When Basil Hawkins discovered the Hell Pirates, Oboro and his crew had simultaneously spotted their intended prey.
The Hawkins Pirates' flag carried considerable notoriety throughout the North Blue, a straw skull adorned with two distinctive spikes that had become synonymous with their captain's mystical reputation.
"Captain, it's the Hawkins Pirates!" the lookout called out, his voice carrying across the deck with obvious excitement.
The announcement triggered immediate celebration among the assembled crew members. Laughter erupted from every corner of the ship as pirates recognized the golden opportunity that had just presented itself.
The Hawkins Pirates weren't some insignificant small-time crew scraping by in forgotten waters. They commanded genuine respect throughout the North Blue, their reputation built on supernatural abilities and tactical brilliance that had kept them alive where countless other organizations had failed. Destroying such rising stars, or even simply robbing them blind, would dramatically enhance the Hell Pirates' already fearsome reputation.
Whether Captain Basil Hawkins would survive the encounter depended entirely on their leader's mood and strategic calculations.
Pirates operated according to simple mathematics: profit and notoriety justified almost any action. Morality was a luxury that successful criminals couldn't afford, and reputation determined everything from recruitment opportunities to territorial negotiations.
Now that they sailed under the Hell Pirates' skull-and-throne banner, every crew member understood their obligations. They were expected to think, act, and fight as representatives of an organization that had systematically eliminated every challenge to its dominance.
Yet despite their shared allegiance, the deck presented a scene of barely controlled chaos rather than unified purpose.
Although the Hell Pirates' numbers had swelled considerably since their early days, now boasting a proper helmsman, shipwright, cook, and over a hundred additional personnel, the atmosphere aboard remained fractured and tense. Rather than a cohesive crew working toward common goals, they resembled a collection of desperate criminals who had been temporarily assembled under a single flag.
The explanation was simple: most of these people had joined within recent weeks, their loyalties purchased through demonstrations of overwhelming power rather than earned through shared trials. Time hadn't yet forged the bonds that transformed independent pirates into a genuine crew.
Oboro sat alone on the second floor's exterior deck, observing the celebrating masses below with an expression of detached amusement. His elegant black suit and gentleman's hat marked him as distinct from his subordinates, while his relaxed posture suggested complete confidence in his crew's capabilities despite their obvious organizational problems.
He showed no inclination to impose discipline or unity on the chaotic assembly, apparently content to let them develop their own internal dynamics.
Below him, the original core members of the Hell Pirates maintained strategic distance from their newer colleagues.
Yurivich's massive form dominated one corner of the main deck, his six-meter frame wrapped in the characteristic black cloak that had become his signature. The enhanced warrior's presence created an invisible barrier that extended several meters in every direction, no one dared approach him casually, their enhanced survival instincts screaming warnings about the barely contained violence he represented.
Even among pirates accustomed to dangerous companions, Yurivich inspired the kind of primal fear that transcended rational thought. His transformation had elevated him beyond human limitations into something that belonged in nightmare stories rather than ordinary maritime reality.
Dom positioned himself against a cabin door, studying the enthusiastic crowd with cold analytical detachment. His bandage-wrapped form radiated the same professional deadliness that had carried him through countless impossible missions, though his isolation spoke to deliberate choice rather than social rejection.
The newer crew members failed to recognize the subtle hierarchies and unspoken tensions that defined their ship's true power structure. In their excitement over newfound supernatural abilities, they'd convinced themselves that equality prevailed among all Hell Pirates regardless of tenure or capability.
Such naive assumptions would prove costly when reality reasserted itself.
Only one figure bridged the gap between old and new factions with apparent ease.
Dolan had returned from his extended recovery in the Kingdom of Scan, his wounds from the confrontation with Yurivich finally healed enough to permit active duty. His familiar presence and willingness to mentor newcomers had made him invaluable for maintaining basic crew cohesion during their expansion phase.
The desperate trainees, former captains and officers who had traded independence for survival, naturally gravitated toward anyone who might help them secure permanent positions within the organization. Dolan' apparent influence with the established leadership made him an obvious ally worth cultivating.
"Captain, do you want to come over?" Dolan called up to Oboro from his position on the main deck, his voice carrying just enough deference to acknowledge rank while maintaining his role as intermediary.
"You decide," Oboro replied with casual indifference, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
The response sparked calculation in Dolan' eyes as he nodded with understanding. His gaze shifted between Dom and Yurivich before he began issuing orders for increased speed and direct approach toward the Hawkins Pirates' vessel.
Currently, the Hell Pirates counted one hundred twenty-eight souls aboard their flagship, a substantial force by any standard, though Oboro understood that quantity meant little without corresponding quality.
Dolan surveyed his immediate surroundings with growing satisfaction, noting how the newer recruits looked to him for guidance and approval. These pirates had once commanded their own crews, terrorized their own territories, and accumulated bounties that reflected genuine individual capability. Now they served as trainee crew members aboard a ship where their previous accomplishments meant nothing.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
Everyone wore the standard Hell Pirates uniform, black clothing that covered them completely, leaving only their eyes visible through devil-patterned masks that added to their intimidating appearance. The aesthetic served practical purposes beyond simple intimidation: it prevented enemy identification of individual crew members while creating psychological unity among disparate personalities.
But beneath their identical disguises lay vast differences in capability and potential.
Dolan had benefited from extended personal training under Oboro's direct supervision, combined with enhancement cards that had genuinely transformed his fundamental nature. His demon transformation had been comprehensive and powerful, elevating him far beyond his original East Blue limitations.
The newer recruits had received far more modest improvements. While their enhanced strength and supernatural resilience exceeded normal human capabilities, the bloodline cards applied to them came from low-tier demons whose abilities paled beside elite specimens. Their weapons consisted of basic Nichirin swords, functional but unremarkable compared to the specialized armaments that distinguished true elites.
Most importantly, their current status remained explicitly temporary.
Every newcomer understood the brutal mathematics of their situation: they were trainee crew members competing for permanent positions within an organization that valued results above all other considerations. Only those who proved their worth through exceptional performance would earn the right to call themselves true Hell Pirates.
The rest would be discarded without ceremony when their usefulness expired.
Among the assembled trainees, Dolan had identified several individuals whose potential exceeded their peers. These pirates had received slightly enhanced transformations, suggesting that Oboro saw value in their eventual development. But even they remained far from guaranteed permanent status.
"Speed up! Get over there!" Dolan shouted, his authoritative tone carrying clearly across the deck.
A crew member immediately launched himself toward the rigging with supernatural agility, his enhanced physique allowing him to adjust the sails with precision that ordinary pirates couldn't match. The Hell Pirates' vessel surged forward with renewed momentum, cutting through the grey waters toward their intended prey.
"They don't seem to have any intention of avoiding us!" one trainee observed with obvious surprise. "They're actually coming toward us!"
"Could it be they want to fight us head-on?" another added with disbelief. "They're really brave!"
"Hahaha!" The laughter that erupted carried genuine amusement rather than simple bravado.
In the past, these same pirates would have approached the Hawkins Pirates with extreme caution, recognizing them as dangerous opponents who commanded respect throughout the North Blue. Some might have fled rather than risk confrontation with such formidable rivals.
But circumstances had changed dramatically. They now served aboard the Hell Pirates' flagship, operating under the protection of legends whose reputation had terrorized an entire ocean. Their previous fears seemed laughably obsolete.
From his elevated position, Oboro observed the "noisy" crew with benign amusement.
The blood cards he'd distributed among the trainees all originated from the lowest tier of demons in his collection, specimens whose capabilities barely exceeded human norms. His system storage contained thousands of such cards, making their distribution both practical and economical.
Similarly, the weapons he'd provided consisted mainly of basic Nichirin swords crafted by ordinary smiths. Some weren't even true Nichirin steel, but conventional blades manufactured from superior materials that mimicked the demon-slaying properties of genuine articles.
Such limitations were entirely deliberate.
The Hell Pirates' strength had never depended on numerical superiority or fleet size. True power lay in elite individuals whose capabilities transcended normal limitations, not in masses of enhanced cannon fodder whose loyalty remained questionable.
These trainees served temporary purposes that would become clear when circumstances demanded their sacrifice. For now, they provided adequate manpower for routine operations while their enhanced abilities made them useful for intimidation and basic combat duties.
Dolan represented the standard Oboro expected from permanent crew members: adequate intelligence combined with practical cunning, though his fundamental character remained problematic. The man's recovery from his injuries could have been completed weeks earlier, but he'd deliberately remained in the Kingdom of Scan until the resolution of major political crises.
His delayed return spoke to calculated self-preservation rather than genuine loyalty, a perspective that might prove useful or dangerous depending on circumstances.
"I am the captain of the Hawkins Pirates, Basil Hawkins."
The voice carried clearly across the water between their vessels, amplified by Den Den Mushi communication systems. Both ships had closed to conversational distance without opening fire, creating a tense standoff that promised violence or negotiation depending on the next few minutes.
The Hell Pirates' approach had been deliberately aggressive, their crew confident that superior individual capabilities rendered enemy artillery irrelevant. With Dom's spatial abilities, Yurivich's supernatural durability, and dozens of enhanced subordinates, conventional marine combat held little threat.
Following the sound, they could see a tall blonde figure standing prominently at the Hawkins Pirates' bow. His bearing suggested both confidence and supernatural awareness, while his willingness to expose himself spoke to either remarkable courage or complete faith in his mystical abilities.
Dolan glanced up toward Oboro with obvious uncertainty, recognizing that proper diplomatic protocol required their captain's direct involvement. When enemy leaders requested formal meetings, such recognition typically demanded equivalent response.
Oboro's casual gesture indicated that Dolan should handle the interaction himself, a delegation of authority that carried both opportunity and risk.
Understanding his role, Dolan immediately positioned himself at their bow with theatrical flair. His devil-masked features split into a predatory grin as he cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice.
"I know... I know, Basil Hawkins! You're quite famous in the North Blue, no need for introductions! We're looking for you!"
"Hahahahaha!" The crew's laughter created a cacophony of malevolent amusement that echoed across the water like the sounds of demons celebrating their next feast.
The psychological effect was immediate and deliberate. Rather than professional pirates conducting routine business, they appeared as supernatural predators who had cornered helpless prey. Their enhanced voices carried undertones that seemed to resonate with unnatural harmonics.
Hawkins' expression tightened with visible concern as he processed what he was witnessing. The Hell Pirates' reputation had prepared him for dangerous opponents, but the reality exceeded his worst expectations. These weren't simply enhanced criminals, they radiated the kind of otherworldly menace that belonged in horror stories.
"Your captain..." Hawkins began, clearly hoping to negotiate with someone who possessed ultimate authority.
But Dolan interrupted with theatrical confusion, leaning forward and cupping one ear as if straining to hear.
"Huh? Captain? You want to see our captain?"
His exaggerated reaction drew additional laughter from the assembled crew, while his tone carried mocking undertones that transformed reasonable diplomatic inquiry into apparent presumption.
After allowing the moment to build appropriate tension, Dolan clenched his fist and ran his tongue across his lips with predatory satisfaction. The gesture was both disgusting and threatening, designed to reinforce their image as monsters who delighted in violence.
"Our captain is a big shot, and you can't meet him casually... Know your place... Captain!"
The insult struck Hawkins like a physical blow, his pupils contracting with shock at such blatant disrespect. Throughout his career in the North Blue, few had dared to address him with such contempt. Even rival captains typically maintained basic courtesies when conducting business negotiations.
But the Hell Pirates operated according to different rules entirely.
"Everyone..." Dolan called out, stretching his arms wide to encompass the assembled crew.
Behind him, over a hundred devil-masked figures raised their weapons in perfect synchronization. Nichirin swords gleamed in the afternoon light while enhanced physiques radiated barely contained power that made the very air feel heavier.
The sight was genuinely terrifying, a coordinated display of supernatural force that promised swift annihilation for anyone foolish enough to resist their demands.
"Let's get started!"
With those simple words, Dolan had effectively declared war on one of the North Blue's most respected pirate organizations. The die had been cast, and only violence could determine which crew would sail away from this encounter.
The strongest rookie pirates in the North Blue were about to discover whether their mystical abilities could overcome the systematic brutality that had made the Hell Pirates legends throughout these waters.
Battle was inevitable, and the outcome would reshape the region's criminal hierarchy once again.