The dock lay silent, a graveyard of splintered wood and blood-soaked earth, the echoes of battle fading into the night. From the deck of the black-sailed ship, Silco stared at the shore, where the bodies of Jerry, Tom, and Mot lay broken under the moonlight. Their sacrifice had bought him time, a fleeting chance to escape. The sea churned below, its waves crashing against the hull, the air thick with the scent of salt and gunpowder. Silco's mind churned, replaying the last five years—years of profit, power, and Red Tide's rise. Why had it all unraveled? He shook his head, his black cape swaying, and turned toward the captain's cabin, his boots heavy on the creaking deck. The moon hung low, a silver eye watching his every step, its light casting long shadows that danced like specters across the ship.
Silco pushed open the cabin door, a sigh escaping his lips, but the world exploded in chaos. A deafening Bang shattered the silence, a searing pain erupting in his leg as a bullet tore through muscle and bone. He stumbled, collapsing to the floor, his ears ringing, the room spinning. Instinctively, he reached for his flintlock, but another Bang rang out, the bullet slamming into his hand, sending the pistol clattering across the wooden planks. Blood dripped from his mangled fingers, pooling beneath him as he clutched the wound with his free hand, his breath ragged.
"Who the hell's there?" he growled, his voice thick with pain and fury, his eyes scanning the dark cabin.
A low chuckle cut through the haze, sharp and mocking. "Barrakuda Silco, what a pleasure to see you again after our little meeting a few weeks back. Wondering why I'm here when Popeye supposedly killed me, aren't you?" The voice was cool, confident, dripping with amusement.
From the shadows, Olbap stepped forward, the moonlight streaming through the porthole illuminating his vibrant blonde hair and piercing amethyst eyes. His white suit was pristine, his posture relaxed, a predator savoring his prey. In his hand, the flintlock smoked faintly, its barrel still warm from the shots.
Silco's eyes widened, his mind racing to piece together the impossible. Olbap, alive? His thoughts churned like a storm, fragments of their encounters flashing—every move, every word, a trap he hadn't seen. "How the hell are you here?" he spat, his voice trembling with rage and realization. He'd been played from the start, every step orchestrated by Olbap's cunning. But how had he known? The meeting point, the escape, the Bartolo deal—how had Olbap unraveled it all?
Olbap's smile widened, his eyes glinting with cold satisfaction. "I bet you're wondering how I knew your escape route, why you were fleeing Brackmor. Don't worry, Silco, I'll tell you everything. But first, let me drop the anchor—I'd hate for us to drift too far from the island." He stepped past Silco, his boots clicking on the floor, and picked up the fallen flintlock, tucking it into his belt.
With a casual tug, he secured the anchor, the chain rattling as the ship settled against the tide's pull. The cabin creaked, the air heavy with the scent of blood and sea, the tension thick as the fog rolling off the water.
"Olbap," Silco hissed, his face contorted with pain and fury, "it was all you. I should've listened to Rane and killed you from the start." He tore a strip from his cape, wrapping it tightly around his bleeding leg, his hands shaking but his glare unwavering.
Olbap settled onto a barrel, crossing his legs, his flintlock resting on his knee like a king holding court. "Rane was a problem I had to remove first. Without him, you lacked the manpower to outmatch me. But let's be clear, Silco—this isn't personal, no grudge or vendetta. It's business." His voice was calm, almost conversational, but each word carried the weight of a blade, slicing through Silco's defenses.
"Nothing personal?" Silco scoffed, his voice dripping with venom as he bound his wounded hand. "That's rich, coming from the man who shot me and butchered my crew and now want my drug."
Olbap tilted his head, his smile unfaltering. "It looks that way, doesn't it? Let me tell you how this started. Five years ago, I overheard Tom and Mot in a bar, talking about Red Tide. A drug so valuable, hidden on a dead island like Brackmor? I was hooked. I followed then, Where you guys are meeting and listened to your chats with Tom and Mot about hiring workers. I couldn't resist the opportunity." He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Silco's, the moonlight casting sharp shadows across his face.
Silco's jaw tightened. "So you knew about Red Tide from the beginning?"
"Not entirely," Olbap admitted, his tone measured. "I knew it was a drug, but not how you made it or what went into it. That's why I joined you—to learn the game. I started with the corals, then the crimson flowers. I studied every ingredient, cross-referencing what I could with books.
Corals for their medicinal properties, crimson flowers for their toxic venom. But after five years, I hit a wall. There was a third ingredient, something you kept hidden even from Rane, your right hand. I realized you'd never share it willingly, so I went the hard way." His voice was cold, each word a calculated jab, exposing Silco's secrecy.
Silco's eyes burned with defiance. "You did all this for nothing, Olbap. I'll never give you the formula."
Olbap's laugh was low, dangerous. "I thought you'd say that. But Red Tide is my vision for the future, Silco. That's why I couldn't let you meet the Bartolo Family. It jeopardizes everything. Let me lay out your mistakes over these five years, why I couldn't follow you or even let you alive." He raised a hand, counting off each error with a finger, his voice sharp as a whip.
"First, your deal with Jack and the Harley Family. Not a bad move, but you gave them Red Tide instead of buying their weapons with cash. You funneled our biggest clients to them, weakening our position." He raised a second finger. "Then, you revealed our main base's location to the Harleys. You had no power to fight them if things went south. Lucky for you, I intercepted their plan to sell our location, letting us prepare. I let it slide because it worked out, even benefited us." His third finger rose, his voice dropping to a dangerous edge. "But the third? That was the dumbest move yet—contacting the Bartolo Family, one of the five ruling families of the West Blue. Are you that stupid, Silco?"
Silco's face paled, his breath catching. "How do you know about the Bartolos? Only Rane and Jerry knew."
Olbap's smile was predatory, his hand dipping into his pocket to reveal the black Den Den Mushi, its shell gleaming like polished night. "This little snail, Silco. It intercepts calls if you find the right frequency. I heard every word of your plans—every move, every deal. That's how I stayed ahead." His words landed like a hammer, crushing Silco's composure, the realization of his vulnerability sinking in.
Silco's eyes blazed, but regret flickered beneath the rage. "You don't understand why I did it, Olbap. You're smart, but you don't get the business. We needed weapons, and the Harleys were the safest bet. Giving up the base's location was a risk, but we survived. And the Bartolos? They were our future, a chance to fill our pockets with more money than Brackmor or the south blue could hold. Don't you want wealth?" His voice was desperate, pleading, trying to justify his choices, his hands trembling as he pressed the makeshift bandage tighter.
Olbap's gaze hardened, his voice cutting like a blade through the tense air. "You think it sounds perfect, Silco, but you're blind. The Bartolos would never see us as equals. Once they saw Red Tide's value, they'd crush us. They have military might we can't match, allies we can't counter. You think they'd partner with you and your five lackeys? They'd summon you to a meeting, put a gun to your head, demand the formula, and slaughter us all. That's the future you were chasing." His words were a relentless assault, each one stripping away Silco's defenses, the truth a bitter poison in the air.
The cabin fell silent, the only sound the crashing waves outside, their rhythm growing wilder as the tide turned. The ship rocked, the creaking timbers amplifying the tension, the moonlight casting Olbap's shadow long and menacing across the floor. Silco's face twitched, his mind grappling with the weight of Olbap's words, the reality of his missteps laid bare.
Olbap stood, his movements deliberate, and crouched to meet Silco's gaze, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. "I'll take Red Tide to the top, Silco, but I need the third ingredient and the formula. You're the only one who knows it. Give it to me, and I swear on my word, I won't kill you." His voice was low, intense, each syllable a challenge, his amethyst eyes burning with conviction.
Silco's glare didn't waver, his voice a hiss. "And how do I know you won't kill me after I give it to you? I made mistakes, but I'm not a fool, Olbap." The air crackled with mistrust, the cabin a pressure cooker of tension, the sea's roar a distant echo of their standoff.
Olbap's expression was unyielding, his voice steady as stone. "Silco, my word is the truth. Have I ever lied to you or broken a promise in these five years?" He leaned closer, his presence suffocating, the weight of his reputation pressing down.
Silco's mind raced, memories of Olbap's unwavering honor flashing through his pain-fogged thoughts. Never once had Olbap broken his word—not in deals, not in battles. A spark of hope flickered in Silco's chest, a desperate gamble. If he survived, he could join the Bartolos, return, and crush Olbap and his crew. "Swear it on your word, and I'll give you the formula," he said, his voice steady despite the pain, his eyes locked on Olbap's.
"I swear on my word, Silco, I Rabocse Olbap won't kill you if you give me the Red Tide formula," Olbap said, extending his hand, his face a mask of resolve. Silco hesitated, his wounded hand trembling, then clasped Olbap's, sealing the deal. Olbap handed him a scrap of parchment and a quill, the ink's sharp scent mingling with the blood and salt in the air.
Silco, with his one usable hand, scribbled the formula, detailing the corals, the crimson flowers, the machines, and the third ingredient—the key Olbap had chased for years. He handed the parchment over, his movements slow, his eyes never leaving Olbap's face.
Olbap scanned the page, his lips curling into a triumphant smile. "Blood of a Sea King," he murmured, his voice laced with awe. "Genius, Silco. I never would've guessed. As promised, I won't kill you. Our business ends here. Watch as Red Tide conquers the world in my hands." He turned, lowering a small dinghy into the sea, its ropes creaking as he prepared to depart.
Silco struggled to his feet, limping to the anchor, his blood-slick hands fumbling to raise it. Pain seared through him, but survival fueled his movements. He'd survived this humiliation, this defeat, but he swore vengeance, his eyes burning with hatred as he watched Olbap's dinghy glide toward the shore. The sea roared, the waves crashing like a promise of retribution.
Olbap sat in the dinghy, lighting his pipe, the tobacco's sweet smoke curling into the night air. He rowed steadily, the shore growing closer, when a thunderous boom shattered the silence. A cannonball screamed through the air, striking the ship behind him. The powder barrels and incendiary grenades Olbap had planted erupted in a blinding explosion, flames licking the sky, the ship disintegrating into a inferno that lit the sea like a funeral pyre. The shockwave pushed Olbap's dinghy forward, slamming it against the dock with a jolt.
Popeye and Liro waited at the shore, their silhouettes stark against the glowing flames. Popeye extended a hand, pulling Olbap up, his red pocket square vivid in the firelight. "Didn't we break your word, did we?" he asked, a grin tugging at his lips.
Olbap dusted off his suit, the pipe still clenched in his teeth. "I swore I Rabocse Olbap wouldn't kill him. Never said anything about you two. mission complete." He glanced at the burning wreckage, the sea swallowing the last traces of Silco and his ship, the flames dancing on the water like a victory hymn.
Five hours later, Olbap, Popeye, and Liro approached the main laboratory, a squat stone building nestled in Brackmor's heart, its walls weathered by salt and time. The air carried the faint chemical tang of Red Tide, a reminder of the prize within. At the entrance, two figures waited—Anna and Vanessa, their crimson hair glowing under the dawn's first light, their eyes sharp with loyalty. They had seized the lab, purging Silco's remaining loyalists with ruthless efficiency, their flintlock leaving no trace of resistance.
Anna nodded, her voice calm. "The workers are on 'vacation' until further notice. The lab's clean, ready for you." Vanessa smirked, her hand resting on her mosquete, the air around her crackling with confidence.
Olbap led the group inside, the laboratory's interior stark and silent, its machines gleaming under flickering lanterns. He strode to the storage room, kicking open the heavy doors with a resounding thud. Rows of Red Tide bricks lined the shelves, their crimson powder glinting like blood in the dim light. A wide grin spread across Olbap's face, his amethyst eyes alight with triumph. He turned to his crew, his voice ringing with authority.
"From this day forward, the Rabocse Family takes control of Red Tide and Brackmor Island. I, Rabocse Olbap, am the head of this family." His words echoed through the empty lab, a declaration of a new empire, forged in blood and cunning.
End of the chapter.