"Mm." The old man nodded.
Once the group was assembled, Rowan didn't waste time with idle chatter. He gave a set of coordinates to the "navigator"—who possessed a modicum of sailing experience—and led the bewildered bandits toward their hidden dock.
His familiarity with the terrain was so uncanny that the bandits began to wonder if the ship had been hidden by them or by the old man himself. How does this old-timer know these back alleys better than we do?
However, they kept such questions strictly to themselves. Only Dadan pondered inwardly whether they should find a new spot to moor the ship next time. But the moment she recalled the old man's gaze from earlier, her body gave an involuntary shudder, and her little schemes vanished instantly.
She stole a glance at Rowan's back. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she let out a small breath of relief and whispered to herself, "When this old man gets serious, his aura is terrifying. I'd better stay on the straight and narrow from now on, or I won't have the courage to even look him in the eye."
...
Time flew. A few hours later.
East Blue, Turbine Waters.
Several small branch-level warships were cutting through the boundless sea at maximum speed. On the eastern horizon, a fiery sun began to rise, staining the distant clouds a vibrant crimson.
The sunrise in the east is redder than fire!
Yet, facing this magnificent sight, the Marines on board had no heart for appreciation—least of all Colonel Carlos of the 197th Branch, who stood at the bow clad in his "Justice" overcoat. He had been standing there all night, yet his face showed no trace of fatigue.
"Status report. How much longer?" Carlos asked without turning his head, tossing aside another burnt-out cigarette butt.
"Reporting to Colonel Carlos! Based on our current speed, we will reach the reported sea area in twenty minutes," the navigator replied immediately.
"Twenty more minutes..."
Carlos lit another cigar, his expression grim. A few hours ago, while still at the 197th Branch base, he had received a call from Fleet Admiral Sengoku and had set out for the Turbine Waters without a moment's delay.
Truth be told, in all his years in the Marines, he had never heard Fleet Admiral Sengoku sound so desperate. What kind of position did this veteran named Rowan hold in the Fleet Admiral's heart?
According to Sengoku, two other Marine bases had also mobilized. Such a massive coordination was extremely rare in the relatively quiet East Blue.
"Brother Carlos!"
Suddenly, a familiar shout pulled Carlos back to reality. Turning his head, he saw two white figures in the distance, alternating steps through the air using Geppo (Moonwalk) as they closed in on his warship.
"Brother Shuka? Brother Guens?"
As the two figures landed, Carlos rushed to meet them. These were Colonel Shuka of the 154th Branch and Colonel Guens of the 142nd. One was a seasoned veteran nearly sixty years old with whitening hair; the other was a vigorous, passionate member of the new generation, transferred from Headquarters less than a year ago.
Both had received Sengoku's orders to assist Carlos. They explained that because their own warships were older models and relatively slow, they had decided to rendezvous and board Carlos's faster vessel to reach the destination ahead of their main fleets.
The priority was to find Mr. Rowan himself. Fleet Admiral Sengoku had issued a dead-end order: protect Mr. Rowan's life at all costs.
"Any news on the old gentleman yet?" the veteran Shuka asked immediately, skipping the pleasantries.
"None yet. But we'll be at the site in twenty minutes."
"I just hope Mr. Rowan hasn't encountered the Great Crocodile Pirates yet. Given his age, if they've engaged... the odds are heavily against him."
Just recently, they had received a new piece of intelligence. A heavyweight bounty head was hiding among the Great Crocodile Pirates: the former captain of the Black Hand Pirates, "Simms the Executioner."
His bounty: 37.6 million Berris.
A pirate in the 30-million range was someone even these young, fit branch Colonels had to approach with caution. More importantly, Simms was a veteran pirate who had survived the Grand Line for seven or eight years. His threat level was in a completely different league compared to "Mad Croc" Jakes.
"This old man... sigh."
Thinking of the atrocities Simms was known for, Colonel Shuka couldn't help but sigh. They could only pray the old man hadn't crossed paths with them yet. Everyone understood a retired veteran's inability to stand by while pirates ran rampant, but that was a job for active-duty Marines. Why did a centenarian have to join the fray?
Especially an old man with such powerful connections. He was a heart attack waiting to happen for the entire chain of command.
...
While the three Colonels were rushing toward the Turbine Waters with heavy hearts, back at Marine Headquarters, in the Fleet Admiral's office:
Purupurupurupuru...
The Den Den Mushi rang again. Sengoku, who had been buried in paperwork after a sleepless night, felt a jolt of electricity. He snatched up the receiver without hesitation, his voice frantic.
"Pops! How are you? Are you alright? I've sent several branches your way! If you run into the Great Crocodile Pirates, do not—I repeat, DO NOT—act recklessly! Latest Intel says 'Simms the Executioner,' a 37-million-Berri pirate, is on that ship! Do not provoke them until the reinforcements arrive!"
On the other end of the line, Rowan gave a hearty, booming laugh. "Gahahaha! Sengoku, my boy, why are you so worked up? What could possibly happen to me? Relax. That 'Great Crocodile' fellow and his crew have already been dealt with."
Rowan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and muttered to himself, "Simms the Executioner? The 37-million guy? No wonder he had some moves... though not many."
Despite the victory, Rowan felt a touch of melancholy. He knew his stamina was fading with age, but he hadn't expected it to drop this much. A pirate with a bounty under 50 million had actually made him feel a little tired.
While the exertion was negligible in the grand scheme of things, in his prime, he would have erased such small fry with a single move. I suppose there's no arguing with time.
"Already dealt with?"
Sengoku finally felt the tension leave his chest. But he couldn't help but grumble, "Pops, please don't get involved in things like this next time. If something happened to you, I'd never be able to answer for it..."
It was a 30-million-Berri pirate this time. What if he ran into a 300-million-Berri monster next time? Sengoku didn't even want to imagine it.