The Flying Dutchman did not sail so much as it loomed—a rotting monument suspended between sea and sky.
The air was wrong.
Not poison. Not smoke.
Just… thinning. As if the ship were quietly collecting oxygen the way a miser collected coins.
On the main deck, Arcturus stood perfectly still. Just standing there menacingly. Didn't even move his head to see the situation of his prisoner.
Behind Arc, Felicia was still choking due to his unbreakable grasp, her breathing shallow, eyelids heavy. Bound wrists. Salt on her lips. Her mermaid tail frantically attacks Arcturus with armament haki, yet no damage.
suffocation continued
Across from them, Vander Decken stared at Arc like a man inspecting an interesting animal that refused to die on schedule. His upgraded version of water bullet -) water impaler didn't work as he hoped.
Decken's mouth twitched.
Then he started to laugh.
"Yamahahahah…!"
It rolled out too loud, bouncing off the Dutchman's ribs.
"You are quite a tough fellow, señor," Decken said, wiping a tear from his eye as if this was genuinely funny. "Human, you appear on my ship. Suffocating now, my fellow comrade—"
He spread his arms theatrically.
"—and you want to talk?! Shalalalala… such arrogance, such arrogance, PUTO CABRÓN!" He yelled. Flaring his conqueror haki afterwards.
Nearby, Athanacya watched with a curious tilt of her head, like she was studying a strange fish in a tank.
"Why does he laugh and act like that, did he hit his head and has brain damage?"
A fishman officer beside her exhaled in irritation, gills flaring. He leaned down, making sure his shadow covered her.
"Listen well, woman. Our Captain is quite special." he said
Athanacya's eyes slid toward him—flat, unimpressed. Playing with the deck of cards.
"Yeah. No shit."
One Officer hissed: "Watch your tongue human! Or you will be without it! Winning game or not!"
Another fishman snorted.
"He is just a nutjob as every Vander Decken before him…"
…
…
Another officer's voice dropped, uneasy.
"Yes and no… If this battle continues, you will see."
"Eh?" someone muttered, unable to keep their curiosity caged.
The ship creaked.
Arc slowly eased his grip on Felicia—enough to signal he wasn't using her like a shield in the cheap way. His face angled toward Decken.
"We… want… to tra—" Arc tried to say something...
Decken moved.
Steel slid from its sheath with a clean, excited sound, like a blade that enjoyed being used.
"ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND ARMY GREAT IMPALING MANSLAUGHTER SWORD OF ANNIHILATION!"
The name hit the deck harder than the strike.
For a heartbeat, the crew's faces twisted—not in fear of the attack, but in despair at having to hear it again.
Then the technique arrived.
Water answered Decken from everywhere at once—from the sea below, from the fog itself, from the wet grain of the ship's wood—rising as invisible lines, pulled like threads by a puppeteer.
Impaling lances erupted in a chain reaction. From air. From sea. From mist. A blooming lattice of spear-points that turned the space around Arc into an execution chamber.
Armament coated those lances in hard, black certainty.
Conqueror's pressure rode behind it, making weaker fishmen's knees dip even though none of this was aimed at them.
Decken's control was insane.
Precise enough to make the entire deck a killing field while not so much as nicking his own crew.
Arc did not flinch. Just Activated his armament haki.
A dull crack.
He faced it head-on, barely moving—only lifting an arm with slow contempt, like swatting a fly. The spear shattered as his palm met it at the right angle, breaking the path like it had been a broken toothpick.
....
meanwhile, the crew:
....
"WHO THE HELL WOULD NAME HIS SWORD STRIKE LIKE THIS?!?!" someone screamed, hands over his ears.
"CAPTAIN, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL SEA GODS, CHANGE IT!!!!" another wailed.
"My ears are bleeding!" someone cried—and to everyone's horror, it wasn't metaphorical. Thin streaks of red slid down his neck. A Ketchup or blood?
A third fishman collapsed dramatically. "Watching is good, but this is torture hearing it!!!"
Decken's grin widened like he was proud of their suffering.
On the starboard side, a lean officer scrambled onto a crate and snapped open a sign like a street vendor.
EARPLUGS — 10,000 BELI
His expression was solemn. Professional. Like this was humanitarian aid. Or merfolk aid?
"This is a robbery!!!"
"Price gouging!!!"
"You can't profiteer off our suffering!"
The officer flipped the sign around.
DISCOUNT IF YOU BUY TWO
Half the crew surged toward him anyway.
Because Decken inhaled again and started raising his sword, and everyone knew what that meant.
"...Tra...de..." Arc finally finished his sentence—the reason for his visit. Yet it took him a whole damn minute.
Arc tried again—bit faster this time, but steady.
"We....are..... no..t ....here... to—"
Decken cut him off mid-syllable, voice booming with theatrical joy.
"TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND—"
"NOOOOO!" the crew screamed in unison.
A fishman threw his wallet like a weapon at the earplug stand.
Athanacya stared at the scene—at the battlefield, at the screaming, at the absurd commerce—and exhaled slowly.
"What is this racist circus?" she muttered, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "If you cannot defeat them… join them."
She walked directly to the stand.
"I can sell" she said.
The earplug officer sized her up like she was applying for a post.
"Slave woman," he said with pride, "after that card game… you are worthy of helping."
Athanacya's gaze dropped.
He was wearing only trunks.
A long beat.
"…Wait," she said flatly. "Were you the fishman who just lost his clothes?"
The officer stiffened. "That is irrelevant."
From the crowd: "He tried to bluff with a straight flush!"
"I had a strategy!" the officer snapped, yelling. He then returned his gaze. "BJ…. They call me BJ, remember it, human"
Athanacya took the earplugs and immediately became a splendid vendor.
"Ten thousand," she said, palm out.
One fishman scowled. "Huh..? You're our slave!"
Athanacya leaned closer, voice calm. "And you are about to hear him say 'army great impaling manslaughter' again. Ten thousand and one hundred, please. Time is money."
first he swallowed his tears, then he paid.
His money was coated with special resin making it waterproof.
Others then followed... yet regretting now their choice joining this…. Whatever it was.