With the first rays of light descending down upon the ship at dawn, the Knight's Oath gleamed in the golden hue, shining and propelling forward like a beast stirred awake.
With dawn came the hustle and bustle of the crew, moving briskly about the ship at Marco's orders, pressing down their yawns and breaths.
"Hoist the sails!"
The crew rushed as Marco yelled aloud.
Meanwhile, Max, in his quarters, peered at his reflection on a rough brass makeshift mirror, undefined and crude, yet functional, unlike the fragile, expensive mirrors too delicate to survive such a voyage.
A tricorn hat, somewhat worn out, made of fine leather, trimmed with tarnished gold, and once crowned with an opulent feather, now slightly torn, rested atop his head, his blond hair curling beneath it.
A deep navy long-tailored captain's coat still vibrant with brocade overshadowed his billowy, puffed-sleeve silk shirt.
The long-collared shirt, though slightly dulled by salt, was encased within a gold-buttoned vest that shimmered faintly in the morning light.
Fine-fitted trousers tucked into knee-length breeches, tall leather boots creased and soaked from the voyage, but still holding the firmness of their prime, completed his look.
A leather baldric slung over his shoulder bore a high-class custom-made cutlass, the kind common among officers of the Royal Navy.
His family must have been behind its creation.
Another belt, crossed at the waist, held a pouch, a ready-for-action pistol, and a powder horn.
A single signet ring, embossed with a lion, adorned his finger, and a brooch on his coat hinted boldly at his noble standing.
"Oh!"
A sound escaped his lips, his eyes gleaming with admiration. He nodded at his noble appearance, even after suffering through the long voyage.
Suddenly something clicked in his head.
He shook his head, refusing to dwell on the misery of freshening up with scarce water and no modern facilities aboard.
His gaze darkened momentarily, but he shook everything off.
"Let's do this."
Max took in a deep breath and left his cabin.
As he stepped out, many crew members noticed him. They bowed as he passed, while others greeted him with bold, confident smiles.
"Morning, Captain. How're you?"
"Captain, a fine morning, isn't it? You seem well now."
"Stay healthy, Captain!"
"How about I introduce you to a young lady, Captain?"
Max took in the surroundings and greeted the sailors with a nod and a smile adorning his face.
He heard some not-so-fine words mixed among the gushing chaos. However, he decided to leave them be, although the throbbing vein in his forehead was difficult to miss.
He climbed to the quarterdeck, toward the wheel. He noticed Marco standing beside it, who bowed respectfully.
"Morning, Master."
Max nodded in return to his greeting, then gradually stood behind the wheel. His hands swayed lightly as he brushed the worn leather of the helm, his touch soft and reflective.
Then, he gripped it firmly. His gaze focused. He turned to Marco and gave him a subtle signal.
Marco, catching the gesture, yelled toward the working crew,
"All hands on deck!"
The sudden order threw everyone into controlled chaos as they made their way and stood before the captain's position, facing the wheel.
Max sucked in a breath.
"We're close to the destination. I want no lagging — we go straight and fast. Our breakfast is on Port Royal… and drinks on me!"
His words echoed across the deck. The ship quieted, a tranquillity settling, though seemingly as if a calm before the storm, before the crew roared in jubilant cries.
"That's our captain for ya!"
"Party from the captain! I'm drinking myself dead today!"
"Sniff… Captain's grown up now. I'll definitely find some woman for him!"
"You bastard. Your snivelling disgusts me."
Max chuckled at their behaviour while Marco's chest rose with pride, yet he stared at them firmly like a hawk, ready to start drills to hammer discipline back into their bones.
Matching that intense gaze, Max swallowed his words, choosing to remain silent and keeping his thoughts to himself.
He eyed the crew with mock pity.
'Sorry guys, I'm still lacking as your captain. But I'll pray, and hope, whatever god is active in this world might ease your coming suffering.'
He wiped fake tears from the corners of his eyes.
Suddenly, he noticed Marco watching him with visible confusion.
"Haha… nothing." Max awkwardly laughed it off.
He turned back to the crew, now settled back into their lines.
"Okay, guys, full sails! Maximum speed!"
"Aye!"
The singular response resounded through the ship as the crew scurried away to their stations.
Max smiled and smoothly held the wheel, firmly setting course for Port Royal.
'Let's see your speed, baby.'
He squinted playfully, a thrill of adventure rushing through his bones, his heart pumping aggressively.
Not every day he gets to command a ship, not to mention one now obsolete in the modern era.
"Heave ho!"
"Heave ho!"
Soon, the crew loosened some and tightened the required sails. Immediately, the ship rode the winds, scaling the stretching ocean.
The sails billowed along, speeding the beast forward, defying nature and everything against it.
Max smiled broadly as the breeze brushed past his face. His coat fluttered with it, and he felt it all, the thudding heart, the adrenaline, the rush.
"Haah… now I know why those pirates sail all year long."
Knight's Oath relentlessly surged ahead, its destination clear, the beginning of the plot, the gates of Port Royal.
….
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