Chapter 17

But Rossi could feel that man's presence change-heavier, colder, like dark clouds bearing down on the sea before a storm.

Three.

No, counting the injured Pica, barely three and a half.

He steadied his breathing, let his aching right arm hang naturally, and quietly tightened his left hand around the other end of his weapon.

Wind from the docks swept into the alley, stirring up dust and the smell of blood and hitting his face with the chill peculiar to an early spring night.

In the distance, the workers aboard the Pinta were still at work. The regular, dull thuds of wooden crates sounded like some kind of countdown.

Wicks should have heard the commotion over here by now, right?

And that man with "66" engraved on his belt buckle

too.

Rossi looked past Diamante's shoulder toward the dock lights faintly visible at the other end of the alley.

He knew the real audience was only just arriving.

There was something inexplicably reassuring about the meticulous conduct of the man code-named 8674.

"No need to clash with them."

Wesker waved a hand. "Just ensure my personal safety."

In this chaotic age of seafaring, a trading partner as clearheaded as Rossi was a rare find.

The merchant privately reflected that, as long as those brothers survived, they would surely amount to something great.

What he invested now might yield a hundredfold return in the future-

Boom!!!

A sudden, deafening blast in the distance tore through the air.

The black-clad bodyguard instantly stepped sideways in front of his employer, his gaze behind his sunglasses locking onto the source: flames and thick smoke were billowing between two buildings where the waste disposal site met the harbor.

The column of smoke rose several stories high, its top twisting into a strange umbrella shape.

The well-trained guard could even make out pieces of buildings flung into the air, breaking apart as they scattered and raining down as debris.

A skyful of sparks burst out alongside the blast, splashing in every direction like an overturned furnace.

Those golden-red points trailed thin streaks as they fell, blooming into countless fleeting sparks in the air that made his eyes ache.

Fresh flames sprang up wherever the sparks landed, bringing a slight frown to the black-clad man's brow.

"Did someone use barrels of **?"

Drawing on years of trading experience, Wesker quickly estimated the yield of the **-it would take at least several standard barrels of ** to produce such an effect.

Of course, special products from the Grand Line might require far less.

"It doesn't look like an ** caused by ordinary **."

After observing for several seconds, the man in sunglasses shook his head. The hard contours of his profile brought some kind of mechanical creation to mind. "The flames cover far more ground than the blast damaged, and the way that burning material is spreading isn't natural. It looks more like some flammable substance was ignited all at once..."

"I believe a particular explosive substance was accidentally triggered."

Though the phrasing was somewhat odd, the merchant in gold-rimmed glasses nodded in understanding.

There were far more things in this world than ** that could produce an **. All sorts of things could generate flames and shock waves... but none of that should have anything to do with an honest merchant like him.

Only a few minutes later, Wesker realized he had been mistaken.

That ** probably did have some connection to him.

"Mr. Rossi, what happened to you two...?"

"Nothing serious."

Standing at Pier Three, the young man patted his tracksuit, which could only be described as ragged. Wisps of smoke still drifted from the holes in the fabric.

"Just a few blind bastards."

Beside him, the silver-haired boy forced a cold snort through his teeth. The anger roiling around him felt almost tangible, making nearby dockworkers instinctively give the area a wide berth.

So the commotion earlier had involved these two.

Wesker adjusted the glasses on his nose, his fingertips lingering briefly on the metal frame.

The harbor wind carried a burnt smell from the distance into his collar.

The two companions had already disappeared beyond the ship's rail, and the man beside him lowered his voice, the swaying dock lights reflected in his sunglasses.

"Best not to provoke those two."

His voice was so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the waves slapping against the wooden pilings.

The merchant did not answer at once.

He turned, looking past the stacked crates into the depths of the town.

Beneath the night sky, the air above one area was stained a flickering orange-red, and thick smoke rose like a slow black river.

He looked away, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his lenses.

The degree of danger seemed to require reassessment.

That power, too, far exceeded his initial expectations.

Flames still licked at the wreckage, crackling.

Heat distorted the surroundings. Three figures, their faces smoked beyond recognition, supported one another. The particularly gaunt one in the middle was practically being carried along.

Every few steps, he broke into a violent cough, a thin wisp of oddly smelling smoke escaping his mouth.

"Wh... why..."

His voice was hoarse and broken, his words cut into fragments by gasps. "That... guy... how could he..."

Only that distinctive, stammering speech made it barely possible to recognize this body, which looked thoroughly licked by flames, as the bulky man who had earlier worn an exaggerated blue coat and leaned on a cane.

The viscous substance used to disguise his shape had long since burned away, exposing the true emaciation beneath.

The special secretions that normally covered his body could deflect ordinary attacks and even create gaps when struck hard, simulating an elemental transformation's evasive effect-he had bluffed quite a few opponents with that trick before.

But anyone who understood it knew that this defense's deadliest weakness was its vulnerability to open flame.

A single ** spark was enough to trigger violent combustion, placing him at the heart of bursting flames.

And fire had never been anything rare on these seas.

Even setting aside those famous techniques, some members of minor gangs could perform a few fire-breathing tricks.

Ordinary people had long since incorporated the use of handheld torches into everyday life.

During the fight, his opponent had merely tossed out a small, lit metal object.

Caught completely off guard, this leader of considerable standing in the Family had instantly been swallowed by the ** triggered by his own ability.

"Now... isn't the time to ask that."

The man beside him, leaning on a slender sword, spoke hoarsely. He was hardly in better shape; he had been too close to the center of the **, and half his clothing had become charred scraps.

The burliest member of the Family silently carried the wounded man, his rocklike back bearing most of the weight.

"Go find Barty."

The swordsman gave the order between gasps. "Quickly."

They called themselves the Four Suits Family, but ultimately they were just a bunch of thugs who could not show themselves openly.

A hospital's front entrance was too far beyond their reach. They could only seek doctors willing to take jobs in the shadows.

"Understood."

Vergo nodded steadily, a dark red smear still clinging to his cheek, then turned and hurried into the depths of the alley.

On the Pinta's deck, the sea breeze carried a salty tang.

"Deduct the cost of repairing the ship from the ore proceeds."

Rossi carefully reviewed the list Wesker had prepared, the paper rustling faintly between his fingertips, then handed it to Doffy beside him.

In the Navigator's room toward the bow, two half-grown children were speaking quietly with a merchant wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

Anyone else seeing the scene might have found it somewhat incongruously comical, but the three seated around the table wore only expressions of grave concentration.

"We also need to purchase a batch of **, **, canvas, and, of course, dried meat and rum."

The former captain's insane act of concealing ** in the cabins had made a thorough refit necessary.

Naturally, that bill fell to Rossi and Doffy.

As far as their own daily consumption went, the inferior "bloodstone" left aboard

and the remaining supplies could sustain them for a while.

But what about afterward? Recruiting people was only a matter of time, making supply reserves a practical issue they had to consider.

Not everyone dared charge out to sea clutching a wooden barrel, nor did everyone have the luck to encounter generous benefactors everywhere they went who would take care of their food, clothing, shelter, and transport.

At least, Rossi had never believed he possessed the kind of destiny that would let him easily gather a group of extraordinary companions right from the start.

"Then, sorry for troubling you with these odds and ends, Mr. Wesker."

With the practical matters settled, Wesker rose to take his leave.

Rossi escorted him to the door, where a few polite pleasantries scattered in the wind.

When he returned to the cabin, he found Doffy's brows drawn so tightly together that they nearly formed a knot above his sunglasses.

"What are you thinking about?"

"The plan's progressing fairly smoothly. Next, we recruit people and build our framework..."

Doffy's voice paused. He lifted his face, his gaze behind the lenses piercing straight toward his brother. "Rossi, you've changed."

"People change.

"Just like you. Didn't you used to love all kinds of roast meat? Now..."

"Stop!"

Doffy abruptly covered his mouth, his face instantly turning a little green, though his tightly furrowed brows quietly eased somewhat.

Just as Rossi said, as a child, he had been utterly unable to resist sizzling, fragrant roasted meat.

But now? Ever since he had nearly been put over a fire by crazed ** and turned into a charred piece of "jerky"

any smell or sight connected to roast meat sent a violent wave of physical revulsion through his stomach.

"I just... just feel that you've changed too much, too quickly, lately."

An ordinary child might simply have been delighted that his brother had suddenly become dependable.

But Doffy was different. These years of hardship and danger had long since worn away his childhood innocence, giving rise to perception and suspicion far beyond his age.

Faced with the quiet, almost complete transformation in Rossi, what churned inside him was a complicated mixture of bewilderment and vague unease.

"Don't overthink it, Doffy."

Rossi walked over, laid a hand on the boy's thin shoulder beneath his black feather coat, and patted it gently, letting out an almost inaudible sigh.

Outside the cabin window, waves beat monotonously against the hull, again and again, as though measuring the depth of the silence.

Flames licked the wooden beams with sharp crackles, and thick smoke billowed upward with the heat.

The frames of two buildings gradually collapsed in the orange-red light: one an empty warehouse, the other an inhabited home.

People ran to pass seawater along, the clatter of buckets mingling with shouts.

Several soaking-wet young men charged back into the fire, emerging with crying children and an old tin trunk in their arms.

By a corner, a white-haired old man slowly slid into a sitting position, his chest heaving.

His grandson stood before the ruins with clenched fists, his nails digging into his palms.

"Grandpa, the house... it's all gone."

The old man only shook his head, firelight reflected in his clouded eyes. "As long as everyone's here, that's enough."

"I saw them!"

The boy abruptly turned, his voice trembling with anger. "Those bastards who started the fire-I remember their faces-"

A large, soot-covered hand reached from beside him and firmly covered his mouth.

The man in the vest tensed his muscles, quickly scanning the milling figures around them before lowering his voice. "Shut up! Do you want to bring trouble down on everyone's heads?"

The boy struggled in his grip. The man dragged him farther into the shadows, his knuckles whitening with force. "Listen carefully. All our family has left now are these few lives.

"When your father left, he entrusted you to me. I can't watch anything happen to anyone else."

He released his hand and wiped his palm on his trouser leg, leaving two gray streaks. "Some faces, you have to forget even if you've seen them."

In the distance, beams and pillars collapsed completely with a crash, sending sparks splashing into the night sky like rain falling upward.

A cry rose from the crowd. The rhythm of the firefighting faltered for a moment, then resumed faster than before.