Yellow sand churned without a sound.
Crocodile walked ahead, moving his arms as though commanding a vast army, controlling the sand around him to turn the cloudstone foundation before them into sand, inch by inch.
A deep underground passage slowly extended before him.
This time, the two of them tunneled far deeper.
"We need to go farther down."
Crocodile said quietly, "There are too many eyes on the surface. The Sky Knight and Sky Island's god are unfathomably powerful. Who knows how far his Observation Haki reaches? The deeper we go, the less likely we are to be noticed."
"Good point." Shanks followed close behind, his expression grave. "That old man took Yasopp and the others down in one move. His Observation Haki probably isn't ordinary, either. Better to be careful."
And so they kept descending, burrowing deeper and deeper.
Ten meters.
Thirty meters.
Fifty meters.
The temperature around them gradually dropped, and the air grew damp.
At some point, the once dry, solid cloudstone foundation had begun to give off a faint, damp chill.
"Something's wrong."
Crocodile suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing slightly.
"What is it?" Shanks warily placed a hand on his sword hilt.
"The deeper this foundation goes, the wetter it gets." Crocodile scooped up a handful of freshly crumbled sand and studied it through narrowed eyes. "And my sand seems to be getting harder to control."
Shanks noticed something strange, too.
A salty tang spread through the air around them—the scent of seawater.
At that, Shanks suddenly slapped his forehead.
"We're on Angel Island, floating on the White-White Sea. The foundation here was never going to be that deep. The White-White Sea is right below us. Of course it's wet."
Crocodile said nothing, merely drawing his brows tighter.
"Wet... wait. I think I'm onto something. Keep