The noble bastards in town had skimped on Beckman's injury compensation.
Not that it mattered. After two days of fake limping, Beckman dropped the act. Why bother with petty coins when 29 million Beri was about to land in their laps?
But Beckman wasn't called the brains of the operation for nothing. The moment he realized the North Blue Marines might try to screw them over, he started working on contingencies.
First, he ruled out expecting help from the spineless nobles. Those cowards wouldn't lift a finger against the Navy.
Second, if things went south, he'd already decided—they'd rob those noble leeches blind.
Not that they were desperate. Far from it.
Between Kenzo's position as town guard captain and their side gigs of escorting merchant ships (with a little "protection fee" on the side), whale hunting (their families' traditional trade), and the occasional opportunistic piracy, they lived comfortably. In this backwater town, they were practically royalty.
But comfort wasn't the point.
Neither Kenzo nor Beckman were the type to swallow an insult. Touch their money? They'd burn the whole system down.
Truth was, neither man was what you'd call "good." Beckman had the makings of a future pirate legend. And Kenzo? His past life hadn't been squeaky clean either, whaling for the Brits meant dealing with all sorts of shady business. Survival at sea required a certain ruthlessness.
Growing up parentless in this world had only hardened them further.
They'd considered joining the Marines once. But all those rules? The so-called "justice"? Didn't suit them.
Not in this era.
Kenzo, with his foresight, and Beckman, with his sharp mind, both saw the coming storm & the age where power would be decided on the waves. Why waste time playing soldier in some nowhere town?
So when opportunity knocked, they'd decided: they'd seize it. By any means.
Beckman had spent the last two days plotting.
First issue: crew.
Sailing wasn't a two-man job. Pirates needed muscle, and Kenzo's guards, battle-hardened men who'd fought off raids were perfect candidates.
Problem? Most weren't cutthroats. Convincing them to turn pirate wouldn't be easy.
Solution? Make it so they had no choice.
As Beckman tinkered with a modified whaling harpoon, Kenzo approached the docks, his infamous hammer slung over his shoulder.
At sixteen, Kenzo stood nearly eight feet tall, his frame thick with muscle still filling out. His short, wild black hair blew in the salt wind, his rough-hewn features radiating a brutal charisma.
"Captain! Save some riches for the rest of us, yeah?"
"Twenty-nine million… can't even picture that much cash!"
Guards who were scarred veterans twice his age greeted him with genuine respect. In this world, strength ruled. And Kenzo? He had crushed a 29-million-Beri bountied pirate and that commanded both fear & respect.
Those who hadn't shown respect? Either kicked out or buried.
Kenzo laughed, clapping one guard on the back. "Quit sucking up before I've even got the cash!"
Dismissing them, he joined Beckman. "Tinkering again? Since when do you do mechanics?"
Beckman smirked, patting the massive harpoon. "Not mechanics. Just adjustments. Now this thing can punch through ships as easy as whales."
The message was clear.
They were ready for war if things were to go south.