Morning light spilled over the mountains behind the villa, where the members of the Nightfall Pirates were already deep into training. Teach had been at it since the night before. Regular weighted exercises no longer did anything for him but he still wore them out of habit.
Right now, he was crouched under the shadow of the mountain, literally carrying a small hill on his back. With one hand steadying the weight behind him, he used the other to do push-ups, the ground cracking under his palms.
Augur trained nearby, his expression calm but focused. He knew pure marksmanship wasn't enough to make him strong in this world. A true gunman needed both precision and power, distance for the kill, and muscle for the fight up close. Three guns hung at his side: a long rifle and two pistols.
Wallace and Nelson focused on their own physical drills, pushing their bodies through the harsh demands of the Rokushiki techniques. Their abilities needed more than talent, they required raw, honed strength to shine.
Gar followed Teach's routine, though scaled down slightly. After seeing Teach's battle with Douglas Bullet, and seeing power that could shake the world, he could no longer be content with what he was. Every motion he made now was driven by hunger.
And he wasn't the only one. Every member of the Nightfall Pirates knew the truth; if they couldn't keep up with Teach, they'd eventually be left behind.
Teach didn't need to say it out loud. They could all feel it. The ship's hierarchy was being forged now, by strength. Baccarat was an exception, her Luck-Luck Fruit making her invaluable regardless of raw power. Pito was another case altogether; talented, unpredictable, and with little interest in command.
The rest of them, though, were locked in a quiet, constant competition.
They were Teach's chosen, the strongest among countless pirates, and even the "weakest" of them, Nelson, had frightening potential. His Steal-Steal Fruit granted him a personal dimension and the ability to plunder objects from a set range. The "replacement" trick he often used was just one branch of a far deeper power.
Pito had started taking her training seriously too, her power spiking rapidly since Teach's defeat against Bullet.
News from the New World added more fuel to their drive. Gar shared word from their allies: Wisdom Angel Mostima, captain of the White Bird Pirates, had become a rising force. His bounty had climbed to 450 million, growing by another 30 million in just two months. He'd claimed three islands and defeated countless challengers.
His crew had also grown stronger, Hadena, the Lizard-Lizard Fruit user; Hademan, the Silverback Gorilla Zoan; Abby, who wielded the Mantis Fruit; and Shook, who had eaten the Mole-Mole Fruit Teach had supplied from his collection. Shook's potential wasn't great, but his ability made him a useful addition.
Mostima had even subdued Kaski the Jet Man from Sabaody Archipelago, swelling his ranks further. Word spread fast—his influence was expanding like wildfire.
And beyond him, there were monsters even more terrifying, figures on par with Teach himself, and two young pirates rumored to possess Mythical and Ancient Zoans of the highest caliber.
Pito had brought back this information herself, and it put everyone on edge. The seas were teeming with predators.
The Nightfall Pirates' relentless training left Augur's parents speechless. Terry and Lindsay had seen soldiers, even war but never such intensity. Still, they didn't interfere.
Little Van Augur Jr., meanwhile, followed silently, watching every movement with wide eyes. He practiced marksmanship from the sidelines, absorbing the rhythm of their battles. Without realizing it, a new seed had begun to grow in his heart... power.
Later that morning, Augur wiped sweat from his brow and slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Captain," he said, glancing at Teach with a grin, "want to visit the battlefield?"
"A battlefield?" Wallace's eyes lit up immediately. "Finally, something fun! I've been bored out of my mind!"
Baccarat raised a brow. "Fun? You have a strange definition of it."
Augur smirked. "When I was seven, I used to sneak into the fringes of the war to practice shooting. It's nothing special."
Nelson nearly choked. "Wait—you were seven?"
Augur shrugged. "Almost eight."
The others exchanged looks. At seven, they'd been playing games, Augur had been killing people.
Wallace scratched his head. "Won't we get caught up in the fighting?"
"No. We won't go near the main warzone by the gold mine. Just the border fringe—small skirmishes, mostly movement and patrols," Augur explained. "They send slaves and child soldiers as scouts and fodder. It's not dangerous if you know where to stand."
Teach nodded. "Alright then. Let's take a look."
When Van Augur Jr. overheard, his silver eyes brightened. He wanted to go too but Lindsay firmly refused. Even learning that Augur had once gone there as a boy shocked her enough to scold him harshly.
So the group went without the child.
By midday, they were deep in a forest near the border—technically still inside Kuroy territory. The real battlefield lay further ahead. From their vantage point atop a small hill, Kos's old practice spot, they could see the wasteland below.
Once, this land had been home to villages and farms. Now it was nothing but craters, broken walls, and silence. The soil was stained with decades of blood.
"There," Augur pointed. "That's one of the cannon fodder skirmishes."
Two ragged groups clashed across the ruined plain—one wearing yellow shoulder bands, the other red.
"The yellow bands are Kuroy's slaves and conscripts," Augur explained. "Red's Nolan."
Baccarat frowned, disgusted. "Children… the elderly… they don't even have real weapons."
"They don't need them," Augur said coldly. "They're cannon fodder. Orphans, slaves, vagrants—all sent to die. The high command sees it as population control."
He spoke like he was reciting facts.
"They're forced to kill five enemies and bring back five shoulder straps to get food, barely enough to live on," he added. "Bread, if they're lucky."
Nelson's expression darkened. "No one monitors them?"
Wallace's grin faded. "That means they kill each other for straps."
Augur nodded. "Exactly."
Then his tone shifted, sharp, alert. "Wait." His pupils narrowed. "Look there."
Everyone followed his gaze toward the center of the battlefield.
A thin, silver-haired boy—barely twelve—was surrounded by four grown men. Despite his frail frame, his movements were sharp, deliberate, almost mechanical. He fought with a wooden stick, deflecting metal weapons with speed that defied reason.
Each strike was clean, decisive. When three men blocked his path, he lunged forward, the tip of his sharpened stick driving into one man's abdomen. Blood sprayed. He ripped the iron rod from his victim's hands and whirled, cutting down two more in the next breath.
"White-haired devil!" one of the men screamed before his throat was opened by a swing too fast to follow.
The last attacker swung desperately, landing a blow on the boy's shoulder. The stick didn't even wobble. The child didn't flinch—his expression cold, eyes as empty as the wasteland around him.
The man stumbled backward, trembling.
That was when they saw it clearly under the sun, his hair wasn't white. It shimmered silver.
And his eyes burned with quiet, terrifying focus.