Flash!
A golden light shimmered.
The third card flipped over—revealing a rugged man with a thick beard and a pirate captain's hat. He carried a massive, arm-thick musket slung over his left shoulder, and his right hand was clenched into a fist at his chest—one that looked even larger than his own head.
Ding!
[Congratulations, Host! You have recruited a follower: Gangplank, the Scourge of the Seas! He will appear aboard your ship in 10 seconds. This follower can be dismissed at any time. Dismissing him yields: 1,000 Holy Light Points.]
"Scourge of the Seas?" Roy blinked, a little disappointed. Not the jackpot he hoped for—but hey, at least he wasn't cursed with rotten luck either.
Just then, a gruff voice thundered behind him.
"This your ship?"
Roy whipped around. A massive bearded man stood there, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere. He looked exactly like the character on the card—except dirtier. Greasier. It was as if the ocean air had glued a permanent layer of salt and grime onto his clothes.
A hefty flintlock musket rested on his left hip. On the right, a half-meter-long cutlass—legendary among pirates as the Bilgewater Blade—gleamed menacingly.
Roy narrowed his eyes. Could I upgrade this guy's gear into a Hextech Gunblade...?
"No, you filthy pirate. This is my ship," Roy replied coldly.
"Kehahaha!" Gangplank sneered, baring yellowed teeth. "You even know who you're talking to, brat? I'm the damn Scourge of the Seas! Keep yappin' and I'll ram this blade down your throat, twist it 'til your guts spill out, and feed your corpse to the sea. Now shut that baby mouth of yours and fetch me some oranges. I'm thirsty!"
Roy squinted. What a foul-mouthed bastard. Definitely fits the mold of a bloodthirsty sea dog.
"If you don't cut it out, I'll dismiss you straight back to that dingy little tavern you crawled out of," Roy said calmly.
Gangplank froze—then laughed nervously. "What're your orders, Cap'n?"
Roy nodded in approval. "First, introduce yourself. Skills, specialties, current combat strength—I want the whole report."
Gangplank narrowed his eyes mischievously. "Cap'n, I'm flattered, but I don't swing that way."
Roy's face darkened. "The hell are you thinking?! I knew you Bilgewater freaks were all kinds of messed up. I meant a proper intro, you moron."
"Alright, alright! Don't get your holy knickers in a twist."
He tipped his hat low and flashed a wicked grin.
Then—music.
Somehow, a rock anthem started playing from nowhere.
"Yo yo, check it out,
Get your cannonballs out,
I'm a pirate king,
Stormin' the route,
Where there's chaos, I bring clout,
I'm the Scourge of the Sea,
P—P—Plank-G!"
As he rapped, the deck beneath him cracked open. Three jet-black, monstrous cannons emerged behind him, spotlights casting dramatic shadows. Gangplank fired a shot into the sky like it was a concert finale.
Roy facepalmed. "You're way too old to be acting like a damn rap idol."
---
Meanwhile, somewhere in the North Blue…
While Roy was busy recruiting Gangplank, a lookout on a nearby pirate ship squinted through a spyglass at a slowly drifting vessel.
"There's a ship out there, two clicks ahead," he reported. "No flag. Looks like it's been abandoned—must've been raided."
He adjusted the lens.
"The hull's got a gaping hole, and the main sail's more hole than cloth. If you saw it at night, you'd think it was a ghost ship."
Down on the main deck, the pirate captain crushed his beer glass in one hand and growled, "So they left it afloat, huh? That means someone's still on board—or something worth taking."
He turned to his crew. "Full speed ahead! Let's loot whatever's left!"
—
Back on Roy's ship, he handed Gangplank a map.
"I want to head for the Grand Line. Plot me a route."
"Aye, Cap'n," Gangplank replied, scanning the parchment. "Navigation's not a problem, but... you seriously think this busted raft won't sink before we get there?"
He gestured to the massive hole in the deck with a deadpan expression, as if to say, You messing with me, boss?
Roy reclined in his chair with a smirk. "Someone will deliver us a better ship."
He hadn't ordered Gangplank to steer. He was letting the wind take them where it may—like bait drifting in the sea. After all, pirates rarely passed up easy prey.
Sure enough, shouting echoed over the waves.
Roy raised an eyebrow. "Do they always scream like that when stealing a pile of driftwood?"
To the left, a heavily scarred pirate ship was closing in fast. Its black flag bore a skull with a jagged scar slashing across its face.
Pirates don't usually fire cannons at their targets—they want to board the ship, butcher the crew, plunder the goods, and then sink it. Unlike the Navy, who just shoots first and never asks questions.
Honestly, Roy found cannon warfare boring. That this crew wanted to board instead? He appreciated the effort.
"Cap'n, want me to gut their kidneys now?" Gangplank licked his lips, ready to leap aboard.
"No," Roy said coolly. "Let them come to us. I don't want our next ship getting wrecked in the crossfire. Once they board... then I want you to do more than gut them. Kick their balls off. Holy Light's already turned its back on those idiots."
He was curious to see how Gangplank performed in real combat.
As the pirate ship closed in—less than 20 meters away—their crew swung over on ropes like a pack of howling apes.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Before they could land, Gangplank whipped out his pistol and fired three times. The first exploded mid-swing, raining gore into the ocean. The second had his upper half vaporized—his legs and head flopping into the sea. The third never knew what hit him.
That pistol packed absurd firepower. Every bullet tore through flesh like a cannonball.
"Enemy on deck!"
The enemy captain—Houston, a wanted pirate with a bounty of 50 million—leapt aboard himself. No rope. Just a clean jump. For a man of his rank, anything less would've been pathetic.
He glanced around. All he saw was a young man lounging in a chair... and a disheveled, greasy sailor beside him.
"Just a couple of brats?" Houston sneered.
Roy was indeed a young man. Gangplank looked haggard, but at most forty-something. Compared to Houston—grizzled, silver-haired, nearly four meters tall in full silver armor—they looked laughably outmatched.
"Thanks, really," Roy said, ignoring the insult and smiling.
"Huh?" Houston blinked, confused by Roy's gratitude.
Before he could ask, Gangplank stepped forward with a twisted grin.
"Old man," he rasped, "We were just short a ship. And gold. If you hand over yours, we'll give you this beauty in return."
He pointed at Roy's busted boat.
"Fair trade. You don't touch anything on our ship, and we won't touch yours. Deal?"