The Marine base loomed ahead like a fortress of stone and arrogance. Its walls were tall and bare, banners of justice fluttering stiffly in the breeze. But Magnus knew better—justice wasn't what reigned here.
As he walked closer, the atmosphere shifted again. Civilians skirted wide around the open yard before the gates, their eyes flicking nervously toward the wooden cross planted in the center.
There he was.
Roronoa Zoro.
Magnus stopped, his sharp eyes narrowing. Even from this distance, the swordsman's presence was undeniable. He was bound to the post with thick rope, shirt torn and stained, hair wild under the sun's merciless glare. His body bore the marks of hunger and strain, but his posture straight and unyielding refused to bend.
A boy starving, but not broken.
Magnus studied him in silence. His Observation Haki drifted outward, brushing against Zoro's will. What he felt made his lips twitch faintly, almost in approval. A will like tempered steel, defiant even in chains.
Around him, Marines lingered with mocking laughter, tossing scraps of food just out of reach, jeering at the infamous bounty hunter reduced to a prisoner. One guard spat near Zoro's boots, sneering.
Zoro didn't so much as flinch.
Magnus's gaze sharpened, his mind already working. So, this is the man destined to be the world's greatest swordsman. A beast caged, waiting for the right hand to undo the chains.
The civilians whispered from a distance.
"That's Roronoa Zoro… they say he's a monster."
"He killed a hundred men."
"No, more! He'll be executed soon, Captain Morgan won't spare him."
Magnus ignored the rumors. His eyes were on Zoro alone, and in that unbending frame he saw truth: the kind of will that could shatter the seas.
For a fleeting second, Magnus considered stepping forward, loosening the ropes himself. His hand flexed at his side, Armament Haki stirring faintly under his skin. But he stopped, lips pressing into a thin line.
No. This isn't my stage. Not yet. Another will come to free him. Straw Hat.
Magnus turned, silver-white hair catching the breeze, sharp eyes lingering one last time on Zoro before he walked away.
In the silence that followed, Zoro's head lifted slightly, his lone eye narrowing as if he'd felt something pass by—a weight, a presence that didn't belong to the Marines.
Neither man spoke. But the air between them held the promise of recognition.
---
The tavern smelled of cheap ale and damp wood. Lanternlight flickered against the cracked walls, casting long shadows across the room. Magnus sat alone at a corner table, his glass of water untouched, silver-white hair catching faint glimmers of orange flame.
The conversations around him were hushed, broken by nervous glances toward the Marine base visible through the tavern's narrow windows. Captain Morgan's name lingered in every whisper, each word carrying both fear and resentment.
Magnus listened without looking up. His sharp eyes were half-lidded, but his mind cataloged every tone, every tremor.
Observation Haki threaded quietly through the room, painting impressions of dread, of simmering hatred and of weary submission.
At a table near the bar, a pair of Marines drank noisily, their laughter coarse. One of them slammed his mug down and shouted, "That demon outside won't last another week! Let him rot—Roronoa Zoro'll die like a dog, and the town will remember who holds power here!"
The tavern fell silent. Civilians kept their eyes down, not daring to speak.
Magnus tilted his head slightly, his eyes sliding toward the man. His expression was unreadable, but the air seemed to tighten for an instant—just enough for the Marine to falter mid-laugh, suddenly uncomfortable without knowing why.
Magnus returned his gaze to the glass before him. Arrogance masquerading as order. This is Morgan's justice—fear painted over weakness.
The door creaked open, letting in a gust of sea air. A sailor stumbled in, cheeks flushed from drink, shouting about a "boy in a straw hat" he'd seen at the docks, boldly declaring he was going to be the Pirate King. The words cut through the tavern like a blade.
The Marines scoffed. Civilians looked bewildered, almost afraid. But Magnus…
His eyes opened fully for the first time that evening, sharp and cold as tempered steel. His hand tapped once against the table, the faintest curl tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He's here.
The calm before the storm had ended.
And Magnus was ready to watch the pieces fall into place.