Dawn broke over Tortuga with a bruised, purple light that slowly bled into a humid gold. When Gibbs and Billy arrived at the abandoned shipyard, leading a dozen pirates who were still wiping the sleep from their eyes and grumbling about the early hour, they were met with a sight that bordered on the absurd.
Hugo was already a whirlwind of activity. He had spent the remaining hours of the night transforming the mud-caked dock into a rudimentary workshop. He had dragged several heavy oak tables from the Sea Serpent, and they were now covered in rolls of parchment. These weren't the stained, vague sea charts the pirates were used to; they were blueprints, filled with a dizzying array of geometric lines, cross-sections, and numbers more precise than any ledger.
In the center of the yard, a crude stone stove had been erected, fueled by a steady fire. A massive iron cauldron sat atop the flames, filled with a gurgling, amber liquid that emitted a sharp, pungent odor of tung oil and resin.
"Master Hugo," Billy said, scratching at his tangled beard and yawning loudly. "What in the name of the Locker are ye brewin' here? Smells like a tanner's shop in mid-summer."
Hugo didn't look up from the parchment he was marking with a lead pencil. "Preparatory work, Billy. We're synthesizing the lifeblood of this ship. Starting today, you aren't just pirates. You're shipwrights. You'll listen to my word, and I will show you how a real vessel is born."
"Shipwrights?" A pirate near the back of the group let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Master Hugo, I've got all the respect in the world for your hand at the wheel, but look at this thing! This isn't a ship; it's a fish's nest. It's a heap of rotten wood that only stays together because the barnacles are holdin' hands. You can't repair a ghost."
A ripple of laughter went through the men. To them, shipbuilding was a craft for ancient, stoic men who spent forty years in the Royal Dockyards. The idea that a dozen pirates and a "navigator" could fix a condemned wreck was, in their minds, a fever dream.
Hugo finally put down his pencil and stood up. His gaze was calm, but it held a new, heavy authority that silenced the chuckling pirates. "Whether she can be repaired isn't something determined by your doubts. It's determined by physics. Billy, step forward."
Billy blinked, startled by the sudden call. He lumbered toward the hull of The Explorer.
"See that section of the port-side plating?" Hugo pointed toward a massive, greyed-out plank that had been partially shattered by chain-shot. "The wood around it is necrotic, rotted through. Use your usual method. Remove it for me."
"Aye, that's easy enough," Billy said, eager to show off his strength. He spat on his calloused palms and reached for a heavy broadaxe from the tool pile. He took a wide stance, drew the axe back, and swung with a roar.
CRACK.
The blade bit into the wood, but the impact sent a jarring vibration up Billy's arms. The plank didn't budge. He swung again, and then a third time, wood chips flying like shrapnel. Sweat began to bead on his forehead as he hacked away, but the plank remained stubbornly fused to the internal ribs of the ship.
"Damn thing's harder than stone!" Billy panted, leaning on his axe. "The rot's made it stubborn. I'd need a team of four men and a day's worth of prying to clear this one section, Hugo. She's fused deep."
"Is that your method? Brute force and blunt iron?" Hugo shook his head, a flicker of professional disappointment in his eyes. He walked toward the hull, his vision already shimmering as the "Classical Shipbuilding" skill activated.
To the pirates, he was just looking at a piece of wood. To Hugo, the ship had become transparent. He saw the "mortise and tenon" joints beneath the surface, the ancient interlocking system that held the ship's skeleton together. He saw where the stress from the naval battle had twisted the frame, and where the "tension points" were currently locking the rotten plank in place.
"Gibbs, bring me the chisel and the light hammer. And fetch the blueprint marked with the number three," Hugo commanded.
Gibbs hurried to comply. Hugo took the tools and unrolled the parchment. He spent a few seconds cross-referencing the internal scan in his mind with the architectural drawing. Then, he stepped toward the hull.
He didn't swing. He didn't roar. He placed the tip of the chisel against an inconspicuous knot in the wood and gave it a sharp, rhythmic tap. Then, he moved six inches to the left and tapped again, his movements looking more like a doctor examining a patient than a laborer at work.
The pirates watched with growing confusion.
"What's he doin'?" one whispered. "Scratchin' the ship's itch?"
"Maybe he's tryin' to wake the spirits," another snickered.
Hugo ignored the murmurs. He delivered one final, precise strike to a point near the keelson.
CLACK.
"Now, Billy," Hugo said, stepping back and wiping his hands. "Try it again. Just a light pry with the crowbar."
Billy looked skeptical, but he picked up the iron bar and slid the tip into the gap he had made with the axe. He braced his legs, expecting a struggle, but as soon as he leaned back, the entire six-foot section of oak let out a long, groaning sigh.
With a sudden THUD, the entire plank detached cleanly from the frame, falling into the mud. The mortise joints had slipped out as if they had been greased.
The shipyard went silent. You could have heard a pin drop into the brackish water of the harbor. The pirates stared at the fallen wood, then at the clean, unmarred ribs of the ship beneath it, and finally at Hugo.
"How in the name of the Devil..." Billy stammered, dropping the crowbar. He retreated a step, looking at Hugo as if he were a ghost. "You... you barely touched it. I hit it with an axe enough to kill an ox, and it didn't move! What kind of sorcery is this?"
"It isn't sorcery, Billy. It's structural mechanics," Hugo said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. "I didn't fight the ship. I found the points where the frame was holding its own tension. I broke the lock, and the wood did the rest."
The terms meant nothing to them, but the result was undeniable. In three minutes, with a few light taps, Hugo had accomplished what a strong man with an axe couldn't achieve in ten.
The mockery vanished. The pirates straightened their backs, their gazes shifting from skepticism to a deep, unnerving awe. They were beginning to realize that Hugo didn't just "understand" ships; he possessed a terrifying intimacy with them.
"Now," Hugo said, his eyes sweeping over the group. "Does anyone else believe The Explorer is beyond saving?"
No one spoke. The only sound was the crackling of the fire beneath the cauldron of sealant.
"Good," Hugo nodded. "Gibbs, organize the men into pairs. Billy, you're on the saw-pit. We have ten thousand board-feet of Heart-Oak to process, and I want the first layer of sealant synthesized by noon. Move!"
"Aye, sir!" the crew shouted in unison.
The "Sea God" of the Triangle had become the "Master" of the shipyard. As the pirates scrambled to their posts, Hugo turned back to his blueprints, the golden interface of the System flickering in the corner of his eye.
[Structural Analysis Training: Progress 5%...]
[Crew Efficiency: Increased by 15% due to "Demonstration of Mastery."]
Hugo looked at the skeletal frame of his ship. She was still a wreck, but beneath the rot, he could see the phantom of the vessel she was meant to become. This was the first day of his true empire. He wasn't just building a ship; he was building the foundation of a new age.
"Welcome back to life," he whispered to the wood.