The speaker's face was covered with scars; his left hand hung a gold hook, and his bushy beard bristled as he stood up, scowling.
"Bang!" Charles slammed his prosthetic hard onto the table, eyes undisguised, glaring at him with a challenge. "I don't like people talking to me while standing. Sit back down."
Gold Hook's eyes went wide, his mustache quivering, and the atmosphere in the cabin grew tense.
But Charles showed no sign of backing down, continuing to glare provocatively; he was deliberate, taking this chance to assert control over the fleet.
Nominally, Charles was now the fleet's Commander, but the other captains only saw him as an employer.
Charles didn't want to be their employer; he wanted to lead the entire fleet. In life-or-death situations, an employer would be heartlessly discarded by these men,
only by being their actual authority could these captains truly become his support—otherwise, he'd rather have no support at all.
