The Kingdom of Kafuslin was a festering scar upon the New World.
A land where law had rotted away, replaced by the cruel fist of pirates. Its so-called king, Norman, had once been a pirate whose name thundered across the seas, his head valued at eight hundred million. That bounty, however, was two decades old. Twenty years had passed since he had slaughtered his way to a throne, and though his rule endured, his fire had long since burned to embers.
Age weighed on him; his ambition had soured into the lazy greed of a tyrant.
The streets of his capital reeked of filth and decay. Cracked walls leaned like broken teeth, grime painting every stone. Beggars and cutthroats shared the alleys with pirates who swaggered openly, blades flashing at their hips.
This was not a kingdom, this was a pit of chaos.
Still, Norman's grip was not without strength. A hundred thousand guards marched under his banner, ten generals commanded them, each with a bounty surpassing three hundred million.
But the true terror of Kafuslin was Norman's younger brother, Eric, wielder of the Acid-Acid Fruit.
He could dissolve flesh and bone into bubbling ruin, and his nine hundred-million bounty kept challengers at bay. In truth, Eric was the kingdom's true deterrent, the beast in the shadows that made Kafuslin untouchable.
Teach and his companions moved through the streets, the stench of rot clinging to their clothes.
Hungry, malicious, and calculating eyes followed them.
Pirates and thugs smirked as if sizing up prey.
Teach's lip curled. Invisible threads of sword aura slid from his body like whispered death, lancing into hearts and skulls. One by one, the leering figures stiffened, their eyes still wide as their bodies toppled into the dirt. The crowd shuddered in silence, terror blooming as none could fathom how the strangers had killed so cleanly.
Teach didn't spare them a second glance. His purpose here was elsewhere. He had heard of Kafuslin's infamous gladiatorial arena, a den where pirates wagered blood and coin for fleeting glory. For Teach, it was more than a spectacle, it was a hunting ground. Strong men and promising talent gathered there, and he intended to see if any were worthy of joining him.
The closer they came, the thicker the air grew with the copper tang of blood. Shouts rolled across the city like thunder, a mix of cheers and curses.
Two towering gates loomed before them, one for spectators, one for fighters bold enough to stake their lives.
Teach paid the fee without hesitation.
Beyond the gates spread a coliseum vast enough to house tens of thousands. The stands were a frenzy of shouting pirates, drunken wagers, and clenched fists. In the pit below, two men fought savagely, their blades slick with blood, their bodies staggering under wounds that would have felled weaker men.
"This is madness," Mobius muttered, his eyes wide as he drank in the sight.
Teach chuckled. "Madness? This is the world we live in. Do you feel your blood stir? You should. Someday, all eyes will be on you. You'll need to grow used to it." His voice turned sly. "When we carve out our territory, I'll build an arena ten times greater than this one. You'll guard it and the world will roar your name."
Mobius said nothing, but his gaze burned with new resolve.
The host's voice boomed, announcing the victor, Jason, a brawler who had strung together six consecutive wins today, twenty-seven in total. The arena erupted, half the crowd cheering, half howling in rage at lost wagers.
The next prize was unveiled, a short sword named Night Raid, forged by a master's hand, sharp enough to stand among the ranks of famous blades. It would belong to the first man to achieve ten consecutive victories in a single day.
For weeks, no one had claimed it.
Voss's eyes lingered on the sword, the glint in them sharp as a drawn blade. Mobius noticed at once. "You want it?"
Voss nodded silently. He wore no bravado, only certainty.
Teach caught the exchange and smiled. "Then take it. Go, both of you. It's time you tested yourselves. Experience isn't found by watching others bleed, it's found by bleeding yourself."
The two left to register, and Teach settled into the shadows of the stands, Pitou curled against him in her cloak, eyes half-closed. She had lost interest in the savagery below.
The next rounds blurred together, meaningless struggles of desperate men. Then the host cried out a new name.
"Next up, two newcomers! Viper versus..."
Teach's Observation Haki stirred. Voss had stepped into the pit. A snake-shaped mask concealed his face, his frame wiry and small compared to the towering boxer who flexed for the crowd.
The odds screamed against him, barely one-fifth the chance of victory.
The audience jeered. Bets flew. Coins clinked.
But Teach leaned forward, a faint smile on his lips.
The hunt was about to begin.