[Flashback] [James Arnold Grayling] [1]

"These bastards from the Royal Navy really don't have anything better to do," a rough voice rang out inside the lively tavern.

The place was bustling—large, noisy, and filled with the scent of rum and sea salt. Laughter and shouting echoed through the air as pirates drank to their heart's content. Women weaved through the crowd, some entertaining drunken sailors, others sharing in the revelry—some of them were pirates themselves.

But in a slightly secluded corner, a group of six sat around a table, drinking lazily. Unlike the rest, they weren't lost in the chaos. Their presence alone attracted attention, drawing lingering stares from the crowd.

James took a long swig from his bottle before turning to a man with dark hair and a thick black beard. "Why the hell are you bringing up those Royal Navy fuckers while we're supposed to be resting, Thatch?"