Lucian Thorn's feet slammed heavily against the solid deck, producing a dull thud.
Before he could even catch his breath, the giant hand that had gripped the back of his neck like an iron clamp finally released him.
Suddenly losing that support, his already exhausted body staggered, nearly collapsing to his knees. Forcing his trembling legs to hold, he braced himself on his knees and mustered the last of his strength to remain standing.
The dizziness in his vision gradually eased.
Slowly, he raised his head and began surveying his surroundings.
It was an unbelievably vast deck—so vast that it could easily host a small soccer match.
The air was thick with a strange yet familiar mixture of scents: the fragrance of fine liquor, the dry tang of timber worn by sea wind and sun, and a faint trace of… gunpowder.
The deck was crowded with men.
'No—monsters.'
Each of them stood tall like small giants, bare-chested, displaying muscles as hard as granite and scars that twisted across their bodies like maps of violence.
Some were in corners, casually polishing cannons thicker than Lucian's thigh. Others sat in groups of three or five, drinking straight from wooden barrels, their laughter rough and thunderous.
Their gazes occasionally swept across Lucian, not with disdain nor curiosity, but with a pure, overwhelming superiority—like predators glancing at weak prey.
Lucian's eyes locked firmly on a man leaning lazily against the main mast.
The man had a distinctive pineapple-shaped blond hairstyle. His half-lidded eyes looked drowsy, as if he might fall asleep any second. His purple shirt hung open, revealing a broad chest adorned with a large, unmistakable tattoo.
"First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates!"
"The Phoenix… Marco…"
Lucian's gaze stiffly shifted again.
Nearby, another man with two exaggerated curled mustaches was meticulously polishing a pair of rapiers with a silk cloth. His movements were elegant, his expression focused, as though the blades were priceless works of art.
"The Flower Sword… Vista…"
Lucian's throat bobbed painfully, dry as if fire would burst out.
He had seen them—all of them.
The very characters who once existed only in manga panels and anime frames. Now, they stood before his eyes, radiating crushing pressure that made the air itself heavy.
This wasn't cosplay.
This wasn't a VR experience.
This was real.
At that moment, the diamond-bodied man who had pulled him from the sea—the Third Division Commander, Jozu—spoke in a rumbling voice.
"Hey, kid."
Lucian's body froze as he turned his head.
Jozu's rugged face was unreadable as he jerked his chin toward the bow.
"The old man wants to see you."
'The old man?'
Lucian's mind buzzed into emptiness.
He began walking forward.
The pirates on deck stepped aside on their own, parting to form a path.
Passing through the crowd, Lucian finally reached the bow—
And saw him.
A figure so enormous it defied imagination.
The man sat on a throne-like chair made just for him, his body like a mountain. Medical tubes and IV drips ran across him, hanging at his sides, forming a striking contrast with his overwhelming, kingly presence.
Even with the medical gear attached, his aura of dominion was undiminished.
Just sitting there, he felt like the very center of the sea itself. Everything else—the roaring winds, the fierce pirates—was reduced to mere backdrop.
That iconic crescent-shaped white mustache, those arms thicker than an average man's thigh, and the massive naginata leaning against his seat, broader than a door—
Lucian's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
"The world's strongest man…"
"One of the Four Emperors… 'Whitebeard'…"
"Edward Newgate!"
At that instant, Lucian felt his very soul tremble.
It was an absolute suppression that reached down to the level of life itself. He had no doubt—even in sickness, this man could erase him with just a thought, a glance.
That was the only thought filling Lucian's mind.
From being hunted by a small fry pirate crew, to falling off a cliff, to being rescued by the ship of a Yonko… this rollercoaster of events was more terrifying than any ride.
Now, only one word filled his body:
Fear.
In front of such an existence, all lies and schemes became laughably meaningless. He didn't even dare meet the man's gaze.
And then, within that suffocating fear and despair, a cold, mechanical voice rose again in his mind like a ghost:
『God-tier Space-Time Summoning System』
『Current Energy: 0』
『Unable to perform space-time travel』
『Unable to perform any space-time summonings』
The lines cut through his fear like black lightning.
Energy…
Yes, energy!
The system needed energy to activate!
But where could it come from?
Lucian's mind whirred at unprecedented speed.
He recalled the system's activation condition: [Detected host's intense will to survive].
That meant the system was directly tied to his spirit—his very life force.
Then the source of energy…?
Robbery? Murder? Completing missions?
No, far too slow, far too impractical. In his current powerless state, even a lowly pirate grunt could end him.
There had to be a faster, more direct method!
His eyes began to drift upward uncontrollably—
And landed on Whitebeard's arm, the one riddled with IV lines.
Beneath that scarred skin, like trenches carved by battles past—
'The mark of a true man.'
Whitebeard.
The strongest man in the world.
That title didn't just mean destructive power—it meant majesty itself!
A thought burst into Lucian's heart—wild, audacious, insane:
What if…
"What if the system could absorb energy from other living beings?"
"Then this man…"
Lucian's breathing flared hot.
The way he looked at Whitebeard had changed completely.
No longer was it the awe of gazing at a legend, a peerless warrior—
But as if beholding a colossal treasure chest.
This man was, without question, the greatest "XP pack" in the world!
Even weakened and ill, the life force flowing from him might exceed what an ordinary strong man had in a lifetime.
If Lucian could siphon even a drop from that mighty river—
It would be enough to activate his system!
Enough to give him the capital to survive in this damned world!
The insane plan sprouted like a seed in his heart and grew instantly into a towering, twisted tree.
The risk?
Of course! Boundless!
If discovered, his end would be worse than being hacked to death by "Rot-Tooth" Buck.
But the opportunity?
Equally boundless!
This wasn't a dead end—it was a heaven-sent chance! A gamble!
Win, and he would rise to the heavens.
Lose, and—well, he wouldn't have lived anyway.
In that instant, fear, confusion, and despair all melted into a cold, burning ambition.
His blood boiled as he slowly straightened the back that had bent under fear.
Raising his head, Lucian met the mountain-like shadow head-on and, for the first time, dared to look directly into that man's eyes.
And then, the drowsy man stirred, slowly opening his lids.
His gaze fell on Lucian—calm, yet carrying undeniable authority.
Next came a voice, like thunder yet tinged with laughter, echoing across the deck:
"Gurararara…"
"Brat."
"Who are you?"