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.

"Shhh! Shut the fuck up!" Pierre hissed, dropping into a crouch beside the man.

Too late. The man’s eyes widened at the sight of Pierre, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Pierre slapped his hand over the man’s mouth, but the damage was done. He glanced over his shoulder and saw two figures at the far end of the corridor—Jack Steelheart, the protagonist himself, standing frozen in confusion, and beside him, the massive form of Captain Redbeard.

Jack gawked at him, blue hair sticking out like a sore thumb — or a protagonist. He looked like a golden retriever seeing its reflection for the first time.

Look away from me, you blue-haired idiot! Pierre thought desperately.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Captain Redbeard turned his head, following Jack’s gaze.

Pierre didn’t wait to see what happened next. He shoved himself upright and sprinted toward the galley, praying that Jack would distract the captain long enough for him to escape. He burst through the galley doors, dodged around overturned pots and scattered foodstuffs, and spotted the service exit on the far wall.Pierre crashed through the exit door and emerged onto the deck of the Mariana Cruise.

The deck was chaos. A pirate ripped a pearl necklace from a sobbing woman’s neck while another brandished his cutlass at a huddle of terrified passengers. None of them paid Pierre any attention as he crept along the railing, keeping to the shadows.

At the starboard side, the Redbeard’s ship loomed alongside the cruise liner, connected by several boarding planks. Most of the pirates were already aboard the Mariana, giving Pierre a clear path across.

He glanced back once, confirming that neither Jack nor the captain had emerged, then made his move. He crossed the nearest plank in three long strides, the salty spray misting his face. His heart hammered against his ribs as his boots hit the foreign deck with a solid thud.

"Unbelievable," Pierre muttered, scanning the empty deck. "What kind of dumbasses leave their ship completely unattended during a raid? That’s just asking to be robbed."

Then again, who would be crazy enough to board a pirate ship while its crew was in the middle of attacking a cruise liner? No one except a story-savvy reincarnator with insider knowledge and a desperate plan.

Oh, and a thief desperate enough.

The Redbeard’s vessel was smaller than the Mariana but still substantial—a three-masted schooner with black sails and a blood-red hull. Ornate carvings decorated the railings and masts, depicting sea monsters and violent naval battles. The ship had clearly seen its share of combat, its weathered planking scarred by patches of new wood and recently repaired cannon ports.

Pierre moved cautiously toward the captain’s cabin at the stern. If Raven was looting the ship, that’s where she’d start—the most valuable treasures would be in the captain’s possession.

As he approached the cabin, Pierre heard the unmistakable sounds of someone rummaging through belongings—drawers opening and closing, objects being moved and sorted, the clink of metal against metal. He pressed his ear to the door, confirming the sounds came from within.

That’s my girl...

Pierre took a deep breath. He had one chance to make this work. If he startled her, she might attack first and ask questions never. If he came across as threatening, same result. He needed to appear harmless but useful—someone worth keeping alive long enough to hear out.

He eased the door open slowly, praying it wouldn’t creak.

The captain’s cabin was lavishly furnished with stolen luxury goods—silk tapestries on the walls, ornate furniture bolted to the floor, display cases filled with exotic trinkets from across the Dawn Sea. Most of the cases now stood empty, their contents stuffed into several large sacks on the floor.

And there, bent over the captain’s desk with her back to the door, was Raven.

Her outfit was simple—a white shirt tied to expose her midriff, black form-fitting pants that hugged every curve, a red sash tied around her waist, and a black bandana holding back her distinctive half-red, half-white hair.

For all his criticism of the author, he had to admit that seeing Raven in person was... impactful. The novel’s endless descriptions of her figure suddenly seemed less gratuitous and more like simple reporting of facts.

Focus, idiot, he scolded himself. This isn’t the time to appreciate the view.

He cleared his throat softly.

Raven spun around, a dagger appearing in her hand so quickly it seemed to materialize from thin air. Her blue eyes narrowed, pupils contracting to feline slits, dissecting him piece by piece.

"Who the fuck are you?" Her voice was low and dangerous, nothing like the playful tone she’d adopt later in the story when teasing Jack.

Pierre raised his hands slowly, showing they were empty. "Just another thief with good timing." He nodded toward the sacks of loot. "Though it looks like you’ve got most of the good stuff already."

Her eyes flicked over him, taking in the blood on his shirt. "You’re not one of Redbeard’s men."

"Definitely not." Pierre kept his hands visible. "Passenger. Got knocked around when they boarded. Figured while they’re busy playing pirate up there, I might as well see what I could salvage down here."

Raven didn’t lower her dagger. "Why?"

"Let’s just say I recognized an opportunity." Pierre shrugged. "Same as you, I’m guessing."

That earned him a fraction of a smile, though the dagger remained steady. "You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. Not many would walk onto a pirate ship alone."

"Is it really alone if you’re here too?" Pierre took a careful step forward. "Though I’m starting to think I might be redundant. You seem to have the looting well in hand."

Raven’s eyes narrowed further. "What do you want?"

"Honestly?" Pierre gestured at the sacks of treasure. "Is it too late to ask to go halfsies?"