In a bustling tavern on the Sabaody Archipelago, the air was thick with the scent of rum and ambition.
The wall behind the bar was plastered with wanted posters of the Hell Pirates' crew, each bounty a testament to their infamy.
"This tavern's where Captain Brook of the Hell Pirates first crossed paths with Shakky! Back then, "Poison Cannon" Sharin got one-shotted by Brook right here. That's how they skyrocketed to fame, storming their way to the top of the New World!"
The barkeep, eyes gleaming, spun the tale for a crowd of rookie pirates, never tiring of the story. Every time a new batch of pirates or Supernovas strolled in, he'd recount it with gusto.
The tavern leaned hard into this legend to draw customers. Their booze? The same stuff sipped by Overlord Brook himself! Drinking here meant you had taste as refined as the Hell Pirates' captain.
Plus, Shakky, the notorious info broker, was a regular back in the day—a familiar face who'd now hit the big time as a Hell Pirates officer, filthy rich and wielding a mythical Zoan Devil Fruit!
"Yohoho! Brook-sama's a man who makes the World Government and Marines quake in their boots! I'm headin' to the New World to join 'em. Maybe they'll toss me a Devil Fruit to munch on!"
"No ambition, huh? In the New World, the last few years' Supernovas are stirrin' up chaos on Rocks' turf, vyin' for that fourth Overlord spot. Rocks, that greedy bastard, gobbled up too many islands—serves him right his territory's a mess!"
"Yeah! Rocks' officers are about as tough as Brook's, so why's his crew got twice the turf as the Hell Pirates?"
"Snag Rocks' islands, and we'll have a fourth Overlord in no time!"
"What about old Overlord Saracha? Guy vanished ages ago, and the Hell Pirates swallowed his turf. He didn't even show for the last Overlord clash. You think they got quietly taken out?"
"Who cares if he's dead or alive? If you're hittin' the New World, you either join the Hell Pirates for a shot at a Devil Fruit or head to Rocks' islands. Follow the Supernovas, and you might carve out that fourth Overlord title!"
"What, no chance of takin' on Vesper's crew or the Hell Pirates?"
"Heh, good luck. Vesper's crew's locked down tighter than a vault, and the Hell Pirates with their Float-Float Fruit'll chase you to the ends of the earth. Rocks' turf is the easiest to crash—they don't have enough officers to hold ninety-plus islands!"
"Alright, we're done playin' around here. Tomorrow, we sail for the New World and claim that fourth Overlord spot!"
The cocky pirate captains bellowed, their bravado echoing through the tavern. The barkeep just shook his head. Every year, countless rookie pirates met their end in the New World, barely making a ripple.
Suddenly, the street outside erupted in chaos—not the panicked fleeing of a Celestial Dragon sighting, but a crowd surging forward, buzzing with excitement.
"It's here! It's here! The Hell Pirates' golden airship! Hurry, you gotta see it! They're probably headin' to Fishman Island!"
A scrawny pirate lackey burst through the tavern door, shouting like a madman. The Hell Pirates, New World Overlords, were legends you'd only spot in the back half of the Grand Line.
But ever since the Float-Float Fruit-powered Hell Pirates burst onto the scene, catching a glimpse of an Overlord crew in the Four Blues or the Grand Line wasn't so rare anymore.
They were the only crew bold enough to treat the whole world like their personal playground!
"Overlord Brook's back in Sabaody? Move, move, move! Let's go!"
The tavern owner snatched a stack of Hell Pirates wanted posters, dreaming of a close encounter—maybe even a signature.
He recalled a shady shipwright from Labrador Shipyard who, just last month, sold a Brook-signed wanted poster for eight million Belly. Eight million! How many barrels of grog would he have to sling to match that?
Back then, Brook was just a low-bounty musician pirate. Now, as an Overlord, a fresh signature could fetch tens of millions—maybe more!
This was a goldmine waiting to happen. He had to get that autograph!
...
At the port, disappointment sank in. The Hell Pirates hadn't even docked—they were coating their ship mid-air. Fishmen Tom and Tiger, both coating experts, were hard at work.
With Zeus the Thundercloud and Hera the Cloud pitching in, the process was a spectacle. The island's Marines trembled, frantically reporting to headquarters, while Sabaody's pirates lamented the missed chance to rub elbows with an Overlord crew.
All anyone could do was watch as the golden airship, freshly coated, vanished beneath the waves. Starstruck rookie pirates scrambled to coat their own ships, desperate to catch their idols at Fishman Island.
...
Marine Headquarters, Marineford
"The Hell Pirates' core crew is heading to Fishman Island again? They split off from that giant island?"
"Word is, Fishman Island's flying the Hell Pirates' flag now. Brook's probably got some business to settle there."
"Those filthy fishmen! They were cozying up to join the World Government not long ago, and now they're in bed with pirates? Unforgivable!"
A high-ranking World Government official sneered, his disdain clear. To them, Fishman Island's inhabitants were mere fish, unworthy of standing equal to humans as a sentient race.
"So, who's volunteering to intercept Brook at Fishman Island?"
Fleet Admiral Kurotaka's voice was calm, but the room tensed. Brook's reappearance had the World Government itching to act, eager to eliminate him and Redfield—two thorns in their side.
The other two Admirals, both Devil Fruit users, glanced away. Deep-sea missions were their kryptonite. They'd rather cross the Red Line via Mary Geoise to reach the New World than dive into the abyss.
World Government officials and Marines rarely ventured to Fishman Island. Pirates had no choice—coating was their only path to the New World.
But even that route was a gamble, with only a 60-70% chance of survival. Three or four out of ten crews ended up buried in the deep.
Would Marines take that risk?
If a rogue current or massive Sea King struck, even an Admiral couldn't guarantee safety. Nature's wrath didn't play favorites.
Golden Lion Shiki's air fleet was wrecked by a single storm. Oars, the Continent-Puller, froze to death in a freak cold snap.
When a safer path existed, no one in their right mind took the dangerous one.
It was like choosing between stairs and jumping off a second-story balcony onto a flimsy haystack. Normal folks took the stairs—only lunatics leaped.
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+300 chapters on p@treon/tambeerg