Chapter 7

Although he could not sense things beyond his sight through faint vibrations like the little girl beside him, he had been through enough battles that he would not fail to notice gunshots at such close range.

"Unless it was a technique like 'Finger Pistol'... but that's impossible too.

"Why would a Marine expert who had mastered that technique be aboard an ordinary merchant ship like this?"

"Maybe..."

The bearded man's hushed doubts made Gion press her lips together.

"Could it be... the power of that kind of Devil Fruit?"

The muffled sound of metal sinking into flesh was swallowed by the wood being bitten to pieces.

Rossi arched his back, fine lines standing out along his taut neck.

When Doffy let go, he collapsed into the shadows on the deck, only his chest still heaving violently.

"You brought this on yourself."

Doffy checked the straightened joints once more before picking up the stick covered in tooth marks and tossing it aside.

Salty wind slipped through the gaps in the ship's side, mingling with the smells of rust and mold.

An enormous dark shape glided slowly beneath the distant sea, its shadow darkening the entire stretch of water by several shades.

"Finding something to eat is harder than fighting Sea Kings."

He tore open his own cuff, the fabric ripping with a crisp sound.

Doffy's hands never stopped as he wound the strips around Rossi's bleeding shoulder and back.

"Walked into an ambush?"

Rossi sucked air through his teeth.

"Took care of one.

"You?"

Coming back alive meant the enemy was no longer breathing.

Hoping to get captured for a few prison meals-that thought had never entered Doffy's understanding of the world.

"One got stabbed through the skull from under his chin.

"The other took two **."

Rossi covered his eyes with his uninjured hand. "This damned place... you have to risk your life just for a bite to eat."

Life since crossing worlds had been a constant dance along the line between life and death.

Growing up in an environment like this and staying mentally sound would have been a miracle.

"Nicely done."

Doffy automatically ignored the complaint that followed.

His eyebrows rose behind his sunglasses.

He himself had struggled to deal with a lone crewman, yet this guy had silently taken down two?

That Devil Fruit had brought almost no improvement in combat ability.

It had all come down to surprise attacks and timing-and that took sufficiently cold nerves.

The old Rossi had trembled at the mere sight of blood.

Now, although reluctance was written all over his face, he had not hesitated in the slightest when he struck.

"That's what comes of having the same blood."

Doffy slapped Rossi hard on his uninjured shoulder.

Watching him bare his teeth in pain, he grinned.

"As long as our two lives are bound together, sooner or later we'll drag those people sitting above the clouds down and trample them into the mud."

"Sure, whatever you say."

Rossi gazed at the sky overhead, cut into fragments by the rigging, and let a few indistinct syllables roll from his throat.

Rossi could only nod in response to Doffy's words.

Trample the Celestial Dragons underfoot?

Get past the Marine Admirals and Cipher Pol Aigis Zero first.

Besides, the Holy Land still hid "Imu," whose identity was unknown-

-the being who had left countless supreme fighters throughout the long years with no choice but to wait in despair for "Joy Boy"

to arrive.

What could two half-grown children like them possibly use to fight the Celestial Dragons?

"With what we can do now, we're about on par with ordinary Marine soldiers at best."

"Let's not even talk about ** the Celestial Dragons. You're not the Pirate King..."

He moved his arm and found that his shoulder could already rotate freely.

This body's recovery ability secretly astonished him. Perhaps the body itself possessed extraordinary latent potential?

"Why the Pirate King?"

Doffy's question drifted over. Rossi leaned back against the damp cabin wall and closed his eyes.

"Well... in the world today, aren't pirates the greatest force resisting the Celestial Dragons?"

Of course, that referred to the past-or rather, the "original" course of events.

Since he had come here, how could he possibly not shake things up in the future? Otherwise, would he not be letting this journey across worlds go to waste?

"The Pirate King, huh..."

Young Doffy stroked his chin, a thoughtful gleam flashing in his eyes.

The next day, the ship's three leaders gathered again.

Three barely recognizable bodies lay before them.

"The killer wasn't just brutal. They knew how to cover their tracks."

The refined navigator crouched beside the tall sailor whose face had been destroyed and pointed at his melted, misshapen hand.

"Binnie's right hand was splashed with a corrosive liquid, which means it originally held evidence that could identify the killer-unfortunately, it's gone now."

He stood and walked to the other side.

"Judging from the signs of fighting around here, the killer exchanged several rounds with Binnie."

"Then the killer struck Binnie in the chest at this spot, before moving in to deliver another blow."

"Together with Gick, whose lower jaw was pierced by a blade... we're probably dealing with someone efficient, skilled with blades and ranged attacks."

Unfortunately, all three ** had been damaged to varying degrees by corrosive liquid, and they were, after all, merchants-or rather, members of an armed merchant ship who were half merchants and half pirates, not professional coroners. There was very little they could glean from the **.

"Another three dead without a sound... damned eerie!"

The boatswain scratched his bald head hard and growled in frustration.

The only consolation was this:

Of the three dead men, two had belonged to the captain and one to the navigator. None of his own trusted men had been lost.

Lucky enough...

By the end of their discussion, the three could only arrive at hollow conclusions like "don't act alone"

and "everyone stay alert."

Nothing more substantial than that.

After the bald boatswain left, the refined navigator turned toward the noble captain, whose face was livid.

"Captain, it's time to make a choice."

His fingertips came to rest beside the body on the deck that no longer rose and fell, and the bespectacled man lowered his voice.

The rookie sailor named Gick lay on his back, with only a thin, deep cut at his neck. Blood had long since soaked the planks beneath him.

"Gick had only just passed the assessment."

The man withdrew his finger and traced a stroke through the air. "There aren't many people who could finish him so cleanly."

He paused, his gaze shifting to another shape nearby, hastily covered with canvas. "And there's Binnie.

"Whether with his fists or a blade, he ranked among the best aboard this ship.

"Now both of them are ** that can no longer speak, and the scene has been cleaned up-someone didn't want to leave too many traces.

"Hasn't a certain name come to mind?"

Beneath the shadow cast by his hat brim, the captain's lips moved.

Under his neatly trimmed beard, the syllables he uttered carried a chill like the sea wind.

"Alec."

That bald boatswain was indeed the first figure to spring to mind.

His strength and his skills were both sufficient to do it.

But-

"What reason would he have?"

The captain raised his eyes.

The bespectacled man merely spread his hands and shrugged slightly. "I don't know.

"All I know is that everyone who's stopped breathing these past two days belonged to you or me.

"If our numbers keep dwindling like this..."

He did not finish, but his meaning already hung in the dim cabin air: once the men loyal to the captain and navigator fell below a certain number, whose orders this ship followed would need to be reconsidered.

"...I need time to think."

The captain did not answer immediately, but the bespectacled man knew the seed had been planted.

He bowed slightly.

"Please decide soon.

"For everyone's safety, and for your wish to restore your family's fortunes... I'll take my leave."

That final remark was like a carefully polished lead sinker, dropped gently into the lake of the captain's heart.

The man turned and left the cabin with soundless steps.

He was going to gather those men who were truly willing to wield their blades for him.

This ship would soon have someone new at the helm.

Reaching the porthole, he touched the slender rapier at his waist in the wan daylight leaking in from outside.

The cold touch of metal reached his fingertips. The patterns on the scabbard made it look more like an ornament than a weapon.

That boy in sunglasses had been more efficient than he had expected.

He had only intended for the boy to dispose of the pawn he had planted, never expecting him to take two of the captain's men along with him.

It had needlessly added quite a bit of trouble to cleaning up the scene.

Still, that was fine.

He would give the boy a few extra pieces of bread later.

Only with a full stomach would he have the strength to walk that final stretch.

"Take these."

Doffy shoved two pieces of hard bread into Rossi's hands, his expression unusually grave.

The corner of the cabin reeked of mold and brine, and he kept his voice so low it was almost inaudible.

"Stay sharp from here on out."

Rossi looked down at the food in his hands, considerably more plentiful than usual. He said nothing, only nodded.

When would a stingy employer suddenly become generous?

The answer was often at the moment of farewell.

Like the final meal before an execution, a butcher would always let livestock eat their fill before slaughtering them.

That was not mercy, merely a condescending, almost ritualistic "gift."

"Looks like your arrangements worked."

Rossi swallowed the bread in a few mouthfuls, its rough texture scraping his throat.

He stood and brushed the crumbs from the hem of his clothes.

Darkness was gathering beneath this ship's keel, and greed crept like vines into every corner.

The slaughter was approaching. Who would ultimately stand laughing on the bloodstained deck would soon be revealed.

"Fufufufu..."

Doffy let a string of low chuckles roll from his throat, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Of course it'll be us brothers."

The ten-year-old boy could not keep the corners of his mouth from rising. A string of low, raspy, strange chuckles rolled from his throat, already revealing a certain quality that would follow him like a shadow in the years to come.

A surge of burning excitement filled him at how smoothly his plans were progressing.

"As long as you're happy."

Faced with his elder brother's air of certain victory, the younger brother sighed silently and looked away.

Perhaps the strong people of these seas all had the same arrogance carved into their bones, an almost blind faith in their own cunning and strength.

"Don't let your guard down,"

he warned. "I get the feeling none of those three leaders aboard this ship are simple characters."

In this world accustomed to "communicating" with guns and blades,

how could a merchant ship daring to cross the Grand Line to deliver goods to the North Blue have nothing to rely on? Those who could claim the positions of boatswain, navigator, and captain were probably far less ordinary, in either brains or skill, than they appeared on the surface.

Then it's time I got moving too.

He picked up the bucket and mop, turned, and headed toward the cabin where the passengers gathered.

"Hey, boy! You-"

"Outside... what exactly happened? Do you know?"

Several passengers gathered around anxiously, wanting to ask but unable to swallow their pride, their voices mingling uncertainty with unease.

The boy did not answer. He simply took out the cleaning tools calmly and began wiping the floor.

"Nothing."

He did not even look up. "Three more sailors are missing from the ship."

The air suddenly froze.

The once-noisy cabin fell deathly silent in an instant, as though an invisible hand had cut off everyone's voices.

No wonder the sailor who had brought the food earlier had looked so grim... So that was why.

But what did that have to do with them, the passengers who had paid for passage? Could it be-

"Who did it?!"

A burly, muscular passenger abruptly raised his voice, but his eyes darted about, making him look almost as though he were identifying himself as the culprit;

"Sir Krahorn... surely he doesn't suspect... us?"

Another passenger, a potbellied middle-aged man, raised a hand and pretended to wipe nonexistent sweat from his forehead. His faltering words also seemed particularly suspicious.

In an instant, everyone in the cabin feared for their own safety.

Loud rebukes, scrutinizing glances exchanged, urgent questions, shoving bodies... If the boy had not known **, he would almost have thought the killer was hiding among these panic-stricken passengers.