Two hours later, high above Broken Neck Gorge.
The desert here looked like a wound bitten into the earth by an ancient beast—a ragged tear that had never healed.
Jagged cliffs rose on both sides of the canyon road, their cracked, sharp edges baking beneath the white-hot sun.
Dry wind exhaled through the gorge, carrying the scent of scorched stone and the metallic tang of abandoned weapons.
From above, the Heavenly Tribute convoy looked pitifully exposed. Several reinforced wagons sat crookedly in the middle of the canyon, their canvas covers coated in dust.
Broken spears, discarded helmets, and the deep tracks of retreating boots marred the sand.
The scene told a clear, simple story to anyone who looked: the royal guards had panicked, the treasure was abandoned, and the desert had swallowed the courage of men.
On the ridge overlooking the gorge, Zaraki lay lazily in the burning sand with his chin propped on one hand.
His conspicuous Marine coat lay buried beneath a layer of cloth, and his shirt hung open to reveal the bandages around his chest and shoulder.
The sand beneath him was hot enough to cook meat, but he looked as comfortable as a man resting beside a warm stove.
Nami, meanwhile, looked like the desert was personally attacking her.
Crouched in the shade of Carina's parasol with a map in her lap, her orange hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks.
Every ragged breath sounded like a complaint waiting to be itemized into a bill.
"Zaraki," she wheezed, "in weather like this, can you stop pretending the sun is an opponent we can defeat with willpower?"
"If your heart is calm, the air feels cool." Zaraki didn't take his eyes off the canyon.
Nami turned to him with a terrifying smile. "Say that again and I'll charge you for heatstroke treatment."
Carina adjusted the parasol and sighed with the weary tone of someone calculating how much money she could make selling her captain's corpse.
"Honestly, Boss, if you drop dead from heat before fighting Crocodile, I'm selling your swords."
Zoro leaned against a nearby rock, his arms folded around his swords.
He looked far more comfortable than Nami, though the sweat on his brow proved he wasn't immune to the desert's heat.
His eyes narrowed. "Someone's coming."
The joking atmosphere vanished.
At first, only a dark blur moved at the far end of the gorge. Then, figures emerged one by one from the shimmering heat haze.
At the front walked a tall, bald man in monk-like clothing.
His pace was calm and his posture steady; even from hundreds of meters away, he radiated the cold aura of a man who had forged himself into a weapon.
Daz Bones. Mr. 1.
The Dice-Dice Fruit user.
Behind him, Baroque Works agents spread out around the wagons.
They didn't rush forward in a greedy frenzy. Under Mr. 1's silent, oppressive watch, they carefully checked the cliffs, the wheels, the canvas, the sand beneath the wagons, and the scattered equipment left by the royal guards.
"What an interesting reaction." Zaraki's mouth curved slightly.
Through his Observation Haki, he felt no joy or excitement from Mr. 1, and certainly no carelessness born of believing the prize was already secure.
There was only sharp, cold caution.
The iron-like man circled the convoy like a wolf inspecting meat that smelled faintly of poison.
A treasure on the level of the Heavenly Tribute abandoned in an open road, with escort troops that had withdrawn far too cleanly—such good fortune would only make an experienced killer suspicious.
"He knows it's suspicious," Zoro said, his gaze shifting from observation to active interest. "That bald guy is not a normal fighter."
"He's a blade," Zaraki said.
Zoro glanced at him.
Zaraki's grin widened. "Not a swordsman exactly, but close enough that you'll enjoy cutting him."
Zoro's hand tightened around Wado Ichimonji.
For a moment, the heat, the desert, and the mission faded from his mind.
All that remained was the figure below, standing in the canyon with a body of living steel.
Zaraki watched Mr. 1 finish his inspection. "Hesitation won't matter. To a pirate, meat already in the mouth has to be swallowed. Besides, Crocodile needs this tribute too badly. Whether he wants to fund his plan, frame the royal family, or force the World Government's hand, he can't ignore it."
Down in the gorge, Mr. 1 suddenly stopped and looked up toward the cliffs.
For a brief instant, their gazes seemed to meet across the shimmering heat.
Then Mr. 1 looked away, seemingly finding nothing worth investigating, and raised a hand. The Baroque Works agents sprang into action.
Heavy wheels groaned over the sand as the Heavenly Tribute—wealth meant to be escorted by Alabasta's royal forces—began rolling toward Rainbase under Baroque Works' control.
Only then did Zaraki stand. "The fish took the bait."
He brushed the sand from his clothes and retrieved his hidden coat. "Nami, mark the route. Vivi, remember this moment. From now on, this is no longer suspicion. Crocodile's people touched the tribute."
Vivi stood in the shade, her hood pulled low.
Her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles were stark white. Watching the wagons roll away hurt far more than she anticipated.
That tribute represented Alabasta's burden, its humiliation, and its fear of the World Government.
It was gold squeezed from a thirsty country—wealth hoarded while civilians searched dry wells for a single drop of water.
And she had chosen to abandon it into enemy hands.
Carina noticed the pain beneath the hood.
"Don't look so guilty, Princess," she said softly, though her tone retained its usual lightness. "If you held onto it, your soldiers would just keep dying around it. If Crocodile takes it, he becomes the one with blood on his hands."
"I know," Vivi said, closing her eyes. But knowing didn't make the pain fade.
Zaraki slung his coat over one shoulder. "Let's go."
"Where?" Nami asked, though her expression said she already knew.
"Rainbase." Zaraki stared out at the endless desert, tracking the convoy's path like a line leading straight into a beast's mouth.
"It's time to visit the city of dreams and have a proper talk with that Warlord about storage fees."
...
Rainbase looked like a lie.
After crossing cracked roads, dried-up wells, and starving villages where people rationed water by the mouthful, stepping into Rainbase felt almost insulting.
Fountains flowed openly in the streets, and artificial lakes glittered beneath the sun.
Lush green trees shaded the roads while massive banana gators floated lazily in the water, completely insulated from the suffering outside the city walls.
Wealthy gamblers staggered drunkenly between casinos, laughing, losing fortunes, and loudly praising the man they believed protected this oasis from the country's disaster.
At the center of it all stood Rain Dinners.
The golden pyramid casino gleamed beneath the desert sun like a monument forged from pure greed.
Nami's expression turned icy as she stared at the flowing fountains. "What an infuriating place."
Having lived under Arlong Park, she knew exactly what false prosperity looked like when built on stolen suffering.
Vivi said nothing.
Her hood hid her face, but the trembling of her shoulders said enough.
The city was alive, and that was what made it so cruel; while the rest of Alabasta withered and died, Rainbase laughed.
Watching the crowds shout Crocodile's name with drunken gratitude, the laziness drained from Zaraki's expression.
This wasn't his kind of battlefield.
There was no clean clash of blades here, no honest killing intent, no enemy standing openly to declare, I want your head.
This was pure deception.
Worship. Fear.
A country being swallowed slowly from the inside while thanking the teeth that devoured it.
The Kenpachi template longed for a direct fight, but even that violent instinct felt irritated by the foul stench of this place.
"Nami," he said without turning around. "Take Vivi and Carina toward the east gate. Keep Den Den Mushi contact with Bogard and Smoker. If Rainbase locks its exits, fall back to the rendezvous route outside Nanohana."
Nami immediately frowned. "You're going alone?"
"I'm going inside."
"That is not a meaningful difference."
Carina tilted her head. "What about me, Boss? I'm very useful in casinos."
"That's exactly why you're not going in."
Carina clicked her tongue.
Zaraki turned to his swordsman. "Zoro."
"Hm?"
"Go pull that iron block away. Don't let him interfere with me. Your hands have been itching for a while, haven't they?"
Zoro's mouth curved into a sharp grin. "Tch. Don't order me around."
He turned and walked away, his eyes already scanning the streets for Mr. 1's presence.
"And don't blame me if I get lost."
Nami's expression instantly turned serious. "Someone follow him."
Carina raised a hand. "Not me. I value my life."
Despite the crushing weight on her heart, Vivi almost smiled.
Zaraki stepped toward Rain Dinners.
The crowd parted around him without understanding why.
No one knew his name, and no one had seen him draw his sword, but human instinct recognized pure danger long before reason caught up.
Gamblers moved aside, guards lowered their eyes, and even the banana gators sank slightly beneath the surface as he passed.
"I'm just going to say hello to the owner," Zaraki murmured, his gaze lifting to the golden pyramid.
"And maybe ask him if the coffins here are as overpriced as everything else."
As he disappeared into the entrance of Rain Dinners, a dark cloud drifted across the clear sky, casting a long, ominous shadow over the city of revelry.
Deep inside the pyramid, in an airtight conference room surrounded by polished chairs, a deadly game of hunting and counter-hunting was about to begin.
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