Chapter 91: The Tyrant's Fist
"Show me the intel on this 'Tyrant's Fist' crew," Satoru said. He was confident, but not foolish. A name like that suggested either immense arrogance or the power to back it up—likely Conqueror's Haki. He needed to know which.
"At once, Admiral." A Marine handed over the dossier compiled by Headquarters Intelligence.
Satoru skimmed it, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "A relic from the old era?" The report placed the crew's formation concurrent with the rise of the Rocks Pirates.
"Their captain must be in his sixties, then," Satoru mused.
"Captain Cyriss of the Tyrant's Fist Pirates," the Vice Admiral confirmed. "Age sixty-eight. Current bounty: 1.83 billion Berries."
"Sixty-eight and still not retired?" Satoru raised an eyebrow. He was thinking of men like Whitebeard and Garp—legends who defied age.
"Actually, Admiral, he did retire. Shortly after the Rocks Pirates fell."
Satoru looked up, puzzled. "He retired? And we're going after him now?" It made little tactical sense. They knew where Silvers Rayleigh was, and they left him alone. Why provoke a retired legend?
"What is Headquarters thinking? The cost to capture a retired pirate of that caliber could be high, for little strategic gain." He assumed, of course, that he wouldn't be the one paying that cost.
"I believe Fleet Admiral Sengoku's aim is to use him to cement your reputation, sir," the Vice Admiral offered, giving voice to the obvious ploy.
"Really?" Satoru sighed, a faint smile on his lips. "The old man is trying too hard. How many people even remember a retired pirate from that era? Capturing him won't make waves." True fame came from defeating active, recognized powers.
He continued reading the file. Something else struck him. "The reports... they don't list many atrocities. No mass slaughter, no civilian massacres."
"According to veterans from that time, the Tyrant's Fist Pirates were known for their pride and combat strength, but not for unnecessary cruelty. Their clashes were primarily with other pirates or in direct conflict with Marine forces."
This made Sengoku's move even more perplexing. Was it purely for a reputation boost?
"Admiral, you should rest. It will take us five more days to reach the island where Cyriss resides."
Satoru gave a noncommittal nod and retreated to his cabin.
The five-day voyage passed without major incident. They encountered a few pirate patrols, all of which Satoru dispatched with casual, overwhelming efficiency—a stark reminder to the crew that their new Admiral was no figurehead. Their awe of him solidified into something closer to reverence.
"Directly ahead is Cyriss's island of seclusion," the Vice Admiral announced on the fifth day. "We only pinpointed his location because a rookie crew landed there recently. Cyriss dealt with them himself."
"Understood. You and the crew remain here. I'll handle this personally."
Before the Vice Admiral could voice a concern about backup, Satoru was gone from the deck.
Why are the Admirals all so... uniquely headstrong? the Vice Admiral thought with a familiar, weary resignation. He'd served under all three of the others. This one was just continuing the tradition.
In the next instant, Satoru stood on the shore of a small, tranquil island. It was an anomaly in the turbulent New World. The air was clean and quiet, the village visible from the beach was orderly and peaceful. It reminded him of Windmill Village.
This peace exists because of him, Satoru realized. A powerful presence like Cyriss would deter any would-be raiders. He was the unspoken guardian of this place.
His Six Eyes instantly locked onto the brightest, most concentrated source of energy on the island—a veritable sun compared to the flickering candles of the villagers. It pulsed with a steady, aged, but formidable power.
Satoru began walking toward it. The villagers he passed looked at him with open curiosity, not fear or hostility. An outsider was a novelty here.
"Hey there, young man! What brings you to our island?" a friendly fisherman called out.
"I'm looking for a man named Cyriss."
"Cyriss?" The fisherman's face scrunched in genuine confusion. The other villagers nearby murmured the same name, shaking their heads.
"You sure you have the right place? No one by that name lives here."
Their reactions weren't deceptive. Cyriss had buried his past here.
"He's here," Satoru said simply, continuing to walk. "In the house at the far edge."
"Oh! You mean Uncle Riel!" the fisherman exclaimed, his face clearing. "You're looking for Uncle Riel? Are you his grandson?"
Satoru's eye twitched. Do I look like someone's grandson?
"I'm not. I was sent to speak with him."
"I see, I see. Well, you can head on over. But a word of warning—Uncle Riel is probably napping. Don't wake him up. He's a real grump when he's startled awake." The fisherman said it with a chuckle, no real fear in his tone.
"Thanks for the warning," Satoru said, continuing his walk. It was clear the villagers had no idea of "Uncle Riel's" true identity. To them, he was just a slightly cranky old man who happened to be strong enough to chase off troublemakers. They lived in peace because of him, oblivious to the legend in their midst.
Satoru reached a modest, well-kept cottage at the village's border. The powerful aura emanated from within. He didn't knock. He simply pushed the door open and stepped inside.
In a rocking chair by the cold fireplace, an old man with thick, grey hair and a beard to match sat with his eyes closed. He wore simple clothes, but his frame was still broad, his hands large and calloused. He didn't open his eyes.
"I felt you the moment you set foot on my island, boy," the old man, Cyriss, said, his voice a low gravel. "That pressure… like a young dragon testing its wings. You're the Navy's new toy, aren't you? The 'White Dragon.'"
Satoru smiled. "And you're the 'Tyrant's Fist.' Seems we both have theatrical names."
Cyriss finally opened his eyes. They were clear, sharp, and held the weight of decades on the sea. "Sengoku sent you. To use my head as your stepping stone."
"He did. But I'm more curious about you," Satoru said, leaning against the doorframe. "A legend who chose to guard a quiet village instead of chasing more fame or treasure. Why would the Navy want to disturb that?"
Cyriss studied him for a long moment. "Maybe they're afraid of what a bored old legend might do. Or maybe," he said, a grim smile touching his lips, "they just want to remind the world that no one ever really retires from the Navy's ledger. What will you do, boy? Follow orders and fight an old man for a reputation you don't need? Or use that head of yours?"
The peaceful atmosphere outside the cottage seemed to grow taut. The choice, and the coming storm, were now Satoru's to wield.
(End of Chapter)
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