Trickster Mage

"Eschbach was actually... held back?"

"That bald guy is incredible!!!"

Dick tilted his head back and stared wide-eyed at the mountain-sized figure locked in a stalemate. It had been a long time since he'd seen Eschbach fight someone while so completely tied down. Ever since... ever since when was it?

Oh! Right. Ever since Eschbach awakened Observation Haki two years ago, Dick hadn't seen him locked in a prolonged fight. Every time, he'd crushed his enemies with overwhelming force. A few punches and kicks were enough to grind even a man of iron into scrap.

"A Paramecia user?"

Casper narrowed his eyes and murmured.

"Your Highness, should we..." Dillon lowered his head and looked toward Aleus, who was watching the fight with keen interest.

"No need."

Aleus waved a hand.

"That bald guy's ability is fascinating. He can give heat to the air, elasticity to the ground, weight to rocks... Dillon, do we have any information on him?"

"Sorry, Your Highness. We buy our intelligence, and it doesn't include any information on that... bald man. But based on what the Kingdom has gathered over the years, he bears some resemblance to a pirate rookie who entered the New World fifteen years ago."

"Fifteen years ago? We have records that far back?"

As a New World powerhouse, the Ekmondo Kingdom had always paid close attention to gathering intelligence. They might not be as formidable as the Queen of Pleasure District or Big News Morgans, but they kept records of anyone and anything with even a little renown. Pirate rookies who entered the New World each year were always a particular focus.

Aleus reluctantly turned his gaze away from the fight and looked up at Dillon. "Who was it?"

"I saw the newspaper from that time in the Kingdom's archives. It was Marineford Era 1502, the fourth year of this so-called Great Pirate Era. After the Pirate King's final words before his execution, the number of pirates on the seas had increased more than tenfold. All sorts of oddballs had flooded into the New World..."

"Get to the point, Dillon. I'm not Dick the idiot. I know this basic history." Aleus rolled his eyes.

Why had this turned into a history lesson?

"Yes, Your Highness. I got sidetracked."

Dillon admitted his mistake without hesitation, gathered his thoughts, and paused for two seconds before continuing. "In Marineford Era 1502, among the most prominent pirate rookies in the New World was a pirate known by the alias 'Trickster Mage.' His real name was Marcus. He declared at the time that he would challenge Whitebeard, but then there was no further news of him. Some speculated that Whitebeard had casually beaten him to death... Now it seems the Trickster Mage never went to challenge Whitebeard at all. Umit must have recruited him."

"Trickster Mage... Do we know anything about his ability?"

"No. It seems no one figured out which Devil Fruit the Trickster Mage had eaten back then. Even the Marines never exposed the details about him. It's still a minor mystery to this day. There's also..." Dillon hesitated before adding, "The Trickster Mage still had hair at the time. He wasn't bald."

He didn't like saying things like that. It always felt as if he were making fun of someone's physical shortcomings behind their back. Still, it was his duty to report what needed reporting.

"So he got bald and got stronger? Interesting. Let's see what this Trickster Mage can do... Tsk! Looks like we won't be able to sit back and watch until we've dealt with the trouble. Well, hello there, King of Maritime Transport. I'm Sokachio Aleus."

Aleus stopped Dick just as he was about to attack, then greeted the King of Maritime Transport with a smile.

Umit, the King of Maritime Transport, stood with thirteen others on a Mushroom Rock not far in front of Aleus and his companions.

"Black Prince, Sokachio Aleus... You've certainly got some presence. No wonder you managed to beat Venkura down so badly!"

Umit didn't rush to attack. Instead, he looked Aleus up and down, his sharp, practiced gaze seeming to want to dig out Aleus's bones and examine them. "But don't think you can throw your weight around in the New World just because you've got a little talent!!!"

"Boom!!!"

The Mushroom Rock crumbled.

Umit's powerful charge had sent him surging forward, and the recoil had crushed the rock to pieces.

His tall hat and brown coat were blasted away into the distant sky by the shock wave. Umit's thick, seaweed-like beard fluttered in the wind, revealing the sturdy, steel-hard muscles beneath his coat. He swung a fist and unleashed a fierce attack powerful enough to shatter the earth.

A mighty gust of wind swept forward like a real storm, stripping away layer after layer of the ground's rock.

That punch—

was hard.

"Hss—! That hurts!"

Aleus's facial muscles twitched as a cry of pain escaped him on instinct.

His right arm had been broken, twisted in a direction it could never naturally bend. Blood ran from the torn flesh, dripping down and staining the ground beneath his feet.

"Kid, without a strong body, you won't last in a hellhole like the New World, where people will eat you without even spitting out the bones."

Umit opened his mouth, revealing a row of neat, white teeth. His thick, seaweed-like beard swayed gently in the sea breeze as he looked at Aleus's bloodied right arm and smiled. It was the vicious smile of a hunter who'd found the finest prey.

His fists came one after another.

He gave Aleus no chance to catch his breath. Swinging both fists, he hammered him relentlessly, each punch like a falling meteor.

That was the New World's rule: strength above all, pure and simple. Here, might made right. The biggest fists made the rules, and the hardest fists were justice. Umit didn't look down on Aleus in the slightest because of his youth.

On the contrary, the younger Aleus was, the harder Umit's fists fell.

Umit was no longer young. He knew full well that the world ultimately belonged to the young. When age and infirmity caught up with him, young challengers would eventually step over his old bones and take his position, his power, and his wealth. It was the inevitable course of the times, a tide that could not be turned back.

But still!

The more clearly the King of Maritime Transport understood what the future held, the less willing he was to accept his fate. If he'd been willing to resign himself to it, he'd still be fishing in his hometown harbor instead of living in splendor, with countless people answering his every call.

So, while he still had the strength, he would use his fists to pound every challenger who dared covet his position into a pulp.