"Ha! I told you that rumor was true!" a Shipwright shouted in the tavern. "I told you I'd seen him in Hisville, but you wouldn't believe me! He saved my daughter and son. How could I mistake him for someone else?"
"Look at him now! The Tenth Match of the Prison Deathmatch! Do you know what that means?"
"What does it mean?" The people who had mocked him earlier, insisting that no rookie could be that strong, pricked up their ears. Even the Pirates waited eagerly for an answer.
"Boss Oat, this drink's on me!" Before the Shipwright called Oat could even pretend to clear his throat, someone quick on the uptake handed him a drink.
"Mm." Oat nodded in satisfaction and took a sip. The cool, fragrant liquor slid down his throat, sending a pleasant shiver through him. Only then did he continue. "You haven't been in Sabaody long, so it's normal you don't know. Live another couple of years on the seas around Marine Headquarters, and you'll hear the term Prison Deathmatch all the time."
"But!" Oat slammed his cup onto the wooden table with a thud. "The most you'll hear is that someone made it to the Seventh Match. You might not hear of anyone reaching the Eighth Match for years."
"Here's all you need to know: reaching the Tenth Match means he beat three Headquarters Vice Admirals attacking him at once. That's the Ninth Match."
He beat three Headquarters Vice Admirals?!
No, it was worse than that. All three had attacked him at once!
Could a rookie really do such a thing?!
The Pirates felt bitter at Oat's words. A Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral was a figure of tremendous strength and prestige!
Oat was only a Shipwright, so naturally he didn't know that from the Seventh