Deep in the New World lay a remote and seemingly insignificant island known as Hachinosu. On the map, it was just a speck of land, barely worth noticing.
But for anyone who sailed the seas, even the most battle-hardened naval admirals, the mere mention of this island was enough to make their backs stiffen and a chill run down their spine.
Hachinosu. The Pirate Island. The Forbidden Isle.
It was a sanctuary for the wicked, a den where countless ruthless pirates gathered. The stench of blood and gunpowder clung to the air, and sunlight rarely graced its shores.
Here, pirates with bounties of ten million berries were as common as stray dogs, and those worth over a hundred million were practically everywhere.
On this island stood a small wooden cabin. Every morning at precisely ten o'clock, a mob of fearsome pirates assembled in front of it. They waited quietly, like students before a strict teacher, not daring to raise their voices.
The door creaked open.
Under dozens of watchful eyes, a young man stepped out, his black hair spilling from beneath a hooded cloak. His face was calm, though a yawn betrayed his laziness, as if he'd just rolled out of bed.
The pirates straightened like soldiers awaiting orders. Then, in unison, they roared:
"Good morning, Lord Seven Nights!"
The young man—known across the island as Seven Nights—rubbed his eyes and didn't bother responding to their greeting. Instead, his tone was as casual as a morning breeze.
"Same order as yesterday. Number 6635."
"That's me! That's me!"
A one-legged pirate, hobbling on a wooden crutch, stumbled forward, clutching a numbered token in his trembling hands. His face brimmed with anticipation, almost feverish.
"Come inside. The rest of you, stay in line."
Seven Nights turned and disappeared into the cabin. The crippled pirate hurried after him, eyes blazing with hope.
Minutes later, the door burst open. The same pirate stumbled out—but this time, there was no crutch. His steps were light, his legs strong and whole. Tears streamed down his scarred cheeks as laughter erupted from his throat.
"Hahaha! My leg… my leg is back! I can walk again!"
He howled with joy, his voice echoing across the island. The crowd, however, barely reacted. They had seen this too many times before.
After all, the black-haired devil called Seven Nights had long since proven his reputation.
Inside the cabin, Seven Nights lounged on a rocking chair woven from tree vines, idly spinning a jewel-encrusted crown between his fingers. When boredom set in, he tossed it into a corner where piles of treasure glittered in the dim light—golden goblets, gem-studded blades, priceless artifacts. Amid such wealth, even a crown worth millions looked unremarkable.
He clasped his hands behind his head, staring at the wooden ceiling above, a faint sigh slipping past his lips.
"Three years… I've been here three years. I wonder how Mom and Dad are doing back home… if I'll ever see them again."
Seven Nights had been an ordinary teenager obsessed with the world of One Piece—until the impossible happened. He had dreamed of sailing those vast seas, clashing with legends, writing his name in history. And now… that dream was real.
Yet he had arrived far too early—decades before the story began. Luffy? He wasn't even born. His father wasn't even a whisper of existence.
Roger hadn't yet conquered the seas. Edward's beard was still golden, Big Mom was anything but a "mom," and Garp was drilling recruits back at headquarters.
Disappointment? A little. But excitement… oh, that burned brighter than ever. To share an era with these titans was a privilege beyond words.
A smile crept onto his lips.
"Julius Caesar once said: I came, I saw, I conquered."
Those words fit him perfectly now.
If the age of legends had yet to dawn, why not carve his own legend into history? Not just to stand among them—but to surpass them all. To become the legend above legends.
"Open the panel," he whispered.
A translucent screen unfolded before his eyes:
[Six Paths of the Pirate Thief (Mastered) – Proficiency: 100%]
[Twin Hands of Perfection (Advanced) – Proficiency: 98.5%]
[Celestial Script (Locked) – Proficiency: 0%]
[Commanding Spirits (Locked) – Proficiency: 0%]
[Wind-God's Calculations (Locked) – Proficiency: 0%]
[Forge of a Thousand Plans (Locked) – Proficiency: 0%]
[Grand Vision of the Dao (Locked) – Proficiency: 0%]
[Primordial Flow of Qi (Locked) – Proficiency: 0%]
Every traveler had their secret weapon. His was no exception.
The legendary Eight Mystical Arts, drawn from an old comic, were his golden ticket. For now, only two were unlocked—Six Paths of the Pirate Thief and Twin Hands of Perfection.
But the rule was strict: master one completely before unlocking the next.
Even with the system's guidance, it had taken a year to master the first art. Two more years for the second—and it still wasn't complete.
Both were support skills, not flashy in battle. Still, Twin Hands was nearly perfected. Soon, the Celestial Script would awaken.
Snapping out of thought, Seven Nights raised his voice.
"Six-six-three-six!"
"Here! Here!"
A giant of a man stepped inside, towering over three meters tall, his body crisscrossed with scars. A bloody bandage wrapped his right arm. His eyes darted to the corner where treasure lay piled like mountains. For a moment, raw envy flickered—but only for a moment.
If that hoard were his, he'd never live another day as a pirate. But no sane man dared covet Seven Nights' wealth.
The young man before him wasn't just a pirate—he was a supernova of chaos, with a bounty exceeding 500 million berries. On Hachinosu, only Rocks himself overshadowed him. Two-thirds of the pirates here owed him favors.
Touch a single coin of his, and before Seven Nights even raised a hand, hundreds of pirates would tear the thief apart.
The giant cleared his throat nervously.
"Lord Seven Nights… do you think my arm can be saved? Or… will I need a replacement?"
Seven Nights examined the wound briefly, then shook his head.
"No need."
Relief flooded the giant's face.
"Thank goodness…"
He had been terrified of the alternative. A full prosthetic replacement cost fortunes in gold—or equivalent treasures.
"Relax your body. Don't resist."
Crimson light shimmered around Seven Nights' hand as he placed it gently over the bandaged arm. Power rippled silently through the air. Half a minute later, he withdrew his hand.
"All done."
The giant ripped off the bandage in disbelief. His mangled arm was whole again—flesh, bone, nerves, all restored. Sensation returned like a tide.
"Ha-ha-ha! Truly miraculous! Lord Seven Nights, your skills are divine! My eternal gratitude!"
He dropped a heavy pouch of gold coins onto the floor and left grinning from ear to ear.
For pirates, blood and wounds were everyday life. Losing a limb was bad luck—unless you had someone like Seven Nights on your side.
And on this island, there was only one man with that kind of power.
The black-haired devil who came from nowhere—
Seven Nights.