Standing on the wooden deck of his ship, he sailed across the sea, approaching the coastlines of the Kingdom of France. As he gazed at the city glimmering near the shore, he turned to his men. It was late at night, and their ship stood out starkly against the darkness, illuminated by bright lights. He sheathed his saber and faced his crew.

Before turning his attention back to the kingdom, with his piercing eyes fixed on France, he scoffed. “One day, I’ll watch you fall,” he muttered under his breath. Yet, beneath his fierce demeanor, he couldn’t shake the feeling that their interactions, though often petty or violent, held a certain endearing quality. He knew he would always emerge victorious—always.