Chapter 43

Countless fine threads rose toward the canvas atop the mast, darting through the lingering gunsmoke to swiftly mend the gaps torn by cannon fire.

"Your turn."

Scraps of iron and stray shot still rolled across the deck.

Although Rossi and the others had gained the upper hand earlier, no one had managed to avoid every attack.

Coats were tossed carelessly beside barrels, and hisses rose as alcohol washed over skin.

Threads took the place of surgical needles, piercing torn flesh.

"We're short of far too many people aboard."

Rossi sighed as bandages tightened around his waist, then pulled on his tracksuit.

Nearly everyone in the Family was doubling up on work they were ill-suited for-lookout duty, tactical planning, weapon adjustments... Doffy served as both tailor and doctor, yet still had to rush to the guns during battle.

"None of that is urgent."

Doffy pressed a hand to his temple, then rested it on Rossi's shoulder.

"What we need most right now is someone who can draw."

Draw?

Rossi looked in the direction he indicated.

Trebol and Diamante were holding up their respective scribbles and arguing fiercely, nearly spraying spit into each other's faces.

Both insisted that the Family's emblem should use their design.

But if they actually flew either design from the mast, they would probably become a laughingstock before battle even began.

"You handle it, Rossi."

"Ugh... I'll think of something."

That said, where on this vast sea could he find someone who could draw?

"Acanlia is known as the fairy-tale kingdom. It's the best place to find an artist."

Half of Rossi's knowledge of these waters came from scattered memories of his previous life, and half from old newspapers and sailing logs he read between training sessions.

But his grasp of many details was ultimately less clear than that of people who had spent years at sea.

When it came to the customs of the North Blue's nations, Trebol knew them like the back of his hand.

"The story of 'The Great Liar Noland' was originally adapted and illustrated by Acanlia's artists, based on a historical figure from Lvneel."

Noland-the man who made that promise involving the Golden Bell?

"Trebol's right."

Diamante came over too.

Even if he had once had blind faith in his artistic talent, the others' expressions upon seeing his drawings had been enough to bring him to his senses.

Of course, Trebol's toilet-like design was absolutely out of the question too.

"More than half the fairy tales and illustrated fables circulating throughout the North Blue come from Acanlia.

"But let me make this clear first-"

Diamante folded his arms. "We don't let just anyone aboard our ship."

Diamante shifted the rapier against his chest and tilted his head to glance at his companion.

He really did not want to imagine Rossi actually recruiting an artist-what use would someone like that be at sea? Would they throw paint at the enemy during battle to obscure their vision?

"I'll arrange it."

Rossi took in the undisguised doubts on his face but did not point them out.

He recalled the girl who would serve Crocodile at some point in the future, who could manipulate others' emotions through color alone, and could even use a move called "Dream Rainbow Bridge"

to forcibly drag others' desires into reality.

That was not a power granted by a Devil Fruit, yet it all but defied reason.

As his thoughts wandered, another figure surfaced in his memory: Jora, a future member of the Donquixote Family, who possessed the bizarre ability to turn everything into Art Creations.

In Rossi's view, that fruit, like the "Hobby-Hobby Fruit,"

was an existence that touched upon the realm of rules, capable of solidifying living things, inanimate objects, and even natural phenomena-including the seawater Devil Fruit Users feared most-into works of art.

"Acanlia..."

He raised his eyes. The horizon remained exhaustingly empty.

The outlines of their destination had yet to appear, but it had already drawn forth a faint sense of anticipation.

That land known as "Fairy Tale Land"-

what encounters lay hidden there?

On the deck of the Toothed Shark, a group of pirates in shabby clothes gathered around their leader, their eyes mingling lingering fear with awe.

Had their captain not stopped them earlier, they would probably have met the same fate as the smoke-billowing Parrot.

Captain Clifford, wearing a neat coat, swept a cold gaze over his men.

He had smelled the power struggle in Spandamruze as soon as the intelligence arrived.

Unlike the nearby Parrot, which knew only how to charge recklessly, he had remained wary of the merchant ship called the Donquixote-just as they were about to close in, he had decisively ordered a turn and reduced speed, narrowly escaping destruction.

"What next?"

He drew the Commander's Sword at his waist and pointed its tip toward the wreckage still burning off to one side.

"Attack."

Since they could not shake that merchant ship, swallowing up these badly battered fellow pirates was the wisest choice now.

Under pirate rules, others in the same trade had always been prey too.

At dusk two weeks later, Rossi stood atop the mast, gazing into the distance through a telescope.

An extended outline finally appeared on the horizon.

He lowered his arm and checked the markings on the chart in his hand, confirming that the increasingly distinct land was their destination-the capital of the Kingdom of Acanlia, known to the world as "Fairy Tale Land,"

Odense.

The figure atop the mast slid down, bringing news of their arrival.

Trebol, who was leaning beside the cabin door, immediately straightened his back.

"Finally, solid ground,"

he said, rubbing his hands as a string of indistinct chuckles rolled from his throat. "I need somewhere with booze and fun."

In the fourteen days since leaving Spandamruze, they had experienced four encounters.

Clashes at sea came frequently. Although someone had deliberately spread word of their movements, the unrest in these waters needed no further proof.

Those groups of attackers were unremarkable in strength, with none of the figures rumored to carry staggering bounties, but they were not weak either, giving everyone aboard plenty of experience under cannon fire.

Diamante grinned and draped a hand over his companion's shoulder. "It's time we poured something strong down our throats."

Excitement diluted some of the fatigue in his eyes. "Keep the string stretched any longer, and it'll snap."

The two exchanged a glance, their laughter carrying an unspoken understanding.

"Don't bother civilians,"

Rossi cut in, sweeping his eyes over their smiling faces. "Not a single instance of **."

As for brief encounters between consenting parties, he said nothing more.

"Who's guarding the ship?"

A shrill response came from the deck.

Pica sat there, his enormous frame lending weight to his silence. "I'll stay."

"Trade is in your hands, Doffy."

The eyes behind the sunglasses shifted slightly. "Don't worry."

Doffy's answer was brief.

As one of the group's two leaders, he had been absorbing all kinds of unfamiliar knowledge.

Vergo stepped forward. "I'll go with Doffy."

A leader ought to have someone accompanying him.

"Behehe, no rush,"

Trebol bent down, bringing his sticky voice closer. "I'll come help once I'm finished-I'm the best at haggling."

Rossi glanced at him without speaking.

Those words had inadvertently given something else away.

Half an hour later, the ship slowly glided into Odense's harbor.

This city was celebrated as a land of fairy tales, and even the contours of its docks possessed a peculiar rhythm: a row of snow-white piers extended toward the sea like piano keys, while the houses along the shore were built from timber into various regular shapes, each painted a vivid color.

Farther away stood a quiet white round tower, four dark red blades turning slowly in the wind at its top.

The castle halfway up the mountain was painted in the colors of the sky, while unmelted snow covered the distant peaks.

A dozen or so merchant ships lay in the harbor. Laborers bent their backs to unload crates from the North Blue's nations, then loaded grain and fruit from the inland Five Kingdoms Alliance into the holds.

The ship had only just reached the shore, its mooring ropes not yet secured, when Rossi vaulted over the rail and landed among the crowd. He waved back at the ship, his figure swiftly swallowed by the bustle of the docks.

A clear stream ran through the city. Crimson maples burned with fiery leaves along its banks, birches dotted the spaces between, and the long branches of weeping willows lightly touched the water.

People strolled arm in arm or walked alone. Children crouched to draw grids on the ground with stones, then hopped through them at play. Poets beneath the trees set ink to paper, while elderly painters at easels flung paint onto canvas... The scents of turpentine and old paper drifted through the air.

"Lovely scenery, gentle people. I just wonder whether I'll meet anyone worth fighting."

More than running a business or admiring the scenery, Rossi longed to hone himself in battle.

Naturally, finding a good teacher to guide him would be even better-unfortunately, most of the names he knew were currently fighting amid the waves of the Grand Line.

Even the instructor who would one day become famous for "Ryuo in a month, Conqueror's Coating in three club strikes"

had yet to establish his training ground.

With Rossi's current physique, if he actually took a thunderous blow, there probably would not even be remains left.

Learn Haki by getting beaten? There was no need even to entertain such a thought.

He moved through the streets and alleys, seemingly at leisure, but his gaze swept over corners and side roads.

He was assessing the city's dark side: the strength of street thugs often offered a glimpse of the forces entrenched in the shadows.

And yet-

"This is far too 'clean.'"

Stopping outside a narrow alley, Rossi frowned.

He had deliberately detoured through winding districts and shadowed alleys, making several rounds, yet had not encountered even one shabbily dressed person with a shifty expression, let alone gangs of thugs.

He could not help looking up at the eaves and windowsills on either side.

There was no sign of **... How strange.

This was clearly an era of turmoil on the sea routes, with the Four Blues even more unstable than when that future declaration would set off a frenzy.

Once the so-called "Great Pirate Era"

arrived, most raiders would flock to the Grand Line, either dying at the hands of fellow pirates or sinking into a deep-sea prison.

Such a peaceful city-state simply defied reason.

"What are you doing here?"

A woman's voice came from behind him.

The muscles beneath Rossi's clothes instantly tensed.

Though the voice was distinctly gentle, his expression abruptly darkened-before she spoke, he had not noticed anyone approaching at all.

Someone troublesome.

"Sorry,"

he said, turning around with an appropriately puzzled expression already on his face. "I think I took a wrong turn."

Rossi unclenched his fists and brushed his fingertips through the hair over his forehead.

As he lowered his eyes, his lips curved just the right amount.

Two people stood on the sidewalk a few meters away.

The woman was tall, the hem of her plain-colored dress brushing the ground.

Her golden hair fell loosely behind her shoulders, its ends tinged orange-red as though soaked in the sunset.

Her violet eyes held warmth as she looked over.

Beside her was a boy in formal clothes, his black hair slightly curled and an intricately patterned cravat tied at his collar.

He stood straight as a javelin ** in the ground.

"Have you lost your way?"

The woman came a few steps closer and crouched down.

Her long skirt pooled around her feet. She gently gathered the fabric with one hand and extended the other toward Rossi.

The hand was well cared for, its nails neatly trimmed and clean.

"Tell me where you live. I'll take you home."

She continued without waiting for an answer, her voice gentle yet allowing no refusal.

"If you have nowhere to go-"

"Madam."

The curly-haired boy abruptly stepped sideways, placing himself between Rossi and the woman.

He raised his arm with a movement as crisp as though cutting something off.

"The auction begins in three minutes. The guests have already entered."

"...Understood."

Separated from Rossi, the woman paused, then slowly stood.

She straightened her skirt, her gaze still resting on Rossi's face.

"Child, if you truly have nowhere to go-"

She turned to leave, then looked back to add something.

"Head east along this road. There's an orphanage called 'White Sand.'

"They have beds and hot soup."