The private dock on the south side of the island was a world away from the bustling chaos of the main port. It was a quiet, secluded cove, shielded by a natural rock formation and accessible only through a narrow, winding channel. The water was calm and clear, and the only sounds were the gentle lapping of the waves against the wooden pilings and the cry of a lone seabird circling overhead.
And there it was. The Sea Serpent.
She was a beautiful, deadly creature. A two-masted brigantine, with a sleek, black hull that seemed to drink the light, and a figurehead of a coiled serpent with fangs of polished ivory. Her sails were furled, but even at rest, she looked fast, a predator waiting to be unleashed. She was everything the sloop wasn't: powerful, agile, and radiating an aura of quiet, confident lethality.
A small boat was tied to the dock, and a single, unassuming warehouse stood at the end of the pier, its doors shut tight. As they approached, the warehouse doors slid open, revealing a small, professional-looking crew of five men. They were not the grizzled, desperate pirates or the cowering thugs Arima was used to. These men were different. They were disciplined, their postures straight, their gazes sharp and assessing. They wore simple, practical clothing, but they carried themselves with the rigid, ingrained discipline of the Marines they once were.
The one in charge was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scarred face and a cynical, world-weary look in his eyes. He stepped forward, his boots thudding on the wooden pier, and stopped a few feet from Arima and Takeshi.
"Arima Koujiro," he said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone. It wasn't a question. He was confirming a fact. "I'm Sergeant Higgs. Madame Feng said you'd be coming."
Arima met the man's gaze, a silent battle of wills. Higgs's aura was a tense, controlled knot of resentment, ambition, and a deep, abiding weariness. He was a soldier who had lost his purpose, a loyal dog who had been kicked one too many times. He was dangerous because he had nothing left to lose.
"And these are my men," Higgs continued, gesturing to the others. "Corporal Rizzo, our helmsman and navigator. Doc Miller, our medic and quartermaster. And the twins, Pike and Tackle. Our gunners and close-quarters specialists."
Rizzo was a wiry man with nervous, darting eyes and a face permanently etched with worry. Miller was older, with a potbelly and a surprisingly gentle demeanour, but his aura held a deep well of resignation. The twins were bruisers, two hulking men with identical, shaved heads and blank, aggressive stares. They were brawn, pure and simple, and they radiated a dull, thuggish menace.
"The Sea Serpent is yours," Higgs said, handing Arima a small, heavy iron key. "She's fast, she's armed with twelve twelve-pound cannons on the main deck, and two swivel guns fore and aft. Her hull is reinforced, but she's not a galleon. She can't take a sustained pounding from a Marine frigate. She's a raider. Hit and run. That's her game."
"I'm familiar with the concept," Arima said, taking the key. He looked past Higgs, at the ship, a cold, hard purpose settling in his gut. This was a real weapon, a tool built for the kind of war he was about to wage. "The ship has a full complement of supplies?"
"Three weeks of food and water," Miller spoke up, his voice surprisingly soft. "And a full magazine of shot and powder. Madame Feng's orders were very specific."
"Good," Arima said, turning to face the entire crew. He let his presence expand, a subtle pressure that was the nascent, instinctual use of his own Haki. He wasn't a master like Takeshi, but he was a predator, and these men, these professional soldiers, recognized the scent of a bigger shark. "You work for me now. Your loyalty is to the man who signs your paycheck. That's me. You follow my orders, you do as I say, and you'll get paid. You try to cross me, you hold back on me, or you run, I will hunt you down. Are we clear?"
A tense silence hung in the air, a silent standoff. Higgs's jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished by the cold, calculating reality of their situation. They were ex-Marines, outcasts with nowhere else to go. He was their only ticket out of the gutter.
"Clear," Higgs grunted, the word a concession, not an agreement.
"Excellent," Arima said. "Takeshi, you have the con. Get her ready to sail. I want to be out of this harbor within the hour." He then turned to Higgs. "You and your men will familiarise yourselves with the cannons. I want a full inventory of the armament before we weigh anchor. Doc, you're with me. I want a full medical kit and enough sutures to stitch together a giant."
He turned and walked up the gangplank, the old wood groaning under his weight. The deck of the Sea Serpent felt solid, real, a vessel built for war. The Sword of Triton at his hip felt a sudden, thrumming connection, a resonance with the ship's own latent potential. He could feel the ropes, the sails, the very timbers of the ship as if they were an extension of his own nervous system. This ship, unlike the cursed Queen Anne's Revenge, was a blank slate. A tool waiting for a master.
He found the captain's quarters. They were spartan but functional, a simple cot, a sturdy oak desk, and a large, sealed sea chest. The previous captain's personal effects. He broke the lock with a simple, brutish wrench of strength. Inside were a few sets of clothes, a bottle of expensive-looking rum, a stack of nautical charts, and a heavy, leather-bound logbook. He ignored everything but the logbook. He sat at the desk, flipping through the pages. The entries were concise, professional, detailing patrols, skirmishes, and supply runs. The last entry was dated three days ago.
"Met with Feng. Her terms are acceptable. Crew is assembled. Payment received. 'Investor' arrives tomorrow. Time to collect the bounty. Sea Serpent is now a ghost ship."
He closed the logbook. A ghost ship. That's what he was. A ghost in this world, haunting the edges of society, preying on the living. It fit.
He opened the inventory, his mind's eye scrolling through the grid of icons. He focused on the repeating crossbow, the masterwork he'd taken from Teach's cache. [Withdraw Item: Masterwork Repeating Crossbow]. The weapon materialised in his hands, the dark, polished wood and cold, black steel a familiar, deadly presence. He loaded a bolt, the sharp, wicked point catching the light through the cabin window. It was a weapon of brutal efficiency, a tool for a brutal job.
He placed the crossbow on the desk, a silent promise of the violence to come. He then accessed the [Shop]. He was rich, in theory, but he needed to spend wisely, to invest in the success of this mission.
[Item: Specialized Ammunition - Armor-Piercing Bolts (x50)]
Description: Bolts fitted with heads forged from tungsten-steel alloy. Designed to punch through reinforced plating and the natural armor of certain Zoan-type Devil Fruit users.
Price: 500 Berry per bolt.
It was an expense, but a necessary one. "I'll take all fifty," he thought.
[Item: Alchemical Concoction - 'Sea Sickness' Powder (x10 pouches)]
Description: A fine, odorless powder that, when mixed with food or drink, induces violent, debilitating nausea and vertigo for several hours. Non-lethal but highly effective for disabling a target ship's crew from a distance.
Price: 75,000 Berry per pouch.
Expensive, but the potential for strategic advantage was immense. "Five pouches," he decided. This was a Yakuza operation, and a Yakuza officer always planned for every contingency.
The hour passed in a blur of activity. He could hear the shouts of Higgs's men on deck, the rhythmic thud of cannon being run out, the creak of capstans as the anchor was weighed. Takeshi was a silent, efficient presence on the quarterdeck, his commands to Rizzo, the helmsman, short and precise. The ship was alive, a waking predator.
Arima left the cabin, the heavy crossbow in his hands. He found Higgs on the main deck, supervising the final preparations. The Sergeant turned as he approached, a wary respect in his scarred face.
"We're ready to sail, Captain," Higgs said, the title a test.
"Good," Arima replied, ignoring the title. He tossed the crossbow to the burly gunner, Pike. The man caught it with a grunt of surprise, his blank eyes widening as he felt the weapon's perfect balance. "Armor-piercing bolts are in the armory. I want you and your brother familiar with it. It fires twelve bolts before it needs to be reloaded. In a close-quarters fight, that can be the difference between victory and a watery grave."
He then pulled out one of the small, felt pouches containing the 'Sea Sickness' powder and tossed it to Miller, the medic. "Doc. This is non-lethal. A pinch of this in a ship's water cask, and half the crew won't be able to stand for a day. Use it if the opportunity arises. But not before."
He looked at Higgs, a cold, hard glint in his eyes. "This is not a Marine operation. There are no rules of engagement. We are not here to capture or arrest. We are here to kill and take. Understood?"
For the first time, a flicker of something other than weary cynicism appeared in Higgs's eyes. It was a spark of professional interest, the recognition of a commander who spoke his language. "Understood, Captain."
"Then get us out of here," Arima ordered. "Rizzo, set a course for the channel marker on the chart. Takeshi, keep your eyes open. Feng said the Collector's associates are still sniffing around. I doubt they'll have the balls to challenge a brigantine, but I'm not interested in taking chances."
The Sea Serpent slipped her moorings and moved out of the secluded cove, her sails unfurling with a series of sharp, rhythmic snaps that echoed like gunshots in the quiet afternoon. Rizzo, the helmsman, handled the wheel with a practiced, nervous energy, his eyes darting between the compass and the approaching channel. Takeshi stood by the rail, one hand resting on the hilt of his katana, his gaze sweeping the horizon, a silent, vigilant sentinel.
Arima stood on the quarterdeck, the wind whipping at the collar of his new coat, the salty spray a cool, welcome kiss on his skin. He was the captain of a warship, a commander of cutthroats and exiles, a Yakuza officer reborn as a pirate king in the making. He could feel the ship respond to the waves, a living, breathing entity, and he could feel the faint, thrumming connection of the Sword of Triton, a promise of a power he was only just beginning to understand.
They sailed through the rest of the day and into the night, leaving the port town and its web of intrigue behind them. The sea was a vast, dark expanse, a canvas of infinite possibility, and the Sea Serpent was a razor slash of black against it.