After sailing using the compass stolen from the Sparrow, Quentin Seven's wooden raft finally docked at a bustling port.
This was the Western Sea Navy's Main Base. It was massive in scale, filled with warships lined up in neat rows, sturdy concrete buildings flying blue seagull flags, and thousands of soldiers in white uniforms patrolling the area rigorously. This place served as the heart of military defense in the western region, much like the role Loguetown would later play in the Eastern Sea.
To avoid trouble and unwanted questions before their time, Shukaku and Matatabi agreed to return to rest within Seven's spiritual realm.
Seven leaped off his raft. On his left shoulder, he carried a large burlap sack stained with a pungent, dried blood. Clad in a long black cloak bearing a red-and-white fan emblem on his back, Seven's calm stride immediately drew the attention of several people at the port. However, his piercing gaze ensured that not a single soul dared to block his path.
He strolled casually into the base's main building and headed straight for the fugitive exchange counter.
A Navy sergeant, dozing off behind the counter, looked up. "Can I help you, civilian?"
Without saying much, Seven tossed the burlap sack onto the counter.
Thud!
The heavy, dull thud made the wooden desk creak slightly.
"I want to exchange this," Seven said flatly.
The officer furrowed his brow. Covering his nose, he untied the sack and peered inside. A moment later, the soldier's face turned deathly pale. His eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. He stumbled backward several steps until he collided with the filing cabinet behind him.
"C-C-C-Captain Sparrow?!" the sergeant stammered, causing all activity in the building's lobby to come to an immediate halt. Every eye turned toward the counter. "The 100 million Berry bounty from the West Sea! I-Is he dead?!"
A small wave of panic swept through headquarters. Other officers rushed over to verify the face of the pirate who had been terrorizing the West Blue. After confirming the corpse's identity through the wanted poster and his physical features, they stared at Seven with a mix of admiration and wariness.
It didn't take long for the administrative department to disburse the reward. Seven received a suitcase containing one hundred million Berry in paper bills. He glanced at the contents briefly, then closed the suitcase calmly, as if he had just taken his change from a purchase.
"Now," Seven turned toward another desk bearing a 'Recruitment Registration' sign. "I want to enlist in the Navy."
Behind the registration desk sat a young female officer. As Seven stepped closer, the woman suddenly held her breath.
As someone who had been reincarnated into the Ninja World before the Pirate World—specifically the Uchiha clan—Seven possessed facial features that inherited the charm of his past lineage. His skin was clear, his nose was straight, and his jawline was sharp.
Combined with his black hair, his well-proportioned body, and a pair of dark eyes that radiated calmness, Seven looked extraordinarily commanding. His charisma was akin to that of great figures, exuding a deadly masculine allure to the opposite sex.
"I-is there s-something I can help you with, sir?" the female clerk's voice trembled slightly. Her cheeks flushed bright red all the way to her ears. She didn't even dare to look directly into Seven's dark eyes.
"The registration form. I want to join the Navy," Seven repeated in a soft yet firm tone.
"O-okay! Of course! Here's the form, and here's a pen," the woman hurriedly handed him a sheet of paper, her hands trembling slightly with nervousness.
Smiling faintly at the clerk's reaction, Seven began filling out his personal information.
[Name: Quentin Seven.]
[Age: 18 years old.]
[Height: 170 cm.]
Unbeknownst to Seven, news of the foreign youth carrying Captain Sparrow's body had spread throughout the base like a fire igniting gasoline. The news had even reached the commander's office on the upper floor.
An elderly man with gray hair, a judge's robe draped over his shoulders, and muscles still visibly bulging stepped out of his office. He was the Vice Admiral in charge of this main base of the Western Sea. Upon hearing that a pirate of Sparrow's caliber had been taken down by a nameless individual, he decided to intervene personally.
The elderly Vice Admiral parted the crowd of soldiers in the lobby. His footsteps were heavy and authoritative. His sharp eyes, brimming with combat experience, immediately locked onto the figure of a young man in a black cloak who was bent over, writing at the registration desk.
Just as the old Vice Admiral was two steps behind Seven, his stride faltered slightly. His eyes were fixed on the back of the young man's cloak.
There was an emblem embroidered with great precision: a fan with a red upper half and a white lower half.
What kind of emblem is that? I've never seen a family or organizational emblem like this in the Four Seas or the Grand Line, the old Vice Admiral thought to himself. Though the emblem looked simple, it exuded an ancient aura and a mysterious sense of pride.
Pushing aside his curiosity, the old Vice Admiral took another step forward and placed his large, rough right hand on Seven's shoulder.
He deliberately applied a bit of pressure to his grip—a small trick to test a layperson's reflexes and physical strength.
However, what happened was completely unexpected. The young man's shoulder felt as hard as forged steel. Seven wasn't the least bit startled or flinched; not even his breathing rhythm or the stroke of his pen on the paper was disrupted in the slightest.
It was as if this young man had predicted and known of his presence long before the Vice Admiral had even approached.
Seven set down his pen, smoothed out the form, then turned around calmly.
"Were you the one who killed that Vulture, boy?" asked the elderly Vice Admiral, his voice deep and echoing throughout the suddenly silent lobby.
"Yes," Seven replied briefly, without a trace of fear.
The Vice Admiral stared intently into Seven's eyes. His veteran soldier's instincts screamed at him, telling him that the young man before him was no ordinary human. A dormant monster lurked within him.
The old man withdrew his hand from Seven's shoulder and laughed softly. His laughter sounded hoarse.
"Good. Since you've just lightened my workload by getting rid of that Western Sea trash, you're officially accepted as a Navy soldier effective today," said the Vice Admiral, causing the female clerk at the registration desk to widen her eyes in surprise. It was extremely rare for a commander to accept a recruit directly without formal testing.
However, the Vice Admiral's smile faded, replaced by the serious expression of a combat commander.
"However," the old man continued, "a single registration form isn't enough to determine your rank or position in my base. Someone capable of defeating a Devil Fruit user of Sparrow's caliber can't possibly be just a lowly deckhand cleaning ships."
The Vice Admiral turned around, nodding his head.
"Follow me to the training grounds behind the base, son. Let's see just how sharp the fangs you're hiding really are."