AN: Can anyone explain the timeline in the comments? I realised I have messed it all up.
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The royal audience chamber of Drum Kingdom was built like a castle you would expect in Winter Island.
Tall stone pillars lined the hall, carved with ancient symbols of healing and ancestors. At the far end, beneath a hanging banner bearing the royal crest, stood Prince Wapol.
He was younger than the tyrant history would remember—but the cruelty was already there.
Short, stout, wrapped in heavy winter fur despite the heated chamber, Wapol paced in front of a row of uneasy men in white coats. His cheeks were red. Not from cold, but from temper.
"You misunderstand," Wapol said, voice shrill but restrained. "I am not asking for much. Loyalty. Public support. A declaration. That is all."
The representatives of the medical guild stood firm. There were six of them—men and women, aged, experienced, respected.
One of them, a stern woman with silver-streaked hair, stepped forward.
"Your Highness," she said carefully, "we are physicians. Our loyalty is to our patients. We cannot swear to prioritize one faction of citizens over another."
Another nodded. "A doctor does not choose who deserves treatment. Illness is not political."
Wapol's eye twitched.
"Illness," he snapped, "becomes political when the the higher power demands. And I am the higher power here."
Before his temper could explode, a firm voice cut through.
"Your Highness."
Standing just behind the throne was the Royal Guard Captain—Captain Reinhardt Voss.
Tall, broad-shouldered, early forties, with iron-gray hair pulled into a tight knot at the nape of his neck. His armor was practical rather than ornamental, and the long scar down his jaw suggested he had seen real combat. Unlike Wapol, he did not shout.
"Perhaps," Voss said evenly, "we should allow the representatives to finish speaking."
Wapol inhaled sharply, visibly restraining himself.
He forced a smile.
"Very well. I am feeling generous."
He turned back to the doctors.
"You may continue your practices. With slight adjustments."
The word lingered unpleasantly in the air.
"Registration. Oversight. Royal approval of fees. And of course, treatment priority for the royal household and its loyalists. Also some taxes and stuff."
The representatives stiffened.
That was control. Absolute control.
A thin man with oily hair stepped forward from their ranks.
"I, for one," he said quickly, bowing low, "see the wisdom in His Highness's foresight."
The other doctors turned sharply toward him.
"I have ten practitioners prepared to swear allegiance," the man continued eagerly. "Stability is important. Especially in… uncertain times."
Wapol's lips curled.
"Yes. Stability. These are uncertain times indeed."
The traitor leaned in slightly.
"How fares His Majesty, if I may ask?"
Wapol's mood darkened immediately.
"My father," he said flatly, "does not have long. Every day may be his last."
The chamber grew heavy.
The traitor clutched his chest in exaggerated concern.
"How tragic… and yet… curious. That the greatest medical kingdom in the world cannot save its own king from an illness."
Before anyone could respond—
The doors slammed open.
A young guard burst in, snow trailing from his boots.
It was Dalton.
Tall already, even in youth. Broad-shouldered, with close-cropped dark hair and a face that had not yet hardened into the stern captain he would one day become. His uniform was slightly too large, his movements urgent but disciplined.
He saluted sharply.
"Your Highness! Pirates are attacking the outer gate!"
The room exploded into motion.
Wapol's face shifted—from fear… to suspicion.
His gaze snapped toward the gathered doctors.
"So," he hissed. "You move quickly. And openly now by the looks of it."
The representatives stared in disbelief.
"What? We—"
"You allied with pirates to prevent my ascension! You took advantage of the fact that my father is ill to overthrow me?!"
Captain Voss stepped forward immediately.
"Your Highness, that is speculation. We must assess the threat first. And we have no relation whatsoever with the pirates."
"Arrest them!" Wapol shouted. "For treason!"
The doctors recoiled.
"We have done nothing!"
Voss's jaw tightened. He hated wasting manpower.
But a prince's order was a prince's order.
He turned sharply.
"Dalton."
"Yes, Captain."
"You remain with His Highness. No one approaches him."
Dalton hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding.
"Yes, sir."
Voss motioned to several guards.
"Contain the representatives. No harm unless ordered."
Then he strode out toward the sounds of chaos.
—
Outside, chaos had already arrived.
Hiriluk crouched behind a half-collapsed pillar, eyes wide.
"What in the name of ethical experimentation…"
The Caribbean Pirates were cutting through palace guards like a sickle through harvest.
Ragetti was unstoppable.
Bare fists. Massive shoulders. He charged like a runaway cannonball, knocking armored men aside, slamming two into each other before launching a third through a wooden partition.
"Move!" he bellowed gleefully.
Augur stood several steps behind him, Senriku resting lightly against his shoulder. His movements were precise. Every shot deliberate.
Thigh. Shoulder. Weapon hand.
No killing.
Just removal of resistance.
Guards dropped one by one.
Jack Sparrow, meanwhile, was leaning casually against a decorative column, sipping rum.
A guard lunged.
Jack stepped aside without looking and casually stuck his boot out. The man tripped face-first into a fallen comrade.
"Mind the footing," Jack muttered.
Crocodile walked beside him, arms crossed, cigar glowing faintly.
"This is not a revolution," she said flatly. "This is vandalism."
Jack gestured lazily.
"Branding, Croco. Optics. Carragher stormed cities and slaughtered civilians. We knock on the front door, rearrange a few things, and remove problematic management."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You call this knocking?"
Ragetti sent another guard flying past them.
Jack nodded thoughtfully.
"Forceful knocking. But the meaning behind them is the same."
Ahead, more guards formed ranks.
Leading them was Captain Reinhardt Voss.
He stopped several paces away, assessing.
Four pirates.
Two actively fighting.
One smoking.
One drinking.
Behind him, his subordinates shifted nervously.
"How," Voss said coldly, "are you losing to four pirates?"
A guard whimpered.
Voss stepped forward.
"You stand in the royal palace of Drum. Surrender, and your deaths may be quick."
The reply came as a sharp crack.
A guard beside him collapsed, clutching his thigh.
Voss didn't even see the muzzle flash.
Fear crept into his spine.
He drew his blade.
"Attack!"
Augur adjusted his glasses slightly. He looked back at captain to find him staring intently at a portrait on the wall. He didn't seem to want to help them. Crocodile was frustrated but she also didn't take a step.
He understood immediately what that meant.
"Ragetti."
The large pirate cracked his knuckles.
"The captain?"
"Yours."
Ragetti grinned.
He charged.
Voss met him head-on.
Steel met flesh.
Ragetti didn't slow.
He absorbed the first slash across his shoulder, winced, then grabbed Voss's arm mid-swing and slammed him bodily into a stone pillar.
The entire hallway shook.
Voss rolled, recovered instantly, blade flashing with trained precision.
This was not a common guard.
Ragetti laughed.
"Oh good! A strong one!"
Behind them, Augur moved like a metronome of violence. Every advancing guard found their weapon shot out of their hands or their knees buckling.
Jack had wandered over to a large portrait of the ailing king.
He tilted his head.
"Decent brushwork," he mused, and carefully unhooked it from the wall.
Crocodile stared at him.
"Now?"
"What? It's tasteful. And who knows? It may also be ages old. So when I sell this, it will cost me more than a few barrels of rum."
Voss roared and lunged at Ragetti again.
Ragetti caught the blade between his palms.
Blood trickled down his fingers.
He grinned wider.
Voss's confidence cracked.
These were not normal pirates.
Inside the throne chamber, Dalton heard the echoes of impact.
He swallowed.
He wanted to help his captain.
But his orders were clear.
Wapol paced like a trapped animal.
"Crush them," he muttered. "Crush them all."