The night of Hargeon reeked of salt and fish.
The damp sea breeze swept through the maze of narrow alleys, lifting a few abandoned newspapers. They tumbled and scraped across the dirty ground, making faint rustling sounds.
This was the back of the port—the shadow behind the glittering main streets.
No noise. No light.
Only the fractured darkness sliced by moonlight, like a bed of mold, nurturing the city's deepest malice.
Arashi stopped walking.
He had just left the inn, and this alley was the only way back to the port.
Now, that path was blocked.
From both ends of the alley, the shadows stirred. Shapes emerged—large, broad, silent, as if seeping from the cracks in the walls.
Dozens of hungry, cruel eyes fixed on him.
They carried blades, clubs, axes—each glinting with a bloodthirsty sheen under the weak moonlight.
And on every arm was the same tattoo—an ancient ship flying black sails.
The crowd parted as a massive man stepped forward.
Each of his steps made the ground tremble faintly. His coarse brown hair stood stiff, and the muscles on his bare arms coiled with explosive power, veins writhing like snakes.
But what drew every gaze—were his fists.
They were not flesh.
They were metal, a dull iron-gray that gleamed coldly in the moonlight.
Grol, the "Iron Fist," an executive of Black Sails.
"Kid. You've got guts."
His voice was like grinding stones, each word scraping against the ear. He flexed his steel knuckles, letting out a series of sharp, biting cracks.
"At the auction… you embarrassed Black Sails in front of everyone."
"Now—" he took a step forward, his enormous shadow swallowing Arashi whole, "hand over that compass, and every coin on you. Maybe I'll break only one of your legs."
Behind him, the thugs howled with laughter, filth and mockery mixing in their shouts, echoing sharply through the narrow alley.
A hundred meters away, atop an old clock tower—
Two figures crouched like night owls, quietly watching the bloody scene about to unfold below.
"As expected, they followed him."
Erza's voice was tense, her hand resting on her sword hilt, muscles taut.
"Gildarts, are we really not going to help? He's just a boy."
"Patience, Erza."
Gildarts rubbed the stubble on his chin, his tone amused, not alarmed.
"Look at his face."
"Surrounded by armed thugs, yet not a trace of fear. Breathing steady, heart calm. A person like that—either he's an idiot with no sense of danger, or…"
A grin curled Gildarts' lips.
"…a monster. I'd like to know which."
In the alley—
Arashi showed no reaction to Grol's threats.
That calm silence enraged the iron-fisted brute more than open defiance. His sneer twisted deeper as he stepped closer, his presence pressing like a mountain.
Bang!
He kicked over a nearby vendor's cart.
Wood splintered, fruit scattered—apples and oranges bouncing across the filthy cobbles. A few ripe berries burst beneath his heel, splattering dark red juice.
"Didn't you hear me?!"
His roar shook the narrow passage, echoing off the stone walls.
"If you don't hand it over, I'll smash every bone in this street!"
He tried to crush the boy's will with brute intimidation.
Arashi finally moved.
He didn't look up at Grol's flushed, furious face.
His gaze stayed on the compass in his hand.
Long, clean fingers brushed its cold brass edge—slowly, almost gently. His expression was serene, as though admiring a masterpiece, or greeting an old friend.
The shouting, the threats, the killing intent—none of it reached him.
Then he spoke.
Soft. Flat. Devoid of emotion.
"If you want what's mine…"
He paused, lifting his head at last. His dark eyes were bottomless—reflecting neither the moonlight nor Grol's rage.
"…are you even worthy?"
No anger.
No mockery.
Only pure contempt—born of difference in essence.
Like a god gazing down upon ants.
The words pricked the air like an invisible needle, bursting the bloated arrogance in an instant.
The alley fell silent.
Every Black Sails thug froze mid-laugh, their faces stiffening like wax.
Grol's grin shattered. Rage twisted his features into something barely human.
His chest heaved. Each breath rasped like a broken bellows.
"You…"
"Want…"
"To die!"
Each word scraped out from between teeth of steel.
BOOM!
A violent surge of magic burst from his body, scattering dust and paper into a rippling shockwave.
The inevitable clash—had begun.
(End of Chapter)
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