The waters were calm, deceptively so. A thick sun hung heavy over the horizon, casting gold upon the waves as a lowly vessel cut through them like a blade through silk.
On its weathered deck, a dozen slaves knelt in silence, chained together by heavy iron links that bit into their skin with every shift.
Their eyes were sunken, expressions hollow, all of them too weak or too broken to speak.
The guards, armoured in tarnished metal and sweat-soaked cloth, stood tall around them, boots thudding heavily against the planks as they peered ahead with greedy eyes.
One of them, a grizzled man with a missing ear and a cracked helmet, leaned against the rail and squinted toward the rising dunes of the land before them.
"There it is," he muttered with a dry chuckle. "Alabasta. Finally."
Another spat over the edge and laughed. "Took long enough. Sun damn near cooked half of 'em."
"Better they drop dead now than once they get to work," said a third, nudging a gaunt slave with the butt of his spear. The man didn't flinch. "Less mouths to feed."
"And have Sir Harloss feed us to his Sea Beasts instead? If I have to tell you once more, I'll throw you off this damn ship myself. Stay focused!"
All the guards straightened their backs at their superior's yell, prompting them to fall silent and continue as they were.
The grizzled man continued to walk, mumbling curses under his breath as he paused, witnessing a certain slave, head limp.
The guard stared for a few seconds. He couldn't help but kneel for a second to catch the slave's face, only to witness the slave, eyes closed and drooling as he slept like a baby.
"Huh..."
The man straightened his back once again as his expression contorted in confusion.
However, in the next second, it twisted in annoyance as he aggressively nudged the slave with the butt of his sheathed sword, the slave soon coming to.
"Are we there yet?" He yawned and blinked himself awake, mumbling, all while lazily glancing around with his eyes half shut.
The grizzled man's teeth tightened as his hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, ready to draw and cut the slave down for his insolence.
But then, he paused. His brows furrowed as he noticed the slave's hands twitching, trembling violently in their shackles.
A slow smirk replaced his scowl. "What's this? Shakin' like a leaf already? Must be pissin' yourself in fear, huh?" he jeered, snorting at what he assumed was terror.
The slave looked up at the grizzled man, his expression blank and still half asleep, looking down as he witnessed that his hands really were shaking.
'I see...the numbness from being on ice is finally gone. This is the result of it. My nerves and muscles are atrophied to the point where I can't control them properly anymore.'
He remembered the attack that put him on ice hitting his hands first upon him trying to block, making the effects seemingly focused around that area.
However, the atrophy could still be felt on the rest of his body. Stiff, heavy and groggy were just a few words he'd use to describe it.
It was like the movements he could once do meaninglessly now needed conscious demands.
The slave lethargically raised his head, eyes barely open, and muttered, "It's just a condition. I can't really control it."
"Wait...so you're really just crippled? That's even worse!" The man jeered as he obnoxiously laughed, hand on his stomach.
But his laughter was cut short as the slave's posture shifted, the drooping head rising, a wide, unsettling grin splitting across his face.
Wild eyes stared back at the man as the slave slowly tilted his head and muttered, "Funny. Your mom didn't seem to mind these hands when she begged me for more."
"Huh..."
The guard froze, eyes slowly widening, the insult cutting sharper than any blade.
A heavy silence fell over the deck as even the waves seemed to pause. His jaw twitched, lips curling into a snarl.
"You little—!"
He lunged to draw his sword, but before the steel left its sheath, the slave leaned back, still grinning.
"Careful now," the slave cooed mockingly, "your blood pressure's spiking. Wouldn't want you to keel over before the fun starts."
The guard growled, blade now fully out. "I'm gonna make you regret opening that mouth."
"Oh, I already regret it," the slave said, glancing at the sword. "I just regret not opening it sooner. Could've saved everyone from your breath."
That earned a chuckle from a nearby slave, cut short when another guard barked a warning.
The grizzled man pulled back his sword, ready to swing with all his might.
However, to his surprise, the Slave staggered forward.
Closing the distance between them as he rose to his feet, the grizzled man widened his eyes.
'He's too close for my attack to land...'
BANG!
The top of the slave's head smashed into the grizzled man's chin with a BANG!
It happened in a manner where it seemed like an accident, as though the slave just happened to hit him coincidentally while simply trying to get to his feet.
The grizzled man's eyes rolled to the back of his head as his brain shook violently within his skull.
"Fighting and being a lazy piece of shit. I may be crippled, but I can make do with just my two greatest talents. Outside being a genius, super handsome, limitlessly limitless..."
The slave continued to list off a long list of adjectives, many of which he'd simply made up, all while the entire deck fell silent, and all guards stared. All slaves, too, watching the guard drop to the ground with a THUD, unconscious.
"For someone with a cracked helmet, you'd think you'd be more careful with your head."
The slave spoke once more, foot on the man as though he were a pioneer discovering new land.
"Well?" he asked the rest. "Anyone else feel like fatherly bonding time?"
The slave, or rather Dante asked, emerald eyes fiery as always and grin devilish.
Everyone continued staring in stunned silence.
"What?" Dante blinked. "You expecting a magic trick or something?"
He sighed as though annoyed, then slowly raised his hands in front of him, still bound in shackles.
"Fine," he muttered with theatrical flair, wriggling his fingers like a children's party magician.
With deliberate, overly exaggerated movements, he began to pull his hands apart, only for the shackles to somehow fall off, clattering to the deck.
However, it was clear the shackles were never properly even bound to him.
"Ta-da," he said flatly. "Greatest escape artist since that one guy with the full-body tattoo map and an unhealthy obsession with paper swans."
Stares...until the superior yelled, pulling at his sword and pointing it at Dante, "Draw your weapons and show no mercy!"
Dante's lips twitched into a grin as he pulled out a golden-sheathed knife, its curved edge gleaming beneath the sun and a crimson jewel glittering on its hilt.
Gasps rippled across the deck.
"Wait a second... I've seen that knife..."
He slowly unsheathed it, revealing a sleek black blade that shimmered unnaturally.
The superior's eyes narrowed, the recognition dawning. "That—That blade belonged to Saint Harloss. Bought it at an auction years ago..."
His face hardened. "Who the hell are you?"
Dante's grin only widened as he placed the dagger's handle between his teeth, pirate-style. "Come and find out," he mumbled, voice muffled.
Then, with his free hand, he casually pulled out a golden flintlock pistol, the ornate weapon glinting ominously, waving it as if to mock the man.
To which he did as the superior's eye twitched as his jaw clenched. He knew that gun.
"That gun... that's—!"
"Uh-oh," Dante wagged the gun like a finger. "Looks like someone's got a good memory. Shame it won't save you."
They surged forward at the command, weapons drawn and eyes burning with fury.
The first guard lunged at Dante, raising his blade overhead.
Dante, standing perfectly still, raised the golden pistol and aimed it with a lazy flick of the wrist. The guard flinched, hesitated, just for a second.
That second was all Dante needed.
He hurled himself forward...literally. He used all the strength he could muster to quite literally "Fall" toward the guard, body low like a falling drunk and his head snapping to the side mid-movement.
The curved black blade in his mouth sang through the air, catching the guard's throat with surgical precision.
A gurgled gasp escaped the man as he stumbled back, clutching his neck before crumpling to the floor.
"You bastard!"
"Die!"
Two more rushed in from either side.
Dante twisted, posture slack and loose, like a marionette with cut strings.
His movements looked almost accidental, clumsy, even, but each step was deliberate, each sway calculated.
He ducked beneath the first man's swing, rolling his shoulder awkwardly to the side and letting his atrophied frame follow gravity.
In that same moment, dropping to the ground, he pressed his gun onto the first guard's foot.
BANG!
"AGHH!!!"
The guard yelled, pulling his foot up to clutch the bullet wound.
The second guard came from behind, attempting to swing down onto the downed Dante.
"Jeez, at least do me the courtesy of helping me to my feet."
He muttered, on his knees as he met the attack head-on, deflecting with the blade in his mouth as a loud CLANG rang out, hard enough that it sent Dante stumbling back toward the first guard.
"Thank you."
SHKH!
Dante's blade stabbed into the first guard's side as he'd used the momentum to close the distance between the two and attack.
"N-No..."
The guard held his side, unsure if he should stop the bleeding on his side or on his foot.
Either way, Dante kicked him just hard enough that he went tumbling toward a coming guard, hitting him.
But as the guard went to catch his injured ally...
"Hello there."
Dante appeared before him, holding his trusty gun on the guard's forehead until...
BANG!
"Alright, three down...quite a few to go."
'The way he fights...'
The superior noted.
Each movement looked like it took effort, despite it seeming menial, because it did.
Every motion seemed sluggish, but only to the untrained eye. In truth, it was deception, perfected. He was using his own stiffness, his own condition, to mislead them.
Dante stood tall, well, wobbled tall and smiled, licking blood off his lips as though tasting soup.
"I'd say 'who's next,' but let's be real… you're all gonna come at once, right? Makes it easier."
In the next instant, the circle closed in. Ten men, perhaps more, weapons raised, eyes set with murderous intent. But Dante? He just grinned.
And then...
VTZZZ
It was like the world skipped a frame. His figure shimmered, glitched even, but he hadn't moved. Or rather...maybe he did. Just not in any way the eye could follow.
In that same breath, his posture was different.
No longer hunched and groggy, but upright.
Proud.
Arms stretched out to the side as if welcoming their blades.
A wide, devilish grin carved across his face.
Then...
THUD!
One of the guards collapsed, his eyes still open in confusion. Another followed. Then another. One after the other, they dropped like marionettes with their strings cut.
Some clutched at their necks, others at bleeding bellies, and some didn't even have the chance to realise they were dead.
Dante remained in the centre, surrounded by a ring of corpses and groaning bodies.
He gave an exaggerated sigh, flicking imaginary dust from his shoulder.
"Man, you'd think with all that yelling, one of you would've at least hit me. Guess volume doesn't equal skill after all."
He planted a foot on a fallen foe, raising his flintlock and dagger theatrically as though expecting applause.
However, as he looked around, the slaves remained quiet. And it was clear why.
"I swear, on the name of the great Saint Harloss, I will cut you done here."
"Uh huh...and would it be a good time to tell you that I was the one to kill that fatso?"
This was it. The final push. From the knife and most notably the gun he knew all too well...
His eyes widened in fury as he leapt forward, sword controlled at his side.
As for Dante, he waited, pulling up his gun.
'I saw his hands...he's a cripple. He can barely pull that trigger let alone aim properly.'
He'd seen it. All this time. The slave focused on shooting at point-blank range, not worrying about aim.
Not to mention the few times he used the gun primarily for intimidation purposes.
'All I have to do is steer clear of that dagger in his mouth. That's easy enough. I've won!'
This seemed like the logical conclusion.
So...as he neared...why was there a part of him that still...feared?
He witnessed the slave continue to raise his weapon...continue aiming it at him...prepare to shoot.
'Twitch, twitch, twitch...'
Dante thought.
The boy watched.
He watched his hands twitch, the entire gun shaking with it.
He focused...he waited...and he predicted.
BANG!
"AGH!"
The final guard dropped to the ground, clutching his gut as blood gushed from it, dropping his sword.
"Aha, the genius does it again! Would you like to know how?"
The guard continued to groan as silence descended.
"Alright, alright, keep your hair on, I'll tell you. You see, by jerking my arm, I give my shot "Directional Force". A force strong enough that it cancels out the twitch."
"Like riding a shaky boat. You snap your arm forward in a powerful and controlled burst and hopefully, the motion power you rely on will be enough to overpower the disturbance."
"Sure, it looks clumsy considering I'm waving and jerking my arm around, and SURE, I was aiming for your head and hit your stomach, but it has potential. I call it the "Madman's Draw". What do you think?"
The superior looked up weakly, eyes already sunken and face pale.
"I should have known...someone like you who's confident enough to fight with a gun despite your crippled hands...you must have honed that technique for all your life."
Dante raised an eyebrow.
"All my life? Yeah right, maybe to your feeble self it looks like so. But that took me all of 20 seconds to come up with."
The superior looked on, eyes slowly widening as he froze.
But in the next second, he dropped to the ground face first, dead.
In the end, no one could tell if he was surprised or if his expression was one that had simply succumbed to death.
"Well, that's not true. I could tell it was the former." Dante chuckled evilly.
He turned toward the silent group of slaves, many still wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
With a cocky grin, he gestured with open arms. "Well? No applause? I did just save your lives in stunning fashion."
A wiry slave near the front lifted his arms, the chains clinking. "We're shackled."
Dante blinked, then scratched his chin. "Oh yeah..." He casually strolled between them, unlocking cuffs one by one as if he were tidying up a living room.
A tan-skinned man clasped Dante's shoulder with gratitude. The others nodded, murmuring their thanks, the atmosphere finally shifting from stunned silence to hopeful relief.
Dante waved it off. "Ah, all in a day's work."
"Also, maybe toss those overboard. Hate to say it, but getting caught with a boat full of stiff guards of a Celestial Dragon might be a bit of a problem."
The slaves couldn't help but quickly agree, awkwardly dragging the bodies and heaving them into the sea.
"So, who can tell me anything about this island they call Alabasta.
The tan-skinned man from before spoke up.
"I can, I grew up there. It's a desert kingdom. Has its own royalty and—"
Dante held up a hand. "No, no. Not the tourist brochure. I can find out that much just from being in the place."
"Then what do you wanna know?"
Dante paused.
He had a lot to figure out.
His body was broken, his knowledge outdated by two millennia, and he was naked, in the sense that he had no boat and no useful weapons that could hold a candle to what he once called his.
Rewind was off the table too since he'd been frozen 2000 years prior. His Rewind didn't reach that far.
If he wanted to be whole again, he'd need help. To start, a doctor to help fix his body. Maybe even take a few classes. And if that meant leaving this island, so be it.
But to do any of those things, he needed a single crucial piece that could make his life going forward far easier.
He turned to the tan-skinned man, his grin returning. "I want to know where I can become filthy rich."