He thrust.
Not a wild stab. A precise, controlled penetration that aligned perfectly with the wood's grain and breath.
Spear passed through the massive mast as if it were made of wet paper, the black blade emerging cleanly out the other side without resistance.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
CRACK.
A hairline fracture appeared at the point of penetration. It spread rapidly up and down the mast's length, branching like lightning.
The structural integrity failed catastrophically.
The entire mast groaned—a deep, agonized sound like a dying whale—then toppled backward. It crashed through the main deck with devastating force, smashing through boards and support beams before penetrating into the hull below.
BOOM.
The sound of splintering wood was deafening.
Water began rushing into the compromised hull immediately, flooding the lower decks.
The ship groaned in agony, listing heavily to starboard as seawater poured into its guts.
Argentus leaped gracefully back to Sylvia, landing lightly on his own deck just as the pirate ship began its death spiral.
He returned to his spot on the cabin roof, picking up his navigation chart and returning to his calculations as if nothing had happened.
"Have a nice swim," Argentus called out casually, not even looking at the sinking vessel.
He watched dispassionately as the pirate galleon went down, stern-first, pulled under by the weight of water flooding its hold. The surviving pirates scrambled for floating debris—broken masts, barrels, planks, anything that would keep them above water.
He didn't kill them all deliberately. That would have been wasteful, pointless violence.
Besides, the sea was far crueler than any quick death he could provide.
They'd either make it to land—unlikely, given the distance—or they'd become food for sharks and sea kings.
Either way, they wouldn't be attacking anyone else.
With the nuisance dealt with, Argentus returned to his routine.
Hours Later
The adrenaline from the brief combat had long since faded, replaced by the gnawing emptiness of hunger.
Argentus decided to combine his next workout with securing dinner.
He stripped off his coat and shirt, leaving his torso bare to the sun and salt air. He began a set of one-armed handstand pushups on the swaying deck—right arm first, using his left hand only for balance.
He counted quietly to himself, his breathing controlled and rhythmic despite the difficult position. The boat rocked beneath him, adding instability that forced his core muscles to constantly adjust.
"Four hundred ninety-eight... four hundred ninety-nine... five hundred."
He dropped back to his feet, barely breathing hard despite the exertion. His body had adapted to this level of training. He'd need to increase the difficulty soon.
He grabbed his fishing rod—a simple bamboo pole with a sturdy line—and cast deep into the blue water.
It didn't take long.
Tug.
Then a stronger pull.
Then a massive weight that nearly yanked him overboard despite his enhanced strength.
The rod bent almost double, the line singing with tension.
Argentus grinned, planting his feet against the gunwale and gripping the rod with both hands. "Come on then! Let's see what you've got!"
He was locked in a stalemate with whatever he'd hooked for nearly ten minutes.
His muscles burned. Sweat dripped down his bare chest. But he refused to let go, slowly, steadily reeling in the line inch by inch.
Finally, the creature gave up its struggle.
The water erupted.
Rising from the depths in a spray of white foam was a Sea King—a serpent-like beast at least ten meters long from head to tail. Its scales were brilliant emerald green, each one the size of a dinner plate. Its maw bristled with needle-sharp teeth, each one easily a foot long. Its eyes were yellow and reptilian, filled with predatory intelligence.
It roared—a sound like a cross between a whale's song and a lion's fury—casting a massive shadow over Sylvia's tiny deck.
Most sailors would have screamed. Would have cut the line and prayed the beast didn't capsize their vessel.
Argentus looked up at the monster, water dripping from his silver hair, and licked his lips.
"Perfect."
The Sea King lunged, its jaws opening wide enough to swallow a horse.
Argentus didn't retreat. He charged.
He met it mid-lunge, leaping from the deck with explosive power. Spear flashed in the sunlight—a single, perfect thrust aimed at the creature's open mouth.
The black blade punched through the roof of the Sea King's mouth, through its brain, and out the back of its skull in one smooth motion.
The beast's roar cut off instantly. Its massive body went limp, crashing into the water beside Sylvia with a tremendous splash that rocked the sloop.
Argentus landed back on deck, spun the spear to shake off the blood, and immediately began the laborious process of hauling the corpse aboard.
That Evening
The smell of grilled meat was intoxicating.
Argentus sat cross-legged on the deck under brilliant starlight, the Milky Way stretching overhead like a river of diamonds. A massive steak of Sea King meat—easily five pounds—was skewered on a makeshift rotisserie he'd built over a small firepit.
The meat was tough but incredibly flavorful, rich with the concentrated energy that only deep-ocean predators possessed. Each bite seemed to replenish his strength, warming him from the inside.
He took a slow sip of sake from the bottle he'd brought from Shimotsuki Village, feeling the alcohol burn pleasantly down his throat and spread warmth through his chest.
"Not bad," he murmured to himself, looking out at the dark horizon where sea met sky. "Not bad at all."
But soon, the satisfaction of the fight and the fullness in his stomach faded.
What remained was a silence that felt somehow louder than the constant crashing of waves against Sylvia's hull.
Argentus lay back on the wooden deck, crossing his arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow.
The sky above was overwhelming—a vast velvet dome pierced by what must have been a billion stars. It was beautiful. Infinite. Breathtaking.
And it was incredibly, crushingly lonely.
He was thirteen years old, floating on a thirty-foot piece of wood in the middle of an ocean that stretched for thousands of miles in every direction. No crew. No companions. No one who would even notice if he vanished tomorrow.
Just him, Sylvia, and the endless blue.
His eyes traced the constellations above, finding patterns in the chaos. One cluster of stars looked faintly like a woman's face—delicate features sketched in distant firelight.
"Mom..." he whispered, the word carried away instantly by the night wind.
When was the last time he'd said that word aloud? Months? Years?
His eyelids grew heavy. The gentle rocking of the boat became a cradle, rhythmic and soothing. The sound of waves was almost like breathing.
He closed his eyes.
The darkness took him.
Dawn
The first light of dawn bled across the horizon like a wound, painting the sea in shades of deep violet and molten gold. The world was perfectly still—just the rhythmic lap of small waves against Sylvia's hull and the infinite, empty stretch of ocean in every direction.
"HAAH!"
Argentus shot upright like a coiled spring suddenly released.
His chest heaved, sucking in desperate, greedy gulps of salty air. His skin was cold and clammy with sweat despite the morning chill, his shirt plastered to his back. His right hand had unconsciously grabbed the spear—which he'd left lying beside him—and was gripping it so hard his knuckles had gone bone-white.
Ready to fight.
But there was nothing there.
He stared down at his trembling hand, forcing his fingers to slowly unclench from the spear's shaft.
"A dream...?" he rasped, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.
But what dream? He couldn't remember. The details had already evaporated like morning mist, leaving only a lingering sense of dread and the phantom taste of ash in his mouth.
He wiped cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, waiting for his heart rate to slowly return to normal.
He sat there for a long time, watching the sun rise.
"Right," Argentus muttered finally, standing up and deliberately shaking off the lingering unease. His face hardened, the momentary vulnerability locked away behind walls of determination. "No looking back. Only forward."
He picked up the spear to inspect it—a habit he'd formed since leaving the dojo.
In the harsh morning light, the flaws were becoming more visible. The iron shaft had developed a slight bend from where he'd deflected those cannonballs. The black blade's edge, though still sharp, showed microscopic chips from cutting through the Sea King's incredibly dense scales.
"You're getting tired, aren't you?" Argentus whispered to spear, running his thumb gently along the damaged edge.
It was a good spear, but soon it wouldn't be able to keep up with him.
He sat cross-legged on the deck and pulled out a whetstone from his maintenance kit. He began to carefully sharpen the blade, the rhythmic shhh-shhh sound filling the morning silence like meditation.
"Hold on a little longer," he told the weapon, his voice gentle despite everything. "Just until I can find you a worthy replacement. You deserve that much."
After some time spent on maintenance, Argentus looked up from his work.
His eyes narrowed against the morning glare, focusing on the horizon.
A shape had broken the endless monotony of blue.
An island.
But it looked... wrong. Less like a natural formation and more like some kind of fortress the ocean had built to defend itself.
As Sylvia drew closer over the next hour, the water around the island began to change dramatically.
The calm, rolling waves of the open ocean gave way to something violent and chaotic. White water churned in massive rings around the island like grinding teeth.
Whirlpools spun with the force of industrial machinery, some easily large enough to swallow ships whole. Erratic riptides clashed against each other from different directions, creating walls of spray that shot fifteen feet into the air with an angry hissing sound.
The entire island was surrounded by this deadly barrier—a natural moat of pure chaos.
Argentus gripped the tiller, testing Sylvia's response as they approached the outer edge of the turbulent water.
The wood groaned in protest. The boat shuddered, fighting against currents that wanted to drag her sideways into destruction.
"No good," Argentus muttered, already pulling back. "If I take her any closer, she'll be torn apart."
He steered Sylvia to a safer distance, well outside the chaotic perimeter, and looked at the island more carefully.
It was dominated by a bizarre geological feature that made no sense.
Rising from the center of what appeared to be dense jungle was a massive cylinder of stone—perfectly vertical, like someone had punched a column straight up out of the earth. It had to be at least two hundred meters tall, maybe more.
Its surface was riddled with dark, gaping holes—dozens of them, arranged in no pattern Argentus could discern. Caves, maybe? Tunnels?
As he watched, the wind shifted direction. A low, haunting sound drifted across the water—a mournful whistle like someone blowing across the mouth of an enormous bottle. The sound came from the stone cylinder as air rushed through those tunnels.
It was... unsettling.
The smart choice would be to sail around this obvious death trap and continue toward his destination.
But when had he ever made the smart choice?
He wanted to know what was in there. What could survive in such a hostile environment. What had created those perfectly circular holes in solid stone.
"Curiosity killed the cat," Argentus muttered to himself, already making his decision.
He grinned.
"But satisfaction brought it back."
He steered Sylvia to what seemed like the calmest section of water—relatively speaking—and dropped the heavy iron anchor. It hit the seabed with a dull thud he could feel through the deck, biting deep into sand and holding firm.
Argentus stripped off his coat and boots, leaving them neatly folded in the cabin. He wore just his shirt and pants—clothes that wouldn't drag him down if he had to swim.
He secured the spear tightly to his back using multiple layers of oilcloth bindings, making sure the weapon was completely protected from salt water and wouldn't shift during violent movement.
He stood on the gunwale, balanced perfectly despite Sylvia's rocking, and took a deep breath.
Then he dove.
SPLASH.
The water hit him like a wall of ice.
The current grabbed at his body like invisible hands, trying to spin him sideways into the nearest whirlpool. The undertow pulled at his legs, attempting to drag him down into the crushing depths.
He activated his Observation Haki, expanding his awareness. He didn't try to fight the currents head-on—that would be exhausting and ultimately futile.
Instead, he sensed the flow of the water. Found the gaps. The momentary eddies where opposing currents canceled each other out. The brief windows where forward movement was possible.
He kicked with explosive power—using the techniques Garp had literally beaten into him—shooting through the gaps like a torpedo. He darted between whirlpools with inches to spare, feeling the suction trying to grab him but always staying just ahead of it.
His lungs burned. His muscles screamed. But he refused to turn back.
Minutes later—though it felt like hours—his hand finally dug into wet sand.
He hauled himself out of the violent surf, water streaming from his body in sheets. He collapsed onto the beach for a moment, gasping for air, before forcing himself to stand.
The beach was eerily quiet compared to the roaring chaos just meters away. Protected from the worst of the ocean's fury by the natural curve of the land and the palm trees that lined the shore.
He shook water from his silver hair and looked up.
From this vantage point, standing at the base of the island, the central stone cylinder was imposing. It towered over the jungle canopy like a monument to some forgotten god.
The holes he'd seen from the ocean were massive up close—caves easily large enough to walk into, dark tunnels leading deep into the rock's interior.
As the wind picked up again, that low, haunting sound drifted down from above—the mournful whistle of air rushing through stone.
It sounded almost like singing. Almost like words in a language he couldn't quite understand.
Argentus unwrapped the oilcloth fully, freeing the spear and giving the weapon a test spin.
Water droplets flew from the black blade, catching the sunlight.
"Well," he said to himself, looking at those dark caves above the tree line, "let's find out what's hiding in there."
He began walking inland, toward the cylinder.
Toward whatever mystery waited in the singing stone.