around the impact, splinters of wood jutting out from where his skull had been driven in. It was as if a force beyond comprehension had struck him down in an instant.

No one spoke.

No one breathed.

All eyes slowly turned to Jack.

Jack stood where the pirate had once been, arm extended. His rod crackled with residual energy, faint sparks dancing along the metal. His body was relaxed, but his eyes—

For the first time—

Were deadly serious.

Mk's breath hitched.

Jack… moved too fast to see.

One second, he was fighting Smollet. The next—

He was here.

And now, a man was dead at his feet.

That wasn't normal.

That wasn't human.

Jack turned his gaze to the rest of the crew.

"Sit down." His voice carried across the ship, smooth but laced with something undeniable. A weight.

A warning.

"Stay where you are," he continued. "And watch. Because if any of you move again…" He tapped his rod against the deck, and a faint zap echoed. "You will die."

No one doubted him.

The pirates, once eager and bloodthirsty, now looked at him with something else. Fear.

Even Smollet, who had watched the entire thing unfold, was still. His fingers tightened around his cutlass, but for the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes.

Jack exhaled sharply, rolling his neck. Then, with a light slap to his own face, his usual grin returned.

"Sorry about that," he said, almost casually. "Had to… adjust my tone for a second."

Then—

SWOOSH.

In the blink of an eye, he was back where he had been, standing before Smollet, as if he had never moved.

The captain's grip on his weapon remained firm, but inwardly, something had changed.

Jack wasn't just fast. He wasn't just strong.

This man—

No.

This thing.

Might just be cursed.