West Blue, Ejadi Island.
The sky was black as ink, so thick it seemed impossible to disperse.
Murky waves battered the rotting dock pilings without end, letting out dull, despairing moans.
The sea wind whirled like a blade across the pier, tugging at the tattered scraps covering several civilians huddled in the shadows, yet it could not sweep away the bottomless ash-gray despair in their eyes.
On the dock, those gaunt civilians stared blankly at the horizon as usual. Deep in their clouded eyes lay a sliver of hope left after being crushed by despair time and again—a hope that some ship, some person, might take them away.
This was one of the strategic buffer zones tacitly recognized by the Five Great Families of the West Blue Underworld. No ruler in their right mind would place a battlefield on their own turf unless they had been driven into a corner.
Because of that, no single iron-fisted voice ruled this island. Bloodshed and clashes erupted every day, and with travel so difficult, even civilians who wanted to flee found it nearly impossible.
Coming to the dock like this and waiting for that miracle with its minuscule chance of appearing was the only resistance they could manage.
Amid that deathly silence, a speck of jarring black suddenly pierced the horizon.
The black dot tore through the gloomy sky at astonishing speed, diving straight toward the rotting pier.
In the blink of an eye, a massive shadow loomed over the beggars' heads. That enormous presence drifted down as lightly as a feather without weight.
It was as though invisible hands had clutched the civilians by the throat. Their eyes nearly burst from their sockets, their cracked lips opened and closed soundlessly, and their bodies shook like sieves.
How could a person fly?
Having never left the island, they simply could not comprehend what was happening before their eyes.
Adams, carrying a travel pack, did not spare them so much as a glance. He strode toward the depths of the island, each step as steady as if he were measuring the land.
His thoughts flowed back like icy seawater.
Five months earlier, after the Buster Call had ended, he had been forced to remain in Ohara for some time due to certain special circumstances.
During that time, he had not only met Saul, but also Dragon, and had even met Vegapunk.
Then came a flight through the sky lasting more than a month. Using his ability, he safely sent the scholars to Sky Island.
Only after doing all that did he return to the West Blue alone.
"Run! Inside... it's started again!"
Suddenly, a hoarse, twisted scream cut through Adams's memories.
He looked toward the source of the sound. The dirt road ahead leading to the town in the island's interior had completely erupted into chaos.
The terrified crowd was like an anthill doused with boiling water. A dense mass of heads surged, shoved, and wailed as they carried their pitiful belongings, forming a desperate muddy torrent that rushed madly toward the dock.
A woman carrying an infant was knocked off balance by the surging crowd, and the child in her arms nearly slipped free.
She staggered into the hard side of Adams's towering body as though she had struck a high wall. The pain jolted her awake.
She squeezed out the last of her strength and screamed:
"Turn back! Inside... they're killing people!"
Several old faces, equally lined with deep wrinkles, flashed through gaps in the crowd. Their voices trembled with the terror of imminent death:
"Go back! Young man! Go back! Ahead is hell!"
Adams ignored them. He neither stopped nor turned around. His massive body continued steadily forward against the torrent of desperate people.
The battlefield ahead was precisely the destination of this trip. If shootouts did not happen here so often, he would not have chosen this place as the first stop upon his return. To him, only chaos could make him stronger as quickly as possible.
Civilian District
On both sides of the street, storefronts that had once enjoyed brief moments of prosperity were now nothing but charred frames and collapsed brickwork.
The gun smoke had yet to disperse. Like a filthy burial shroud, it hung low among the broken walls and ruins.
Just as the Five Great Families had buffer zones, the smaller gangs had them too. Places where powerless civilians lived were naturally chosen as battlefields.
Bang! Bang!
Flintlocks spat brief, violent flashes. Stray lead bullets ripped through the smoke with shrieking death, drilling viciously into the walls. Chips of stone and dust rained down, leaving deep scars behind.
Squelch!
The cold glint of bladed weapons flashed through the gloom before plunging precisely into flesh with a dull thud. Warm blood splashed out, blooming into dark red flowers across the dust-covered ground.
Two savage, muddy currents collided, tore at each other, and devoured one another here.
On one side, vicious dagger tattoos twisted and jumped with bulging muscles across bare necks and arms.
On the other, heavy anchor emblems on equally bare chests and arms were soaked in sweat and blood, making them seem even more oppressive.
Roars, curses, and dying wails mingled with gun smoke and the stench of blood, forming a mad symphony of death.
At the center of the battlefield, in a wide circular area tacitly left empty by the lackeys of both sides, two leaders were engaged in the most primitive and brutal kind of slaughter.
The leader of the Blood Anchor Gang was built like an enraged bull. Every heavy punch he threw carried a dull howl through the air, as though it could shatter stone.
His opponent, the leader of the Dagger Gang, was like an eel coated in oil—short, lean, and nimble. He always managed to twist free of those lethal heavy blows at the critical instant, even sneaking in punches from tricky angles against his bull-like opponent's thick back or ribs, drawing furious roars and even more frenzied attacks.
Right in the heart of that chaos, a new presence forced his way in with overwhelming authority.
He ignored the whistling stray bullets and the bodies rolling and grappling on either side. As casually as if he were walking into his own backyard, he stepped over shattered gravel and pools of blood that had yet to dry.
Such a conspicuous target, such a bizarre intrusion, instantly tore apart the chaotic rhythm of the battlefield.
The fighting abruptly slowed.
Gun muzzles instinctively lowered half an inch. Blades frozen halfway through their swings hung in the air. The people tangled together broke apart, their startled, uncertain, and suddenly irritated gazes all fixing on the massive figure that had appeared out of nowhere.
The leader of the Blood Anchor Gang panted heavily, his chest heaving like a broken bellows. He viciously wiped away the bloody froth trailing from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
He glared at Adams's handsome face, which looked absurdly young—almost boyish—beside his gigantic physique. Shock and the fury of being offended mingled in his eyes as he rasped in a voice like sandpaper:
"Brat, where the hell did you come from?!"
Beside him, one eye of the Dagger Gang's leader was swollen black and blue, making his already sinister face look even more twisted. He stared at Adams, his voice sharp as a poisoned needle piercing the eardrums:
"Whoever you are, this isn't a place for children! Get lost, or we'll chop you up and feed you to the dogs!"
They were people who lived by the blade, not ignorant fools like those at the dock.
By all common sense, a brat with a build so far beyond that of an ordinary person was usually no ordinary fighter. He only wanted to get rid of this variable as quickly as possible.
"Get lost!"
"Go back and drink milk, brat!"
"This isn't a place for you. Watch out, or you'll lose your life."
The lackeys immediately caught on and began roaring at the top of their lungs. Their filthy insults merged into a threatening wave of sound, trying to force the uninvited guest back.
Adams's gaze swept across the faces twisted by savagery and uncertainty, over the vicious tattoos on their bodies, and across this ruined street defiled by blood and fire. Then he slowly spoke:
"I came here for only one thing—to throw all of you into Davy Jones's locker."
To Be Continued