Impel Down—the great prison fortress—stood deep within the Calm Belt of the Grand Line's first half.
Its security was airtight, the structure itself surrounded by monstrous Sea Kings in the depths, while within the walls lurked demonic jailers, beasts, and countless surveillance Den Den Mushi.
Because of this, the world called Impel Down an impenetrable fortress of iron and stone.
Brian arrived aboard a Navy warship dispatched from Headquarters.
Passing through the Gates of Justice, the ship followed the whirlpool current and soon reached the prison.
"Salute!" The marines stationed outside the drawbridge immediately snapped to attention as Brian stepped off the ship.
"Go get the wine and meat from the ship," Brian grumbled. "This damned place is already pissing me off."
Cursing under his breath, he disembarked.
Waiting for him was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a pharaoh-style headdress, a grotesquely bloated belly, and an iron trident clasped in one hand—Chief Warden Hannibal.
"Vice Admiral Brian, welcome to Impel Down!" Hannibal greeted him respectfully. He'd never heard much about Brian's reputation, so his attitude was purely out of protocol toward a superior from Headquarters.
Brian frowned slightly. Glancing past Hannibal, he saw only a handful of jailers standing around. "Just you? Where are the warden and deputy warden?"
The warden was the highest-ranking officer in Impel Down—someone whose authority nearly rivaled that of an admiral. As a Headquarters vice admiral, Brian at least expected a proper welcome from a peer.
"The warden's busy handling important matters," Hannibal explained quickly. "Couldn't spare the time. As for the deputy warden—no idea where he is. Either slacking off… or maybe he just doesn't respect you enough to show up."
Brian raised an eyebrow. Now that was interesting.
The first half of Hannibal's response was standard subordination—making excuses for a superior.
The second half, though, was clearly tattling.
Brian studied him for a moment, then smirked. "You're aiming for the deputy warden's position, aren't you? Trying to set him up?"
"The deputy warden's seat should be mine," Hannibal blurted—then immediately backpedaled. "Ah, I mean—Vice Admiral Brian, please don't misunderstand. I wasn't trying to slander him—"
Brian chuckled. "Ambition's not a bad thing. Keep it up. Who knows, maybe one day you'll make warden."
Pleased with the compliment, Hannibal led the way as Brian strode through the gates of Impel Down.
Along the way, Hannibal eagerly explained the prison's structure and hierarchy.
Brian already knew Impel Down's layout well enough from his previous life, so he didn't pay much attention. But the current management did catch his interest.
The warden, Galil, was a sixty-year-old of demonic lineage. According to Hannibal, he was a violent man who enjoyed whipping prisoners and punishing lazy subordinates. From Hannibal's nervous tone, Brian guessed the man had whipped him more than once.
The deputy warden, Magellan—now that name Brian knew. But in Hannibal's version, Magellan was a negligent, arrogant lunatic who disrespected everyone.
Brian could tell Hannibal was twisting the facts but didn't bother correcting him.
Then there was Chief Jailer Shiryu of the Rain—Hannibal's voice dropped when mentioning him.
He clearly feared the man. "That one's a sadist," he muttered. "Tortures prisoners, kills for fun. Working with him is pure hell."
The Head Guard, Frederick, was another demonkin who commanded the Blue Gorilla unit. Hannibal disliked him too—"too competent," he said. "Always showing off. Makes me watch my back every day."
That, more or less, was the upper structure of Impel Down. Headquarters occasionally sent officers to assist, but usually only rear admirals.
A vice admiral's posting—like Brian's—was unprecedented.
After entering the prison, Brian's first order of business was simple: find somewhere comfortable to eat, drink, and take a nap.
Only… his chosen spot was rather unusual.
A table was set up, dishes arranged, and bottles uncorked.
"Fill my glass," Brian said lazily.
"Yes, Sir Brian!"
These attendants were Brian's personal aides—loyal marines he'd brought from the West Blue. They catered to his every need, handling food, clothing, and comfort down to the smallest detail.
Pop! The cork of a West Blue premium wine bottle came loose.
Its rich aroma drifted down the prison corridor.
Somewhere in the dim cellblocks, a man stirred.
Chains rattled.
Eyes opened—sharp, golden, and hungry.
The Golden Lion, Shiki.
He sniffed the air deeply.
Clink—clank!
The heavy chains binding his arms dragged across the floor as he turned toward the corridor—toward the source of that intoxicating scent.
"Yes… that's West Blue's top-tier vintage. From the Eisnabor region. Young and lively, bursting with blackberries and blueberries, tinged with roasted oak, graphite, cedar, and spice…"
His gaze sharpened.
"And that color—those gleaming violet beads of caviar… That's Imperial Sturgeon roe from the Nasia Kingdom—tribute for the Celestial Dragons!"
Brian smiled. "Didn't think an old pirate would have such a refined palate."
"Who the hell are you?" Shiki snarled. "A mere Headquarters vice admiral shouldn't even see tribute meant for the Celestial Dragons—let alone eat it."
Of course he would know. Once upon a time, the Golden Lion had raided a marine convoy carrying those very delicacies—an escort led by a Headquarters vice admiral.
That same incident had drawn pursuit from Kong, Sengoku, Zephyr, and a fleet of warships across hundreds of nautical miles.
The Imperial Sturgeon was rare, found only in the depths of the West Blue. Once a year, for a single day, they surfaced in the Nasia Kingdom's Doma River to spawn—making their roe one of the world's rarest luxuries.
"Care for a bite?" Brian asked with a grin, scooping up a generous spoonful of caviar.
Gulp.
Shiki swallowed hard, eyes locked on the glistening black pearls.
Brian extended the spoon through the cell bars, offering it casually.
Shiki opened his mouth and strained forward, chains clattering as he pulled with all his strength—
—only for clink!
The spoon slipped from Brian's hand and clattered to the floor, scattering the jewel-like caviar across the filthy stone.
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