Inside the Moby Dick’s kitchen, Teach casually picked up a steak, chewed it a few times, and swallowed it.
“Thatch, is there anyone aboard who can forge weapons?” His living conditions were far better than they had been on Bass Island.
He no longer needed to struggle for food every day; his only task was to train.
Everyone had gradually grown accustomed to him refusing to do chores, and no one mentioned it anymore.
Teach trained at night, rested during the day, and spent his free time talking with the crew.
He steadily deepened his relationships with everyone so that he could inherit the Whitebeard Pirates in the future without facing any resistance.
“Stop interrupting my work!” Thatch complained loudly.
Unlike Teach, he was responsible for preparing the daily meals of more than three hundred people.
Even with several assistants, he was still extremely busy during mealtimes.
“No one aboard can forge weapons.
Does this ship look like it has a smelting furnace?” “We can handle simple repairs, though.
If you need a weapon fixed, ask Rakuyo.” Thatch waved him away, signaling for him to leave the kitchen.
If Teach remained any longer, the food would disappear faster than they could prepare it.
“I’m not looking for repairs.
I want someone to forge a weapon for me.” “Then you definitely won’t find anyone aboard.
Talk to Pops and ask him to stop at an island with a skilled weaponsmith.” “You could also check the armory,” Thatch suggested.
“We have plenty of weapons taken as spoils.
You might find something suitable.” “Alright.
Thanks, Thatch!” Teach left the kitchen, only to suddenly turn back.
“Don’t forget my favorite cherry pie.
Make plenty of it.” “I know, you bastard!
Now get out and stop interfering with my work!” Thatch roared.
Teach had already eaten a considerable amount of food, seriously slowing down the kitchen’s preparations.
He shrugged, ignored the shouting behind him, and headed to the lowest deck.
A wooden door bore a sign reading Armory.
Beside it were the treasury, ammunition depot, and food storage room.
The lowest deck served as the ship’s warehouse, containing all kinds of supplies.
Teach pushed open the armory door.
The room was pitch-black, so he lit an oil lamp.
Various weapons were neatly arranged on shelves, each coated with protective oil and carefully maintained.
The crew members responsible for maintaining them even competed for the work.
Sailing across the vast sea was incredibly dull.
A single voyage could last ten days or even half a month, enough to leave anyone bored senseless.
Not everyone aboard was driven by ambition.
Many of the three hundred crew members could not endure strenuous training every day.
Apart from training occasionally, those people had plenty of free time.
With so many hands aboard, there were not enough chores to keep everyone occupied.
As a result, any task that could help pass the time was quickly claimed.
Teach examined the weapons one by one.
The crew might not have wanted them, but they were still of excellent quality.
Some could even be considered fine weapons.
The Whitebeard Pirates currently had no formal hierarchy.
Aside from Whitebeard holding the highest position as Pops, everyone else was simply one of his sons.
In principle, they were equals.
Anyone could take equipment from the armory, but the crew members had their pride.
If they lacked the strength to match a fine weapon, they would be embarrassed to claim it.
A sword?
No.
He did not know how to wield one.
A saber?
No.
A fork?
Definitely not.
Teach still wanted a three-clawed gauntlet.
It was the weapon he was most familiar with.
He had found his previous one while hauling in a fishing net.
After searching carefully, he discovered one in a corner with the same basic design as his old gauntlet.
He fitted it over his right hand and gave it several swings.
It suited him perfectly.
Teach was currently 1.9 meters tall, a fairly common height on these seas, so most standard weapons fit him.
Once he grew larger, finding suitable equipment would become more difficult, and he would need to have his weapons custom-made.
Even so, this gauntlet was only temporary.
Once he obtained the Devil Fruit that would serve as the cornerstone of his ambition, he would no longer need weapons.
Teach left the armory and entered the neighboring ammunition depot.
He carefully shielded the flame of his oil lamp, afraid that a stray spark might cause the entire room to explode.
Besides cannonballs and bullets, the room contained various firearms, most of them flintlock weapons commonly used by ordinary pirates.
Teach was not interested in those.
He wanted a revolver.
He soon found one displayed in the most conspicuous place.
Rubies were embedded along its body, though he could not tell whether it had been taken from a wealthy noble or another pirate.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the gemstones made it look especially magnificent.
Teach liked flashy things.
He picked up the revolver without hesitation, filled his pockets with bullets, and tucked the weapon into his waistband.
There was no reason to conceal it.
A pirate taking a liking to treasure was perfectly normal.
Teach returned to the deck, eagerly drew the revolver, and aimed at a seabird flying overhead.
“Bang!” “Uh…” The bullet narrowly missed, tracing the bird’s outline through the air.
“Hahaha!
Teach, you know how to use a gun too?” Vista called out from elsewhere on the deck.
It was Teach’s first time firing one, so missing was inevitable.
However, he possessed Observation Haki.
The next shot would be different.
Ignoring Vista, Teach aimed at the fleeing seabird again.
“Bang!” This time, the bullet struck its target.
Feathers scattered through the air as the bird fell into the sea, where a Sea Beast promptly swallowed it.
“How was that?” Teach asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You have good taste.” Vista stared appreciatively at the ornate revolver in Teach’s hand.
He also liked flamboyant things.
That much was obvious from the flower petals that accompanied his swordsmanship.
Even Vista’s clothing was theatrical.
He wore a top hat and dressed as though he were about to perform onstage.
“Can someone who doesn’t like treasure really call himself a proper pirate?” Teach asked.
Even Whitebeard valued treasure.
He needed money to support his homeland and feed an entire ship full of sons.
Whitebeard would never pass up a chance to obtain wealth.
Pirates needed money too; not everything could be acquired through plunder.
Even a madman like Kaido dealt in weapons.
“Hahaha!
You’re right.
A pirate who doesn’t like treasure isn’t a proper pirate,” Vista agreed.
“What are you two talking about?
Why are you laughing so happily?” Whitey Bay suddenly appeared behind them.
“N-Nothing…” Vista stammered.
Whitey Bay had beaten him several times for running his mouth.
At nineteen, Vista’s strength was still far from its eventual peak.
Not everyone was a protagonist who could become an Emperor before turning twenty.
Most people reached their prime sometime between the ages of forty and fifty.
Vista was still no match for Whitey Bay, who was already in her twenties and possessed a Devil Fruit ability.
The fierce woman had left him with a considerable psychological scar.
Teach suddenly wondered why none of the Whitebeard Pirates—despite calling themselves a family—seemed to have children of their own in the future.
Perhaps Whitey Bay was the reason.
Had she traumatized the men aboard so badly that they had lost all faith in love?
With no romantic love in their hearts, they could only spend money to satisfy their physical needs.
Thus, when Whitebeard died at the age of seventy-two, he had countless strong and vigorous sons—but not a single grandchild.