Chapter 11: Belated Justice Is No Justice At All
The seas of West Blue had never been so calm.
Garon stood on the deck of the warship, one hand resting on the hilt of his black blade, Eight Desolations. His gaze was fixed on the island silhouette gradually emerging in the distance.
"Report! Ash Harbor is dead ahead!" a Marine soldier hurried over, his voice laced with anxiety. "According to intel, the Blood-Spear Pirates made landfall this morning..."
"Made landfall this morning..." Garon didn't answer. He only narrowed his eyes.
Ash Harbor. It was a famous fishing town in West Blue, known for its precious luminous pearls. Its residents had lived by the sea for generations, their lives peaceful and prosperous.
But now, this town, which should have been bathing in the morning light, was instead shrouded in an eerie, deathly silence.
As the warship slowly docked, a foreign scent drifted on the air: charcoal, blood, and rotting flesh.
Garon's brow twitched imperceptibly.
"Something's wrong..." a Marine behind him swallowed hard. "It's... too quiet."
The moment the warship was fully moored at the pier, everyone froze.
Blood.
The entire port was painted a deep, dark crimson. The viscous plasma had not yet dried, and their boots made a nauseating squelching sound as they stepped onto the docks.
Bodies were piled everywhere. Some had been impaled by spears, their chests nailed to wooden crates. Others had their limbs hacked off, tossed aside like bundles of rags.
"Urgk!" One of the young recruits finally broke, bending over and vomiting onto the pier.
Garon paid him no mind, striding forward. With every step his boots took on the docks of Ash Harbor, he felt that same viscous tackiness underfoot.
On either side of the main street, the houses had been burned down to their blackened skeletons. The flames were long dead, but the thick smoke still hung in the air. A few charred corpses were curled in the ruins, frozen in the last agonized posture of their lives.
The harbor's fishing boats were also just charred frames, floating on the water's surface. Beneath the waves, more submerged bodies were faintly visible, like a school of drowned fish.
And this was just the port!
"These goddamn pirate animals..." one of the Marines behind Garon hissed, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles cracked.
Garon didn't slow his pace. His gaze swept over every atrocity, his expression remaining as cold and hard as iron.
And that was before he even reached the fishing town proper.
The town, famous for its "luminous pearls," had been turned into a true hell.
The streets were piled with bodies in twisted positions. Some were nailed to walls with spears. Others had been disemboweled, their entrails dragged across the ground like a dark red carpet.
The bodies of children were hanging from the lighthouse rigging, swaying gently in the sea breeze. Their throats had been slit, the blood long since drained, leaving only hollow eyes staring at the sky.
At the entrance to the tavern, a man's head had been jammed onto the top of a Marine flagpole. His jaw was pried open, and a single luminous pearl—Ash Harbor's specialty—had been stuffed inside as a grotesque "decoration."
Then he reached the town square.
There, a "tower" had been erected, built entirely of human bodies.
Dozens of corpses were brutally stacked together. At the very peak was a small girl, her naked body draped in a Marine flag. Her throat was slit, and her hands had been nailed to stakes on either side, like a pinned butterfly.
Her eyes were still open, staring blankly at the sky, as if in silent accusation.
"Are these... Are they even fucking human?!" Many of the Marines with weaker stomachs finally broke down, roaring in rage and despair.
Garon just stared at the "corpse tower" in silence. His eyes were terrifyingly deep, and his fists were clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
So this is the reality behind Oda's romanticized banquets... In the charred ruins, children still clutching their mothers. Civilians nailed to masts like human flags. All of this was a brutal reminder of what this so-called "world of free adventure" truly was.
"Report! Warrant Officer Garon, we've found a survivor on the east side!" a soldier yelled, running up.
"Take me there." Garon spun on his heel and strode toward a half-collapsed warehouse on the east side.
Inside, a few militiamen, covered in blood, were huddled in a corner. One was still breathing, but just barely. His abdomen was pierced, and blood was pooling on the straw beneath him.
"Hold on! Medics are coming!" a Marine rushed forward, trying to stanch the bleeding.
The militiaman tremblingly raised a hand and gripped the soldier's uniform, his voice a hoarse rasp.
"They... they... deliberately... stalled for time..."
"What?" the soldier asked.
"The pirates... they... let us... call for help... on purpose..." The militiaman's pupils began to dilate. "They wanted... to lure... you... here..."
Garon's eyes went ice-cold.
At that exact moment, more footsteps pounded outside.
"Warrant Officer Garon! The Blood-Spear Pirates' ship has been spotted in the eastern harbor! They... They never left!"
Garon pursed his lips. He rose slowly from beside the militiaman, who had just drawn his last breath. "So, this was a hunt."
The Blood-Spear Pirates had massacred an entire town and deliberately left a distress signal, all to lure the Marines into a trap and wipe them out.
"Those bastards..." the Marine's face went pale.
Garon strode out of the warehouse, Eight Desolations on his back. His voice was glacial. "Direction."
The recruit snapped to attention. "Eastern harbor! The Blood-Spear Pirates haven't left!"
"Right." Garon's reply was low and frigid.
His pace never faltered. He crossed the street, the other Marines snapping to salute as he passed, their eyes full of awe.
The young Marine recruit ran to catch up. "Warrant Officer Garon!" he called out, his voice hesitant. "We..."
Garon didn't stop. His cold voice cut through the wind. "Take the warship out. Patrol the perimeter. If you find any stragglers, kill them on sight."
"But sir..." The Marine swallowed. "How many men are you taking with you?"
"None." Garon's back cast a long shadow in the sun. "I am more than enough."
"But that's the Blood-Spear Pirates! They—" The young Marine's words died in his throat.
Garon had stopped dead. His gaze was locked on the small body from the tower, which some of the Marines had respectfully taken down and laid on the dock. The blue and white Marine flag wrapped around her now looked like a ringing slap in the face.
"All hands, listen!" Garon's roar silenced the entire dock.
The Marines turned in shock, seeing a terrifying rage burning in their Warrant Officer's eyes.
"The flags... on our warship..." His voice trembled with suppressed fury. "Tear them all down! Now!"
"Sir, but..."
Garon slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over every young face before finally landing on that small, still body.
"Belated justice..." His voice was quiet, but it struck each of them like a physical blow. "...is no justice at all."
Long after Garon's figure had disappeared down the street, the young Marines remained frozen. It wasn't clear who raised their fist first, but then a second, and a third followed. A new, fervent light burned in their eyes.
In one voice, they roared: "Strike the colors!"