Chapter 33: Gold, Blood, and a Saint!
The sun hung high over the Grand Line, casting a brilliant, deceptive sparkle over the waves. To any distant observer, the fleet cutting through the ocean looked majestic—a symbol of order and justice. But on the deck of the warships, the reality was a suffocating grimness that tasted like iron and shame.
The Marine soldiers standing guard gripped their rifles until their knuckles turned white. Their postures were rigid, their eyes fixed strictly on the horizon or the deck planks. They dared not look to the side. They dared not meet the hollow, despairing eyes of the "cargo" they were escorting.
On the lead escort ship, the atmosphere was heavy enough to crush a man's spirit.
Two Marine Vice Admirals stood on the bridge. One, a man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, had a face the color of liver. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth threatened to crack, and he deliberately turned his head away from the white luxury liner sailing in the center of the formation.
The other Vice Admiral, Ferguson, closed his eyes for a brief second. He took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air to steady his shaking hands. When he opened his eyes again, they were void of emotion—a necessary defense mechanism.
He walked with practiced, standard military steps toward the golden throne set up on the deck of the Saint Noros. He snapped a crisp salute, his voice steady, betraying no ripple of the turmoil rotting his gut.
"Saint Jalmack," Ferguson reported, staring at the World Noble's boots. "All 'escorts' have been settled. The resistors have been... eliminated. The Heavenly Tribute has been secured in the hold. It is time to move on to the next nation."
Escorts.
It was a polite word for slaves.
Eliminated.
It was a sanitized word for massacre.
This pale, powerless whitewashing of language was like a silent slap to the face of every soldier on board. It struck at the very core of the 'Absolute Justice' they had sworn to uphold. They were not protecting civilians; they were acting as high-priced kidnappers for a monster in a bubble.
Saint Jalmack, the man encasing his head in a glass sphere to avoid breathing the same air as commoners, was completely indifferent to the Vice Admiral's report.
He sat on a portable velvet chair, tapping his cane rhythmically against the deck. He didn't even acknowledge Ferguson. instead, he stood up and strolled in front of the row of trembling young girls, treating them like cattle at an auction.
His critical gaze felt like a rusted knife scraping over their young, pale faces. He paused, tilting his head, and finally stopped in front of the girl who had watched her parents die—Kiyo.
She stood frozen, her eyes dull and lifeless, resembling a broken porcelain doll that had lost its soul.
"This one," Jalmack said, his voice muffled slightly by the suit. He pointed a white-gloved finger at Kiyo's nose, not touching her, but hovering just close enough to terrify.
"She is quite sensible. She hasn't made a sound. She knows that serving a God is the greatest blessing a human can receive."
He turned his head slightly, looking at the other girls who were struggling to hold back their sobs.
"Unlike those others. Look at them. Tear-stained faces, snot running down their noses... it's truly unappetizing. It ruins the aesthetic of my ship."
Jalmack waved his hand dismissively.
"Reward this quiet one with something good to eat. Let her eat the leftovers from my dog's bowl; it is imported meat, better than anything she has ever tasted. As for the others..."
His eyes narrowed behind the glass, cold and devoid of humanity.
"They still need to be properly trained. Have the guards beat them until they learn how to smile. I want to see smiles by dinner time."
"Yes... Your Holiness!"
The order was swiftly carried out by the black-suited bodyguards. The Marines nearby flinched as the sounds of sobbing increased, followed by the dull thud of heavy boots hitting flesh.
The massive fleet accelerated, cutting through the waves, heading toward the next nation to be "favored" by the Celestial Dragon's presence. The magnificent scenery where the azure sea and sky merged was now intertwined with the dead silence and despair permeating the deck, forming a twisted, cruel tableau of the world's true nature.
Meanwhile, on the Vermillion Wing.
The atmosphere couldn't have been more different. The sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, and the only sound was the rhythmic splashing of waves against the hull.
"Suzaku-sama! A fleet has appeared at the ten o'clock direction! It is being escorted by several Marine warships. Do we need to notify Nami-san to steer clear?"
Suzaku was currently lounging on the stern of the ship. He had set up a beach chair and was basking in the sun, a straw hat covering his face. His fishing rod was propped lazily on the railing, the line drifting idly in the water. He was dozing on and off, enjoying the rare peace of the Grand Line.
Rem's shout made him jolt upright. The straw hat slid off his face.
"Marine escort?"
Suzaku rubbed his eyes, blinking away the sleep. "Could it be..."
He sprang to his feet, the lethargy vanishing instantly. In a few strides, he crossed the deck to the bow, squinting into the distance. His enhanced vision zoomed in on the specks on the horizon.
Sure enough, nestled among three iron-grey Marine warships was a monstrosity of wealth. It was a massive vessel, painted a blinding white, its railings and figurehead adorned with so much gold and silver that it reflected the sunlight like a mirror ball.
"Haha! Luck is here, and it can't be stopped!"
Suzaku slapped his thigh, a grin spreading from ear to ear. A holographic panel flickered into existence before his eyes.
[System Notification]
[Hidden Event Triggered: The Tyrant's Hoard]
[Objective: Intercept the Heavenly Tribute]
[Target: Saint Jalmack's Fleet]
[Reward: Massive Legend Points + Reputation Boost]
"No doubt about it," Suzaku laughed, pointing at the white ship. "With that level of pomp and the Marine escort? That's the fleet carrying the 'Heavenly Tribute'! Look at that hull—they've practically plastered gold foil on the wood. They're filthy, stinking rich!"
Rem tilted her head, her blue hair swaying in the wind. A look of innocent curiosity appeared on her face.
"Heavenly Tribute? What is that, Suzaku-sama? Is it an offering to a god?"
"In a way," Suzaku explained, his grin turning predatory. "It's the wealth that the World Government extorts from its member nations. Mountains of gold, silver, jewels, and ancient artifacts. It's money squeezed from the blood and sweat of commoners, collected exclusively for the 'Celestial Dragons'—the self-proclaimed gods of this world—to squander on their extravagant pleasures."
He clenched his fist.
"It's the biggest loot crate on the sea."
No sooner had he finished speaking than the cabin door burst open with a bang.
"Gold and silver treasures?! Where? Where?!"
Nami's voice exploded from behind him, shattering the calm. She didn't walk; she materialized at the bow like a gust of wind driven by pure greed. Her eyes were practically replaced by the symbol of the Berry.
"Did someone say gold? Did someone say mountains of treasure?" Nami gripped the railing, drool almost forming at the corner of her mouth.
Rem honestly pointed into the distance. "Nami-san, over there..."
Nami excitedly stood on her tiptoes, peering toward the horizon with the intensity of a hawk spotting a field mouse. But with one glance, her focus shifted. She didn't just see the gold; she saw the symbols painted on the sails of the escort ships.
The seagull holding a wrench. The word MARINE.
Her face instantly changed color, draining of blood until she looked like a ghost. The Berry symbols in her eyes were replaced by sheer terror.
She turned on her heel, her legs blurring like a cartoon character as she tried to run back to the helm.
"Marines! So many Marines! That's a fleet! I'll go turn the rudder! Hurry, hurry! Hard to starboard! We need to run!"
But she didn't get far. Her collar was grabbed by a firm hand.
"What are you running for?" Suzaku held her in place, looking at her with amusement.
"Are you crazy?!" Nami flailed, her feet kicking the air. "That's a Marine fleet! There are at least three warships! We're just one ship! Do you want to die?!"
Suzaku snorted, setting her down but blocking her path.
"We're pirates now, Nami. Since when do pirates run from loot? What are we afraid of the Navy for? We're currently worried that our reputation isn't loud enough. This is a golden opportunity—literally and figuratively—to make a name for ourselves!"
He pointed at the white ship.
"That ship is full of money, Nami. Billions of Berries. And you want to run away?"
Nami froze. The conflict in her soul was visible on her face. Her left eye twitched with greed; her right eye twitched with fear.
"B-But... but we're wanted criminals!" she stammered, stomping her foot anxiously on the deck. "What kind of pirate willingly charges into the Marine's gun muzzles? That's suicide!"
As she spoke, a rhythmic clack, clack sound echoed from the stairs.
Albedo emerged from the cabin. She had heard the commotion. She walked toward the group with an unhurried, regal grace, her black dress fluttering in the wind. Her golden eyes swept over Nami like a queen looking at a noisy servant.
She didn't speak. She just stood quietly beside Suzaku, her hands folded in front of her, radiating a dark, heavy pressure that chilled the air.
Nami's neck shrank into her shoulders. She instantly wilted like a flower in a frost.
She hadn't forgotten the scene at Twin Capes. She knew this woman—Albedo—followed Suzaku's orders without question, and she was absolutely ruthless. If Suzaku said "attack," Albedo would slaughter the entire ocean. If Nami tried to flee...
"Alright, alright..." Nami muttered softly, tears of fear welling up in her eyes. "If we must go, we must go... But don't blame me if we get blown to pieces!"
She reluctantly trudged back to the helm, her hands shaking as she gripped the wheel.
"Course correction!" Nami shouted, her voice trembling. "Heading... heading straight for the fleet!"
The Vermillion Wing adjusted its course. The crimson sails caught the full force of the wind, propelling the ship directly toward the conspicuous fleet without a hint of evasion.
Marine Escort Fleet - Lead Ship
On the lookout tower of the lead Marine warship, the spotter lowered his binoculars, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.
"This... this is absurd," he muttered.
He quickly grabbed the transponder snail microphone.
"Report! Unidentified vessel spotted off the port bow! It... it is approaching us directly! It is not taking evasive maneuvers!"
On the bridge, Vice Admiral Ferguson frowned. He picked up his binoculars.
"Approaching us?" he said in a deep voice. "Is it a merchant ship asking for help? Or a fool who lost his way?"
He saw the crimson sails. He saw the figurehead.
"No," Ferguson narrowed his eyes. "That's a modified vessel. It looks like... pirates."
"Pirates?" The aide beside him gasped. "Attacking a Heavenly Tribute fleet? Are they insane?"
"Maintain vigilance!" Ferguson ordered. "Send a warship forward to intercept. Signal them to halt immediately. Ascertain their identity and intentions. If they do not stop, fire warning shots."
"Oh? Is there anything that can make my journey less boring?"
An arrogant, lazy voice interjected from the doorway of the bridge.
The Marines on the bridge froze. They snapped to attention, beads of sweat instantly forming on their foreheads.
Saint Jalmack, surrounded by four massive bodyguards, slowly walked onto the bridge. He was holding a glass of wine inside his bubble helmet, sipping it through a straw port.
He had just heard the latter half of the sentence.
Vice Admiral Ferguson's heart tightened. He cursed internally, but he could only report truthfully.
"Saint Jalmack," Ferguson bowed slightly. "An unidentified vessel is approaching from ahead. Your subordinate is preparing to send men to investigate. It is likely a lost pirate ship."
"Investigate?"
Saint Jalmack walked to the window. Through his bubble mask, he glanced at the seemingly unremarkable sailboat in the distance. To him, it looked like a speck of dirt on his perfect ocean view.
A cruel, twisted smile played on his lips.
"I was just finding the journey tedious," Jalmack drawled, his breath fogging up the glass slightly. "And now, entertainment has delivered itself to my doorstep."
He turned to Ferguson.
"There's no need to investigate. Investigation is boring. Since they dare to appear in my sight, pleasing me is their only value. Give the order: Target that obstructing broken ship and sink it directly. Blow it into splinters."
He chuckled, a wet, unpleasant sound.
"They should be grateful. Their deaths will be a part of my amusement for the afternoon."
"But, sir!"
A young Marine soldier, no older than eighteen, instinctively blurted out. He stepped forward, his face pale.
"This doesn't follow protocol! We haven't confirmed if they are hostile! What if there are civilians on bo—"
WHAM!
Before he could finish, a scarred, veteran soldier beside him violently grabbed his arm. The veteran yanked the boy down, practically throwing him to the floor, and slammed a hand over his mouth.
"YES! SAINT JALMACK!" The veteran shouted loudly, covering the boy's muffled protests. "WE WILL EXECUTE THE ORDER IMMEDIATELY!"
The veteran dragged the young soldier backward, out of the bridge and onto the gangway. Only when they were out of earshot did he throw the boy against the wall.
"Do you want to die?!" the veteran hissed, his eyes wide with fear. "How dare you contradict a Saint! Have you forgotten what happened to Lieutenant Darrow last week? He was shot in the head for sneezing while the Saint was speaking!"
The young Marine finally reacted. The adrenaline faded, leaving his back instantly soaked with cold sweat. He realized he had just walked to the edge of a cliff.
"Th-thank you, senior..." his voice trembled. "I... I understand..."
"Forget justice," the veteran whispered harshly. "Just survive."
The veteran sighed, his face masking over with numb obedience. He turned and ran to the gunnery station.
"All stations! Target the approaching vessel! Free fire approval granted! Sink them!"
The heavy gears of the cannons began to turn. The metallic grinding sound echoed over the water. Dozens of black muzzles slowly rotated, locking onto the approaching Vermillion Wing.
On the Vermillion Wing
Rem's demon eyes narrowed. She could see the movement on the enemy decks clearly from kilometers away.
"Suzaku-sama," Rem reported calmly, her hand resting on the handle of her morningstar. "The enemy seems to be preparing to fire. The cannons are adjusting their elevation. Do I need to fly over and handle it first?"
Suzaku didn't move from the bow. He lazily stretched his arms, cracking his neck. A playful, arrogant smile danced on his lips.
"What's the hurry?"
He looked at the dark muzzles pointing at them.
"Everyone's been cooped up for so long on this journey. We need some exercise."
He turned to Rem and Albedo.
"Let them fire first. Consider it the opening act—a fireworks display to celebrate our arrival in the Grand Line. Besides..."
Suzaku summoned a black, metallic rod from his inventory—it wasn't a weapon, but it looked strangely like a baseball bat.
"It'll be a good chance for you all to stretch your muscles. Albedo, Rem... isn't it fun to hit those cannonballs back like we're playing baseball?"
Albedo's eyes lit up. A cruel, excited grin matched her master's.
"Understood, Suzaku-sama. I shall prepare for a home run."
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