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"Die here, or leave with me and claim the Devil Fruit you have dreamed about your entire life. There is no third option."
Arthur's voice was flat, stripped of emotion, yet it carried a chill that cut deeper than the prison's stone.
Redfield was old. Too damn old. Age might not gut a man's power overnight, but it drained his stamina, his vitality. In a fight between equals, the one who could last ten days would always beat the one who could only manage five. That was the grim mathematics of it.
Arthur had given him years to chew on the offer. His patience was exhausted. No more negotiation. No more wiggle room.
A legend like Redfield deserved better than rotting away in obscurity. It was an insult to his strength, his legacy. Arthur would not stand for it. Every legend deserved a funeral worthy of their name.
Look at Roger—his death ignited an era, burned his name into history forever. The Golden Lion, Whitebeard... they would get their send-off too. One day, Arthur would stage a spectacle the world would never forget, burying the old guard in a blaze of glory.
If Redfield refused now? Arthur would not let him die quietly in this cell. He would break him out, give him one last spectacular fight, and send him off himself. A warrior's end.
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Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Redfield's eyes held a strange mixture—desperate hunger for life warring with bitter envy at Arthur's youth, his raw, overflowing vitality.
He could not stand the thought of dying old and withered. That fear had fueled his lifelong obsession with the fruit. Arthur's ultimatum struck him precisely where it hurt most.
'So damn arrogant... just like those infuriating fools, Shiki and Whitebeard...'
He stared, lost in Arthur's condescending posture, perhaps seeing ghosts of his own past reign in the younger man's eyes.
The emperors of the sea, tyrants all, shared certain traits. That unshakeable arrogance. A reckless disregard for limits. An absolute certainty of their own supremacy. They never backed down, never hesitated, never cared who stood in their way.
Roger, facing Shiki's impossible armada at Edd War, had not flinched. He had refused the offer to join, choosing instead to carve a bloody path against insane odds. Redfield himself had once faced down the entire World Government Army alone, leaving a scar across the Red Line.
Even that kid Luffy never backed down, except for that one time at Sabaody when facing power he could not comprehend.
The agony in his voice then... Redfield could still imagine it.
Was it confidence? Arrogance? Or just pure, untamed will burning too bright to be contained?
Redfield saw it all in Arthur—the strengths and weaknesses laid bare, worn without apology. He simply existed as he was. A force of nature that warped the world around him.
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"The Devil Fruit..." Redfield muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "The Thunder God Pirates already have it. The very thing I have bled for, searched for my entire life."
"Was I wrong all along? Is going it alone just spitting into the wind? Trying to fight the whole world by myself... was that just shortsighted?"
He was tearing himself apart, wrestling with the ghost of his pride, weighing the crushing weight of solitude against the humiliation of bending the knee, of becoming First Mate to this upstart.
"Going solo means freedom, sure. No strings attached. But it is a constant headache," Arthur said, sensing the shift in the air. "Having a crew means others handle the grunt work, the shit you cannot be bothered with. Downsides either way."
He pressed the advantage. "As for the fruit—we do not have it in hand, but it is as good as ours. The second you are out, we go take it."
"It seems... I have no choice." Redfield sighed, the sound adding another decade to his voice.
He could face death, stare it down without blinking. Yet he could not face dying old, stripped of his dignity, his elegance. Even in death, he had to maintain his grace.
"Let me out, Arthur."
He did not call him Captain. A last, flickering ember of defiance.
Arthur did not give a damn. The choice was made. Pushing him further now would only risk shattering him completely. Besides, the first step is always the hardest. Once you start down a road, turning back feels impossible.
Life worked that way. Start something, or do not. But once you start, you see it through.
Broken pride, like shattered glass, never truly mends.
Yet Arthur was not worried. Habits were insidious things. Powerful things.
Jessica had gotten used to his twisted logic, drunk deep on freedom. She could never return to the Navy's cage.
Once Redfield took this step, he would not be Red the Aloof anymore. Not really. Eventually, he too would grow accustomed to following Arthur's lead. Truly submit.
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"Clank!"
The chains crashed against the stone floor. Redfield slowly stretched, wincing as stiff muscles protested after years of immobility.
His silver hair, long and tangled, fell loose down his back. Even clad in filthy prison rags, he radiated an undeniable aura of nobility.
A king in beggar's clothes remains a king.
He straightened, his posture becoming ramrod straight, like a spear thrust into the earth. He matched Arthur's height, his every movement carrying the refined grace of an aristocrat enjoying fine wine and classical music in some grand castle—a stark contrast to the usual crude bearing of pirates.
"To see the sun again," Redfield said, his narrow, cunning eyes fixed on Arthur. "Why does it feel less free than before?"
"Perhaps because you now carry something on your shoulders," Arthur replied, a genuine smile finally touching his lips. He had waited so long for this moment.
"Freedom is not about having no responsibilities. Real freedom is in your head. If you believe you are free, then you are. Everything else is bullshit."
"Crude. But true."
Redfield nodded. He calmly pulled a loose thread from his tattered uniform and used it to tie back his long silver hair. The simple act held surprising, captivating elegance.
"If I join your crew," he said, his voice regaining some of its old authority, "you cannot simply order me around like some nameless grunt. Agreed?"
"Outside of direct threats to the crew, I do not give a damn what you do," Arthur replied easily.
It was the truth.
His commanders largely did as they pleased—conquering, plundering, killing—as long as they handled their core duties. Their free time was their own.
"Then let us go," Redfield said, adjusting his makeshift hair tie, his bearing once again regal and composed. "Let us find the Devil Fruit I desire."
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