Roma's face went a shade darker than the red.
He pointed a trembling, ring-heavy finger at the guards who had hesitated, lowered their spears, or—worse—turned them inward toward the gold-drowned king.
"Traitors!" he shrieked. "You are all traitors! I fed you! I clothed you! I—"
His voice cracked on the last word from sheer outrage that reality had the audacity to contradict his authority.
The guards shifted uneasily. A few looked at Jack. A few looked at the door. One looked at the ceiling as if praying for a hole to open so he could crawl into it and pretend he'd never been born.
Roma's eyes snapped to the one man in the room who still looked calm.
Van Augur stood in front of the throne like a tall, thin pillar that the palace had forgotten to gild. His expression was the same as always—emotionless, brows furrowed as if he mourned the world by default. His strange glasses caught the throne room's light: one lens rectangular and ordinary, the other circular with a crosshair embedded, as though his face itself was a scope.
Roma inhaled sharply, forcing his pride down like bad food.
"Van Augur," he said, voice suddenly sweeter, slicker. "Forget… forget the order to kill you. I— I spoke in anger."
Augur didn't move.
Roma swallowed. "I will offer you something you cannot refuse."
Jack leaned a little forward, "That's what every man says right before he is refused."
Roma spread his arms. "All the money I have. All of it. Gold. Jewels. Titles. Land. You will be my shadow. My shield. My—"
Augur's voice was quiet, almost bored. "No."
Roma blinked as if he hadn't heard correctly. "What?"
"I don't work for tyrants," Augur said.
Jack let out an exaggerated little "Oh," like he'd just witnessed a man spit in a king's soup.
Augur's head turned slightly.
His gaze landed on Jack Sparrow.
The room, which had already been stretched tight, went even quieter.
Augur studied him the way a predator studies a new kind of prey, curious.
"Who are you?" Augur asked.
Jack grinned. He rolled his shoulders, straightened his hat, and stepped forward with the ease of a man who believed introductions were weapons.
"I am Captain Jack Sparrow," he said, "of the Caribbean Pirates. Hunter of fortune, collector of debts I never intend to pay, and—" he paused, as if tasting the words—"a gentleman of refined taste."
Pintel, behind him, nodded vigorously as if he'd personally invented Jack.
Augur's face didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
He nodded once. "Captain... Jack Sparrow."
Jack tipped his hat.
Augur's gaze flicked to Roma, then back to Jack. "Do you want his head?"
Jack blinked. "His… what?"
Roma's face contorted. "My head! He means my head!"
Jack looked around, genuinely puzzled. "Who is Maro?"
The guards stared at him like he'd grown a second face.
Roma's voice climbed into a squeak. "Roma is my name!"
Jack peered at him. "Ah."
Roma tried to sink into his throne, as if gold could swallow him and keep him safe.
Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Then yes. That Roma."
Augur's eyes narrowed. "So you do want his head."
Jack shrugged. "I want many things. Meat. Rum. Women. But today—" he tapped the hilt of his sword—"I'm here for you."
Augur's brows lifted a fraction. "Me?"
Jack nodded. "I heard there was a marksman who never misses. Thought I'd check."
Roma's head snapped up. "You're not here to kill me?"
Jack glanced at him. "That depends. Are you paying?"
Roma's jaw opened and closed without sound.
Jack slipped his rum bottle into his coat with exaggerated care, like he was putting away something sacred.
"Now then. Van Dog—"
Augur's face cracked for the briefest instant. A twitch, a tiny betrayal of irritation, quickly buried.
"It's Van Augur," he said, voice still flat.
Jack nodded solemnly. "Van Augur. My apologies. It's just— you're very tall. Dogs are tall sometimes."
Augur stared. No dogs are tall. If the dog is that tall, then it is not a dog.
Jack smiled wider. "You know what? Forget it."
Augur's gaze didn't leave Jack. "What business do you have with me?"
Jack spread his hands. "Professional curiosity."
Augur's voice grew slightly colder. "Curiosity gets people killed."
Jack nodded. "So does bad monarchy."
Roma made a wounded sound.
Augur didn't look away. He raised his rifle—Senriku—smooth as a thought, the barrel coming up with no wasted motion.
The guards sucked in breath.
Jack's grin faltered, just a little.
The gunshot came. A crack like a whip across the room.
Jack's hat flew off his head, spinning away and clattering against the gold floor.
Jack froze.
His hair, freed from the hat's weight, fell messily over his face.
The bullet had shaved the air above his scalp so close Jack felt heat.
Roma let out a strangled laugh. "Yes! Yes! Kill him!"
Jack slowly reached up and touched his head, as if checking whether it was still attached.
He looked at the spot where his hat lay.
Then he looked back at Augur.
"…That," Jack said carefully, "was rude."
Augur's mouth curled.
A grin. Thin. Controlled. Devilish.
"Miss," Augur murmured.
The word echoed like a curse, because it wasn't meant as failure. It was meant as discovery.
Jack's eyes narrowed. "You missed."
Augur's grin widened just enough to be unsettling. "No one dodges my bullets."
Jack shifted his stance. His sword hand lowered slightly, his body angling away, instincts awakening. "Perhaps you're not as perfect as you think."
Augur's voice was almost pleasant. "Perhaps you're the first."
Jack's brain, always quick when survival demanded it, immediately produced a thought that made no sense and yet felt urgent: This man is smiling like he's enjoying it.
Jack cleared his throat. "Just so you know, I'm not into that."
Augur blinked once. "Into what?"
Jack gestured vaguely at the grin. "The… fascination. The hunting. The eye contact."
Augur stared at him for a long moment.
Then fired again.
Jack moved.
He didn't think. His body simply shifted a half-step, like he'd heard something before it happened.
The bullet punched through the air where his chest had been.
It hit a guard behind him.
The guard's eyes widened.
He fell like a sack of meat.
Panic erupted among the guards.
Some screamed and ran. Some ducked behind pillars. Some threw themselves onto the gold floor and prayed. A few, desperate and stupid, charged at Jack as if a spear could solve a problem a rifle had created.
Augur clicked his tongue softly.
Jack moved again, weaving between them. He didn't understand what was happening. He only knew that the air seemed to warn him—tiny shifts, slight pressure, a prickling sensation at the back of his neck right before danger arrived.
He dodged a spear without looking.
He ducked under another.
A bullet whistled past his ear and smashed into a pillar.
He found himself laughing—half hysteria, half adrenaline.
"This is becoming inconvenient!" Jack shouted.
Augur's shots kept coming, but the guards' chaos made it harder. Bodies moved unpredictably. Lines of fire broke. Pillars blocked angles.
Jack used it.
He slipped behind a column, then vanished into the confusion like a fish slipping through nets. He appeared behind a guard, yanked the man's helmet down over his eyes, and shoved him forward.
Augur fired.
The guard took the bullet and dropped.
Jack darted past him like he'd planned it.
Gibbs, who had arrived watched with horror and grim admiration, firing his flintlock at guards who tried to flank Jack, though even Gibbs could tell this wasn't a fight that bullets would solve. This was a fight decided by timing—by inches—by a strange sense Jack had suddenly developed, like the air itself was whispering where the bullet would hit.
Jack came up behind Augur and swung his sword in a tight arc.
Augur didn't flinch. He pivoted, rifle rising like a staff, and blocked the blade with the gun's reinforced body.
Steel rang against metal.
Jack's strike carried far more strength than his lean frame suggested, the impact driving Augur backward.
Augur slid across the gold floor, boots scraping, cape flaring.
His eyes widened.
"So you are strong too," he murmured.
Jack grinned. "I can also dance, but now's not the time."
Jack pressed forward, blade flashing. His style wasn't heavy. It wasn't brute force. It was sharp movement, sudden angles, feints and sways like a drunken man pretending to stumble while actually slipping a knife between ribs.
Augur retreated, blocking with the rifle, stepping back toward a side wall.
Jack lunged.
Augur kicked off the wall and flipped sideways, using his height to make the motion look unnatural, almost floating. He landed, raised the rifle, and fired at point-blank range.
Jack's body moved before his mind did.
He twisted.
The bullet grazed his coat sleeve, tearing fabric.
Jack hissed and stumbled.
Augur's eyes narrowed. "You're sensing it."
Jack blinked. "Sensing what?"
Augur didn't answer.
Jack swung again.
Augur blocked, then shoved hard, the rifle's length granting leverage. Jack skidded backward—
—and crashed through a side door.
Wood splintered.
Jack stumbled into a vast chamber.
He froze.
A swimming pool. Not water.
Gold.
Coins filled it, shimmering under torchlight like a sea made of treasure.
Jack stared in awe. "That's disgusting."
Augur stepped through the broken doorway calmly. "A king's hobby."
Jack backed toward the pool, sword raised. "You mean he swims in this?"
Augur nodded faintly. "He calls it cleansing."
Jack's expression twisted. "That's not cleansing. That's a disease. It's a disease I would like to have."
Augur raised his rifle again.
Jack moved first, rushing in with a flurry of slashes—quick, precise, aiming for angles that would disrupt Augur's stance.
Augur stepped back, minimal movement, conserving energy, rifle blocking with clinical efficiency.
Then Augur fired.
Jack ducked.
The bullet punched the wall behind him.
Jack threw a handful of coins—because the room was full of coins and Jack's brain was screaming use what you have.
The coins flew like shrapnel.
Augur fired again.
The bullet cut through the coins and pinged off the far wall.
Jack used the distraction to close distance, sword flashing.
Augur's boot slammed into Jack's stomach.
Jack flew backward—straight into the gold pool.
Coins swallowed him with a heavy metallic splash.
Jack sank.
The coins shifted and pressed around him like sand, cold and suffocating.
Above, Augur stood at the edge, rifle aimed down.
Augur fired.
Coins exploded upward.
Jack cursed underwater, bubbles bursting from his mouth.
He kicked and clawed, dragging himself through the gold like swimming through a nightmare. Bullets punched into the pool, sending coins flying, metal clattering like hail.
Augur clicked his tongue again, irritation creeping in. "Stay still."
Jack thought of telling him no, but breathing felt more important.
A coin suddenly shot upward from the pool at high speed—Jack's hand had flung it like a projectile.
Augur fired.
The bullet met the coin midair.
The coin shattered, fragments sparkling.
The bullet continued, losing just enough force to bury itself in the gold rather than pierce skull.
Jack burst out of the pool with a yelp, drenched in coins, sword raised, face wild.
His coat was gone, torn away somewhere in the metallic sea. His shirt clung to him. Gold stuck to his hair.
Augur fired again.
Jack snapped his wrist and threw another coin.
Miracle—or instinct—the coin hit the bullet's path. The bullet deflected, ricocheting into the ceiling.
Augur's eyes widened.
Respect.
"That," Augur murmured, "was… clever."
Jack panted. "It was… I told you I am a man of many talents."
Augur's posture changed.
His calm remained, but the laziness vanished. His grip tightened. His stance lowered slightly, weight distributing for battle rather than demonstration.
Jack's chest heaved. His throat tasted like blood.
He felt it again—those invisible warnings. The prickling sensation, the subtle shift in the air before danger.
Augur fired.
Jack moved.
Augur fired again.
Jack moved again.
It was no longer luck. It was rhythm.
Jack advanced, sword slicing through the air in arcs that forced Augur to reposition.
Augur retreated, firing between steps, bullets threading through impossible gaps.
One grazed Jack's shoulder.
Jack hissed and kept moving.
He swung low.
Augur jumped back.
Jack swung high.
Augur blocked with the rifle.
Metal screamed.
Jack's strength surged through his blade, driving Augur backward again, cracking a pillar as he collided with it.
Augur raised the rifle and spoke quietly, almost to himself. "We should end it."
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Agreed. I am getting hungry."
Jack inhaled.
The air sharpened.
He felt the world narrow into a single line of intent.
He swung.
"Wayward Tide Cut!"
The slash wasn't just steel. It was force, a sudden wave-like pressure that made the coins in the pool tremble.
Augur fired at the same time, rifle booming once—his shot heavy with intent, aimed to kill.
The bullet met the slash.
A small explosion cracked the air.
Smoke and shimmering coins filled the chamber.
Silence followed.
Then the smoke thinned.
Jack stood with his sword pressed at Augur's neck.
His arms trembled.
Blood dripped from Jack's mouth, staining the front of his shirt.
Augur stood with his rifle raised, barrel pointed at Jack's forehead.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Augur's eyes softened.
"You're good," he said quietly.
Blood began to seep from Augur's chest.
A thin line first.
Then more.
His legs buckled.
He fell forward, rifle slipping from his fingers, hitting the gold floor with a heavy clang.
Jack's sword arm dropped.
Jack's knees hit the ground.
He sat there, chest heaving, staring at the unconscious sniper, coins still clinging to his hair and shoulders like the world's most expensive curse.
"He was very good," Jack rasped, voice strained with heavy breaths. "Able to push me… this far."