When Viera had been led out, Jin remained seated in silence.
Among pirates, there were always those like Viera—men and women who had been dragged into misery, not born of malice but of circumstance. Not every soul deserved to be erased.
"If we take Hannabal," he mused, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest, "its governance will need enforcers. Trade expansion will require labor. Manpower, after all, is a resource."
He smiled faintly. "The Carrier's next evolution… we won't be short of Soul Crystals anymore. So why not? Let's keep some captives alive. Use them. Grind out every drop of value. Give them a chance at redemption."
His eyes narrowed, sharp with calculation. "And once we have enough men, we'll weed out the worst—the slash-happy killers, the rapists, the irredeemable scum. We'll execute them publicly. Discipline will be made clear, souls refined into crystals, and the people will cheer. Order, power, goodwill—all at once."
Little Ai's voice hummed with dry amusement.
"Master," she said with mock solemnity, "you have the makings of a true capitalist."
…
Aska Island.
Neither scorching hot nor bitter cold—here, the weather was eternal spring. A paradise of blossoms, soft winds, and evergreen forests.
It was here that the organizers of the Death Tournament had set their prize. Whoever reached the island first, whoever laid hands on the token, would claim victory.
But beyond the gentle waves and fragrant air, shadows lurked.
At the island's far side, three Navy warships floated silently, guns primed.
The Marines had received intelligence only days ago. They were here to spring a trap, to seize the pirates that the tournament had drawn like moths to flame.
"Gasparde's doing, isn't it?" a sharp female voice muttered.
On the deck stood a striking woman with short pink hair and a cigarette clamped between her lips. A long Justice cloak draped over her shoulders, her rank clearly visible—Commander Hina.
"That bastard leaked it deliberately," she sneered. "When he was Navy, he betrayed us. Now that he's pirate, he betrays pirates. Whose side is he even on? Why hasn't Headquarters purged him already? Just thinking about it pisses me off. Hina is angry!"
Beside her, a mountain of a man with a thick brown beard and a sword at his hip chuckled warmly. Vice Admiral Onigumo's peer—Vice Admiral Yamakaji. His cigar glowed as he gazed placidly across the sea.
"Men like Gasparde," he said gently, "exist because they are useful. He exposes the rats hiding in the dark. Without him, how do we flush the cockroaches? With our limited manpower, we can't guard every island, can't stop every raid. But set a trap? Let them walk in themselves?" He exhaled a smoke ring. "That is efficiency."
Hina frowned, realization dawning. So this was his bargain. The World Government allowed the Warlords of the Sea—why wouldn't the Navy quietly exploit a turncoat admiral? Few must know of this arrangement.
Then came the cry from the mast.
"Admiral! Look! A ship—the Giants, the brothers Bobby and Boch!"
"Finally?"
"No—wait! Another ship's chasing them. They're being hunted!"
"What?"
"They—vanished!"
The lookouts were white as chalk.
"What do you mean, vanished?!" Hina snapped, leaping to the mast in a single bound.
"I… I swear! They crossed paths with that ship and then—they were gone! The sail blocked my view for a second and when it passed… nothing! It was like… like they'd been swallowed whole!"
The sailors muttered nervously.
Hina snatched the spyglass and fixed it on the horizon.
There it was: a vessel, thirty or forty meters in length. Its flag snapped in the breeze. A skull wreathed in frost, grinning.
A chill crept into her bones. Tthe ship looked unremarkable.
"Are you sure you weren't hallucinating?" Hina muttered. She scanned again. No giants, no wreckage, not even spray on the waves. Too clean.
Had the lookout truly seen it? Or was it a trick of the eye?
"Confirm with Headquarters," Yamakaji ordered calmly. "Is that flag in the records? Any bounty match?"
The communications officer scrambled. Moments later he returned, stiff with unease.
"Report, sir—Headquarters has no bounty record. Nothing matches. No known crew."
The officers fell into hushed silence.
A pirate without a bounty? Impossible. Which meant… perhaps not pirates at all?
"What are your orders, Vice Admiral?" one asked anxiously.
Yamakaji puffed on his cigar, eyes narrowing. "It could simply be a merchant ship resupplying. Our mission is the Death Tournament pirates. We cannot expose ourselves prematurely. However…" He turned. "Commander Hina. Take a squad. Approach by dinghy. Conduct a routine inspection. If it's nothing, leave it be."
"Yes!" Hina snapped, saluting. "Men, with me!"
…
On Aska's shore, Jin stepped off the gangplank and inhaled deeply. The spring air caressed his face.
"What a place," he murmured. "A sanatorium here would draw nobles by the hundreds. Tourism. Trade. Gold, hand over fist."
His mind was always scheming.
The port town was quaint, built for travelers, but eerily quiet. The streets were sparse, the few pedestrians glancing around with furtive eyes. Too stiff, too cautious.
Undercover.
Jin's enhanced senses, sharpened by his awakening, caught whispers in the alleys.
"Is that a pirate?"
"Doesn't look like one…"
Marines. Hiding poorly.
"So. The Navy's lying in ambush?" Jin thought coldly. "Gasparde, you treacherous rat."
In the original tale, he remembered, Gasparde had tricked pirates with false Eternal Poses, leading them straight into Marine strongholds to be executed. Treating them like cattle for slaughter.
Jin did not quicken his pace. He walked calmly down the street, his head held high. He had no bounty—no wanted poster. No fear.
At last he reached the tavern that housed the so-called prize.
As he pushed open the door, voices drifted out.
"The Seven-Star Sword?"
Dozens of heads turned toward him. A stranger's face. They looked, measured, then turned back to their talk.
"What's that?"
"A legend of the Grand Line. Said to be the most beautiful sword in all the seas."
"Bah, just a myth, isn't it?"
"No—it's here. On this very island."
Jin's brows rose.
The tale spun on, one drunk speaking with hushed awe:
"Long ago, the people of Aska believed the Red Moon, appearing once every century, brought calamity and dark omens. They feared it. Shunned it."
"And so…" He leaned closer. "The god of Aska granted the king three sacred jewels to shield the people… and a blade—the Seven-Star Sword."
"But," another interrupted, "the sword betrayed its destiny. When the Red Moon rose full, the blade's power awakened—the Seven Stars. If defeated in that moment, it would unleash a darkness vast enough to enslave the world."
A silence lingered.
"Is that true?" someone whispered.
And Jin, standing in the doorway, eyes gleaming, thought:
A legend. A weapon. Or perhaps… something more.