Author's Note:
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I Was ¥1.8 Million in Debt When the Legacy System Chose Me — a grounded rags-to-riches journey featuring business, romance, self-improvement and empire-building.
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50 Powerstones on my system novel equals 3 extra chapters. While 100 Powerstones here equals 3 extra chapters.
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The subterranean dungeons of Elbaf were not built to hold men; they were hollowed out of the living roots of Yggdrasil and the foundational granite of the island to cage monsters.
For a human of Norwell D. Giovanni's stature, the cell was less of a room and more of a sweeping, monolithic cavern. The ceiling soared fifty feet overhead, lost in a perpetual shroud of damp, freezing mist. The bars separating him from the outer corridor were not iron rods, but the trunk-sized, reinforced pillars of ancient ironwood, bound together by links of black sea-stone chain that could have anchored a battleship. The air was heavy, smelling of millennia-old stone, stagnant mineral water, and the faint, bitter tang of lichen.
Giovanni sat dead center on the freezing stone floor, his legs crossed, his hands resting lightly on his knees.
To any onlooker, he appeared entirely helpless. A fragile human insect caught in the crushing machinery of the giant race. But internally, Giovanni had never felt more present.
He was breathing rhythmically, utilizing the sensory deprivation of the dark cell to practice the exact technique Scopper Gaban had demonstrated. He wasn't focusing on his anger. He wasn't letting his mind drift to the injustice of his arrest, or the throbbing ache of the last twenty percent of his unhealed wounds. Instead, he pulled his spiritual pressure inward. He drew the erratic, wild sparks of his Conqueror's Haki deep into his core, compressing the raw volume of his soul into a single, localized point of absolute, frozen stillness. The black lightning that usually leaked from his skin was entirely gone, replaced by an aura of profound, unshakeable authority that seemed to push back against the literal darkness of the cavern.
A series of thunderous, echoing footsteps broke the silence of the deep.
The massive, iron-reinforced gate at the end of the corridor groaned open, and the flickering orange glow of dozens of torches flooded the stone hallway. A contingent of giant guards filed in, their faces grim under their heavy steel helmets, their hands resting on the pommels of their broadswords.
Stepping into the center of the light was a legendary figure.
Elder Jarul was a mountain of a giant, his colossal frame draped in traditional, thick furs and heavy bronze chainmail that bore the battle scars of a century of warfare. His silver beard hung down to his waist, braided with heavy iron rings, and his single remaining eye burned with a sharp, piercing intensity beneath his bushy eyebrows. In his right hand, he carried a massive, gnarled wooden staff topped with a carved whale bone. The symbol of his judicial authority over the tribes.
Behind Jarul stood three other tribal elders, their faces twisted into expressions of deep-seated, historic prejudice. To them, any human pirate was a disease. A lying, deceitful creature that brought nothing but chaos to their sacred isolation.
Jarul stopped directly in front of the ironwood bars, leaning heavily on his staff. The silence between the ancient giant and the blonde youth stretched for a long, suffocating minute, broken only by the crackle of the torches.
"Norwell D. Giovanni," Jarul rumbled, his voice a deep, resonant earthquake that caused the loose gravel on the dungeon floor to dance. "You sit within the roots of the sacred tree, accused of shedding the blood of our warriors across the eastern borders and bringing demonic arts to our southern shores. Speak. And know that the gods of Elbaf look down upon your tongue."
Giovanni slowly opened his eyes. He didn't look up in fear; he simply met the giant's single eye with a steady, unblinking calm that radiated absolute equality.
"I've already told your vanguards, Elder," Giovanni said, his voice smooth, clear, and entirely devoid of panic. "You're looking at the wrong man. I haven't left the western coastal district since your doctors hauled me out of the sea. I spent my day in the interior valley, and I have the stitches to prove it. If your patrols are being cut down on the borders, you're dealing with a ghost. Or worse."
"Lies!" one of the background elders roared, slamming his fist against the ironwood bars, causing the entire cage to vibrate. "The reports explicitly state a human swordsman wielding a weapon of terrifying power! You carry the steel of Gol D. Roger! Who else on this island possesses the strength to bypass an elite vanguard? You humans are all the same, you smile in our longhouses while your accomplices creep through our shadows!"
Giovanni didn't even look at the screaming elder. His gaze remained locked entirely on Jarul.
"If I wanted to slaughter your people, Elder Jarul," Giovanni said, his voice dropping into a low, chilling register of absolute certainty, "I wouldn't do it from the shadows. And I certainly wouldn't allow your guards to walk me into a cage without leaving half your clearing in ruins. I came here peacefully because I respect the sanctuary you've given my people. But don't mistake my cooperation for weakness."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Look at the wounds on your men. Analyze the strikes. If they were made by a sword, they were made by someone who cuts with absolute, flawless precision. Someone who doesn't waste energy on a brawl. I don't know who is walking across your borders, but I know one thing: a monster has arrived on Elbaf. And while you're wasting your time staring at me in this hole, that monster is getting closer to your gates."
Jarul's single eye narrowed. The ancient warrior had spent a lifetime reading the hearts of men across the Grand Line. He could hear the absolute lack of hesitation in Giovanni's voice. He could sense the profound, unyielding honor vibrating within the boy's spirit. A liar's Haki wavered; a guilty man's presence shifted under pressure. Giovanni's spirit was like a mountain of solid ice. Calm, absolute, and entirely transparent.
Jarul shifted his weight, his grip on his staff loosening slightly. "He speaks with the posture of a warrior, brothers," Jarul murmured to the other elders. "There is no deceit in his shadow."
"He is a pirate, Jarul!" the prejudiced elder countered fiercely. "They are masters of performance! If we release him, we risk letting the serpent loose within our walls while our borders burn!"
Before Jarul could finalize his judgment, the heavy iron gate at the end of the corridor was violently thrown open once more.
A young vanguard messenger rushed down the stone steps, his breathing ragged, his chainmail torn and splattered with fresh, dark blood. He fell to his knees before the elders, his massive hands trembling as he clutched a shattered iron shield.
"Elders!" the messenger gasped, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated panic. "A fresh report... from the eastern ridges! The elite outpost... the third vanguard division... it has been completely decimated!"
Jarul spun around, his staff striking the stone floor with a resounding crack. "Decimated? Explain yourself, boy! The third division is comprised of our fiercest shields! Who has breached their line?"
"A... a lone human!" the messenger cried out, terror bleeding through his booming voice. "A man in a black coat! He didn't even draw his weapon fully! A single wave of his sword split the entire ridge watchtower in two! The men... they were tossed aside like straw! He is marching systematically toward the central village, and he refuses to stop until he finds the one named Giovanni!"
The dungeon corridor erupted into absolute chaos. The elders turned their glares back onto Giovanni, their faces flushed with a toxic mix of fear and anti-human fury.
"You hear that?!" the prejudiced elder screamed, pointing a massive, trembling finger through the bars at Giovanni. "It is as I said! Your hidden pirate accomplices are acting on your orders! They are attacking our strongholds to force your release!"
Giovanni let out a sharp, irritated breath, closing his eyes in sheer frustration.
"They are trying to break our spirit!" another elder shouted. "Jarul, we must mobilize! We cannot allow our sacred ridges to fall to these human insects!"
Elder Jarul's face hardened into a mask of grim, wartime determination. The honor he had sensed in Giovanni was instantly overshadowed by his absolute duty to protect the sovereignty of Elbaf. If an entire elite outpost had been wiped out, it was no longer a criminal investigation. It was an act of open war.
"Enough!" Jarul roared, his voice silencing the panic in the room. He turned his single eye toward the vanguard commanders. "Assemble the core! Order the absolute elite of our warrior legions. The first and second heavy vanguard divisions to mobilize immediately! We march to the eastern ridges to eliminate this swordsman and secure the border!"
"But Elder," a guard captain hesitated, "if we deploy the entire core elite to the east, the central village and the royal sector will be left heavily under-defended. We will only have a skeleton crew of raw recruits and retired veterans guarding the plazas."
"The threat is in the east!" Jarul commanded unyieldingly. "We crush the head of the serpent before it reaches the civilian sectors! Move out! Now!"
The guards mobilized instantly, their heavy boots thundering up the stone stairs as the dungeon empty out, leaving only two terrified young recruits stationed at the distant main gate. The heavy timber doors slammed shut, plunging the deep cavern back into its cold, flickering twilight.
Giovanni sat alone in his chains, listening to the fading echo of the army marching away. He looked up at the massive ironwood bars, his jaw tightening. 'They've completely emptied the center,' he realized, his tactical mind analyzing the move. 'Jarul just bit the bait. The village is completely exposed.'
Deep beneath the majestic roots of Yggdrasil, far removed from the stoic dignity of the high council halls and the discipline of the warrior barracks, lay the Elbaf Underworld.
This was a sprawling, subterranean network of neon-lit caverns, hidden black markets, and unregulated gambling dens where the younger, more rebellious generation of giants gathered to escape the suffocating traditions of their elders. Here, the music was loud, the ale was cheap, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and illegal tobacco.
Sitting on a massive, gilded velvet throne in the center of a private, high-ceilinged cavern lounge was a young giant who looked entirely out of place in a land of rugged warriors.
Prince Loki was the definition of a spoiled, royal brat. He possessed a tall, somewhat lanky frame for a giant, wearing an incredibly extravagant, fur-lined purple cape that dragged behind him, a massive gold chain around his neck, and a polished, slightly crooked crown perched atop his messy, brightly colored hair. He had a sharp, narrow face with a long nose, and his eyes were perpetually wide with a manic, mischievous energy.
"Gyahahaha! Ah-hyahyanya!"
Loki's high-pitched, obnoxious laughter echoed through the private lounge as he slammed a massive, jewel-encrusted goblet of sweet mead onto his table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his velvet sleeve, his eyes gleaming with absolute, unhinged amusement.
Standing before his throne were three of his personal, sycophantic attendants. Younger giants who wore flashy, non-traditional clothing and spent their days catering to the prince's endless desire for entertainment.
"My Prince!" one of the attendants grinned, bowing low. "The news from the surface is absolutely delicious! Old man Jarul and the entire strict warrior council just marched out of the central gates! They took every single elite vanguard with them to the eastern ridges!"
"I saw them! I saw them from the upper tunnels!" Loki cackled, jumping up from his throne and pacing across the expanse, his fur cape billowing wildly behind him. "They looked so serious! So grim! Clanking around in their heavy iron armor like a bunch of ancient, rusted pots! 'Oh, the honor of Elbaf is at stake! We must march to the east!'" Loki mocked, deepening his voice to imitate Elder Jarul before bursting back into his high-pitched snicker.
He stopped, a brilliant, wicked idea blooming behind his manic eyes. He rubbed his hands together with theatrical villainy.
"Do you know what this means, boys?" Loki grinned, his teeth flashing under the neon lights of the cavern. "For years, years!"
He stepped closer to his attendants, his voice dropping into a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper.
"But right now? The central village is completely empty. The warrior elders are gone. The security guards are just a bunch of fresh-faced babies who haven't even grown their first chin-hairs. It is the absolute, one-hundred-percent perfect opportunity!"
"An opportunity for what, Prince Loki?" an attendant asked, tilting his head in confusion.
"For a prank, you idiot! A massive, glorious, completely unhinged masterpiece of theater!" Loki screamed, throwing his arms wide open to the ceiling. "We are going to orchestrate a stunt so grand, so terrifying, that the entire island will have no choice but to realize how incredibly important Prince Loki is! When those old men come back from their wild goose chase in the east, they'll find the central plaza completely turned upside down, and I'll be the one standing at the center of it all, laughing my ass off!"
Loki leaned over, his fingers tracing the subterranean maps that connected the Underworld directly to the underbelly of the central village plaza.
"They want a crisis? I'll give them a crisis that will write my name in the history books!" Loki cackled, his shadow twisting wildly on the cavern wall. "Prepare the props! Unlock the lower beast pens! Tonight, the Sun God is going to make a scene on this island! Gyahahaha!"
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