Chapter 6

Perhaps because of his Devil Fruit ability, the sounds around him had become unusually clear:

"Did you hear? Old Yule's gone too..."

"Without a sound again. It's too damn creepy."

"On this ship... could there be something unclean hiding here?"

Unlike the passengers held together under guard, the sailors gathered in twos and threes in corridors and corners. Their hushed conversations spread quietly through the cabin's shadows like damp moss.

When the wooden board over the lower hold was gently pushed open, thick darkness already lay outside.

Most people had fallen asleep. Only the monotonous sound of waves slapping the hull continued.

The boy wearing sunglasses slipped sideways into the corridor's shadows, moving so lightly he barely stirred the air.

Another hand pressed lightly at the air behind him, and every faint scraping sound he might have made vanished, as though absorbed by an invisible sponge.

They had only each other to rely on.

Both understood that without saying a word.

After watching that figure melt into the darkness, the boy who remained took a cold metal object from inside his clothes, brushing his fingertips over its edge.

He too pushed open the board and left without a sound, like a drop of water joining a river.

He needed no guesses to know what his companion intended to do-cause a little chaos, nothing more.

He did not know the exact method, but since that navigator had offered them shelter, he must also have offered some conveniences.

Human greed was always the best lever. If the people in power aboard this ship had possessed even a shred of firm trust in one another, never mind putting their plan into action-they would probably already have been thrown into the sea, reduced to scraps for the fish to fight over.

His own goal was practical: food.

Only with something in his stomach would his body have strength; only with strength could he wield a weapon; and only by wielding a weapon could he keep breathing aboard this ship-and in this mad world.

Faced with gleaming blades, these people who made their living at sea might still have gritted their teeth and summoned some courage.

But when their opponent was something they could neither see nor catch, matters were entirely different.

An invisible threat always stirred the most primal fear in people's bones, calling to mind those ancient tales of ghosts and departed souls.

Fists could not hit it, blades could not cut **-an enemy like that could chill even the bravest warrior's heart.

It was like the bone-deep helplessness a group of inexperienced young people would feel many years later, on an island wrapped in mangrove roots, when they faced an enemy who could turn his body into light.

And in this world, such things that defied common sense truly did exist.

So when that small, skinny figure swept his way toward them, the sailors sitting in a circle sprang up almost simultaneously.

Their hands instinctively pressed against the weapons at their waists. Only after they saw the newcomer's face did their taut knuckles slowly relax and drop again.

It seemed the tension pervading the cabins had put even these veteran sailors on edge.

Darkness made the best cover.

A child-sized shadow darted down the corridor, his steps as light as a cat's.

Compared with a few days ago, when hunger had left him barely able to stand, he had recovered quite a bit of strength.

That strange Devil Fruit he had swallowed, even though many considered its series among "the most useless"

of all, had still instilled something different deep within him.

However scorned an ability might be, it still surpassed the limits of ordinary people.

This was not yet the great era in his memories, when mighty figures rose together and their names resounded across the seas.

The emperors who would one day divide the seas into their territories were in their prime, while the so-called "Shichibukai"

were mostly still children struggling somewhere unknown.

But those fragments of memories from the future in his mind were themselves an enormous treasure.

For instance: in roughly three years, a great naval battle would erupt and shake the entire world.

A vast fleet of dozens of warships would surround a lone opponent, only to be destroyed by sudden, violent weather. It would end theatrically, with half a ship's wheel lodged absurdly in the fleet commander's head.

Two years after that, that legendary crew would reach the end of the Grand Line and be crowned the true kings of the sea.

Then, after another brief lull, their captain would willingly walk to his execution and shout a sentence from the Execution Platform-a sentence that would ignite a whole new era.

He tightened his grip on the knife, its metallic chill seeping through his skin.

Memories were weapons, but staying alive was the prerequisite for using any weapon.

The wooden edge of the stairs felt rough against his palm.

Just as Rossi's fingers reached the edge of the second deck, a figure abruptly stepped out from the shadows of the stacked crates.

"Ha!"

The voice carried the excitement of catching prey. "Look what we've got here!"

No words followed.

The faint click of a thumb cocking a metal firing mechanism sounded unusually clear in the cramped space.

The barrel-black and hollow, carrying the mingled smell of saltpeter and rust-was already aimed at the skinny silhouette at the top of the stairs.

Duck back down? His body's instincts almost dragged him into a fall.

But a thought split through in a flash: If I were setting an ambush, would I post only one pair of eyes?

That thought crushed his impulse to retreat.

Instead, he lowered himself, his chest almost touching the cold, damp boards.

His palms and the soles of his feet braced against the floor, his muscles taut as a fully drawn bowstring. Then-he launched himself.

He did not run upright, but skittered along the floor like a startled lizard.

The distance vanished in an instant.

The gunman clearly had not expected a charge that hugged the floor. The brief delay as he hurriedly lowered his muzzle was enough.

A single push carried Rossi across those few meters between life and death.

His skinny body sprang upward with the momentum, straight at the man's face.

The man reflexively shut his eyes and leaned back.

A muffled impact.

The gunman staggered backward, but a contemptuous, vicious grin immediately spread across his face.

Just a child-

Shhk.

Metal sliced into flesh and cartilage with a wet, dull sound.

A short blade pierced the soft underside of his jaw, driving upward through the resistance.

Everything happened in silence, save the faint scrape of the blade cutting through tissue.

The figure toppled backward and slammed heavily onto the boards.

The Flintlock Pistol that had never fired slipped from his hand, spinning at the edge of the pool of blood.

"Gick?!"

A roar of grief and fury erupted from below the stairs.

Another sailor climbed up, the gleam of the curved blade in his hand illuminating his contorted face.

Had Rossi chosen to retreat just now, that blade would probably already have plunged into his back.

"I'll tear you to pieces and hang you from the bow for the seabirds to peck at!"

The burly man charged closer, swinging his curved blade sideways. With a sharp clash of metal, the short blade flew from Rossi's hand, tracing a dim arc into a corner.

The sailor grinned, exposing uneven teeth.

He raised his left fist high and smashed it down with a rush of air-clearly, he had no intention of letting his prey die easily. He wanted to crush that scrawny body inch by inch.

The man's body was like a mountain, knotted with muscle.

His fist descended from above like a blacksmith swinging a heavy hammer at an anvil. Even a block of red-hot steel beneath it would surely have thrown sparks everywhere!

Bang!

Rossi felt a ringing explode inside his skull. His vision spun and tumbled violently until his back slammed into the cabin wall, making the boards creak, and he barely came to a stop.

A sweet, bloody taste surged up his throat.

What terrifying strength...

Before he could catch his breath, a cold flash chopped down beside his face. With a dull thud, the blade wedged deep into the floor, sending wood chips flying.

Even in the scant light of the lower hold, that icy reflection made Rossi's pupils abruptly contract.

Death was within arm's reach.

Whether the strike had missed or the man was toying with him, Rossi curled up and rolled sideways while the blade remained stuck in the boards, trying to put a few steps between them.

But this saber-wielding sailor was completely different from his careless, gun-wielding companion.

He strode after Rossi, reached out, and seized the rolling boy by the collar.

Not good-

The thought had barely formed before Rossi was lifted off the floor and hurled with brute force into a nearby support post.

Crack.

Something breaking mingled with the dull sound of impact.

A dull numbness spread through his chest and back, and darkness swallowed his vision.

When consciousness surfaced again, he had been hoisted high once more, aimed straight at the protruding corner of a wooden crate in the cargo pile.

Not a chance-

Rossi abruptly ducked his head and sank his teeth hard into the back of the hand gripping his collar.

A rusty, salty taste spread through his mouth. He could not tell whether it came from the other man or himself.

He clenched his jaws, his teeth sinking deep into flesh.

"You little bastard!"

The burly man roared in pain and swung his arm, smashing Rossi into the floor.

Rossi struggled to get up and escape, but the man's foot had already driven into his abdomen.

He rolled several meters like a torn sack, only stopping when he hit a pile of ropes.

"Time to finish this!"

The stinging pain in the back of his hand exhausted the burly man's patience completely.

He reached back and pulled the curved blade free of the floor, but the boy he had kicked away had already pushed himself into a half-kneel.

"Yeah. Time to finish this."

There was something new in Rossi's hand.

A Flintlock Pistol, crude but more than capable of taking a life.

It was the weapon the first sailor had dropped-the short blade Rossi had driven upward through his jaw had finished him cleanly, leaving the unfired pistol lying in the shadows.

Throughout that time, Rossi had not merely been taking blows.

He had kept trying to close the distance to that weapon. Although the kick to his abdomen had nearly made him vomit everything in his stomach, he had finally grasped the key to turning things around.

A few meters away, the burly man abruptly froze-a chill rushing straight at him pinned him in place.

At such close range, with such a large target, there was almost no possibility of missing.

The muscles in the man's face twisted. The instant he tried to dodge sideways, Rossi's finger had already squeezed the trigger.

Boom!

Although it was only an old-fashioned Flintlock Pistol, although ** crude.

Its power was no less formidable.

The instant the soft bullet struck the sailor's chest, it did not pass through. Instead, it deformed and shattered, forcing an enormous, trumpet-shaped hole through his flesh.

"Hh... hh..."

The man lying on the floor clamped his hands over his chest, but dark red liquid kept pouring between his fingers.

His eyes widened as he stared at the skinny figure before him, broken syllables squeezing from his throat.

"You... how..."

How dare you fight back?

The moment a gunshot rings out, the others will come running.

You can't escape. You absolutely can't escape!

They were all the captain's trusted men, stationed in ambush throughout the ship to root out that "silent eliminator."

He had never imagined he would fall to a child...

The Sir will never let you get away with this!

As his consciousness gradually blurred, a question suddenly surfaced: he had clearly shouted earlier, so why had no one come yet?

But he would never get an answer.

A pitch-black circular opening entered his fading vision, accompanied by a calm voice from above.

"Goodbye."

I didn't want to take your lives. You were the ones who tried to kill me first.

Boom!

Deep within the ship, the little girl curled up asleep suddenly opened her eyes.

"Someone died."

Her voice was quiet, but loud enough for the man sitting beside her with a sword in his arms to hear.

The bearded swordsman frowned.

"Little Gion, what happened?"

"At three o'clock, about fifteen meters away, there was a series of vibrations just now.

"Especially the last one... that felt like metal piercing flesh and then striking wood."

"Impossible."

The man shook his head.

"If someone ** that close, there's no way I wouldn't hear it."