Silence descended upon the cove, a sudden, ringing quiet that was more deafening than the chaos that had preceded it. The few remaining pirates, sick and disoriented, stared at the pile of rubble that had been their captain, then at the lone swordsman standing amidst the carnage. The fight went out of them, replaced by a primal, abject terror. They broke, a panicked, leaderless mob scrambling into the jungle, away from the beach of death.
Takeshi stood motionless, the katana held loosely at his side, the blood on the blade a stark, dark line in the moonlight. He had not moved a muscle after the strike, a statue carved from lethal intent.
Arima clutched his arm, the pain from the jackal's bite a deep, throbbing fire. Blood, hot and slick, pumped between his fingers. He stumbled towards the boat, his gaze fixed on the small, terrified figure being pulled aboard by a frantic Rizzo.
"Get her out of here!" he yelled, his voice a raw, desperate command.
Rizzo needed no further encouragement. He put his back into it, the oars digging into the water, the small boat shooting out into the cove, towards the Sea Serpent.
"Higgs! Now!" Arima roared towards the sea.
From the darkness of the channel, the Sea Serpent emerged, a dark, vengeful phantom. She moved with a predatory grace, her sails already unfurled. She didn't fire a warning shot. She simply unleashed her broadside. The twelve cannons roared as one, a thunderous, deafening volley that tore into the side of the Titan's Fist. The fortified hull shuddered, splintering, iron plates buckling like tin. The ship, Rorkaan's floating fortress, was a crippled, burning wreck.
From the deck of the stricken galleon, a single, answering cannon fired, a defiant, desperate roar. The cannonball screamed through the air, a black, oblong death, and struck the beach where Arima stood. The world exploded in a shower of sand, rock, and fire. The force of the blast lifted him off his feet and threw him backward, the impact a brutal, bone-jarring shock that knocked the breath from his lungs.
He landed hard, his head cracking against a rock. The world swam in a dizzying, red-tinged haze. He could feel the regeneration kicking in, a strange, tingling warmth spreading through his body, knitting bone and flesh, mending the damage. But it was slow, a painful, drawn-out process that left him weak and gasping.
He saw Takeshi move. The swordsman was a blur of motion, a ghost crossing the beach. He didn't stop to help. He scooped up the jackal's corpse, the dead Zoan user slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and then he was gone, vanishing into the darkness of the jungle, a phantom retrieving a trophy.
"Higgs!" Arima managed to roar, pushing himself to his feet, the world still spinning. "Get us out of here!"
The Sea Serpent swung around, her guns roaring again, another volley smashing into the Titan's Fist, silencing the last defiant cannon. The crippled war galleon began to list, a groaning, dying behemoth sinking into the shallow waters of the cove.
The jolly-boat reached them, Rizzo's face a pale, terrified mask. "Captain!"
"Get me aboard," Arima growled, stumbling towards the boat. He clambered in, the pain in his arm a dull, throbbing fire. He looked back at the beach, at the carnage and the two wrecked ships, a monument to a war won.
He was back on the deck of the Sea Serpent as the sun began to rise, a pale, watery light that painted the cove in shades of grey and pink. The twins were back, the crossbow now empty, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and a dawning, predatory pride. Higgs was at the helm, his jaw set, a grim, professional satisfaction in his eyes. And in the middle of the deck, huddled in a blanket, was the shipwright. Kairi.
She was younger than he'd expected, barely more than a girl, with a smudge of grease on her cheek and a pair of large, intelligent, terrified eyes. She was staring at him, a mixture of awe and horror in her gaze, as if he were not a man, but a force of nature she couldn't comprehend.
Miller, the medic, was already there, a small, well-stocked kit in his hands. "Captain," he said, his voice a gentle, professional calm. "Your arm."
Arima sat down on a barrel, wincing as the medic began to cut away the bloody sleeve of his coat. The jackal's bite was a mess of torn flesh and deep punctures, a brutal, ragged wound that would have crippled a normal man. The regeneration was working, a strange, tingling warmth that was slowly knitting the muscle and skin back together, but the process was agonizingly slow, leaving him weak and dizzy.
"It's a miracle it's still attached," Miller muttered, cleaning the wound with a sharp-smelling antiseptic that made Arima's eyes water. "Some of these look deep. Near the bone."
"Just stitch it," Arima grunted, his gaze fixed on the girl. He ignored the needle's bite as it pierced his skin, the rhythmic tug of the thread a dull, background pain. "You. Name."
The girl flinched, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Kairi," she whispered, her voice a hoarse, trembling thread. "My name is Kairi."
"You're a shipwright," Arima stated, the words not a question.
"I... I was," she said, her eyes dropping to the deck. "My master... he sold me." A flicker of defiance, a spark of the fire that must have allowed her to survive in this world, crossed her face. "I build things. I don't... belong to anyone."
"You belong to me now," Arima said, the words a flat, unarguable decree. "You have a Devil Fruit."
Kairi's head snapped up, her eyes wide with a new, more profound fear. "How... how do you know that?"
"I know a lot of things," he replied, a grim smile on his face. "And right now, I know that your ability to manipulate wood is the only thing that's going to turn that pile of driftwood in the dry dock into a real ship."
He looked up as Takeshi emerged from the ship's shadow. He had cleaned the blood from his katana and changed into a fresh, dark yukata. He moved with a fluid, unhurried grace, the violence of the past night a distant, irrelevant memory. He dumped the jackal's corpse onto the deck with a wet thud. The creature was in its human form, a lean, wiry man with a mangy, unfortunate face, now frozen in a rictus of surprise.
"His name was 'Jynx'," Takeshi said, as if commenting on the weather. "A bounty of 7 million Berry. A small-time pest with an inflated sense of importance. He was Rorkaan's scout."
He then tossed a small, heavy pouch to Arima. "And this was in Rorkaan's pocket. A key."
Arima caught the pouch. Inside was a large, ornate iron key, cold and heavy in his palm. "To what?"
Takeshi looked towards the shore, a distant, focused gaze. "The galleon. His wreck. His real treasure."
Arima grunted, the pain in his arm a dull, throbbing reminder of the cost of this prize. He looked at Kairi, who stared at the dead body of the jackal with a detached, clinical curiosity that belied her fear. "You. You're going with me. Back to the wreck."
The girl's eyes widened in terror. "No... no, I can't go back there. He's..."
"He's rubble," Arima cut her off, his voice a low growl that left no room for argument. "And that wreck is now mine. You're going to help me figure out what he was so obsessed with. Now move."
He pushed himself to his feet, the regeneration a slow, searing fire in his veins. He nodded to Higgs. "Take the ship and the girl back to the main port. Meet us at the shipyard. And get rid of the trash," he gestured to the jackal's corpse. "I don't want it stinking up my deck."
"Aye, Captain," Higgs replied, a new, grim respect in his scarred face.
Arima and Takeshi took the jolly-boat back to the beach, a small, silent craft in the vast, quiet cove. The rising sun painted the scene in a harsh, unforgiving light, revealing the full extent of the carnage. The beach was a litter of bodies and splintered wood, the Titan's Fist a smoldering, half-sunk wreck, and Rorkaan's galleon a skeletal ruin against the cliff face. It was a graveyard of ambition.
They landed on the beach, the soft sand a stark contrast to the hard reality of their mission. "You have the key," Takeshi said, his gaze fixed on the wrecked galleon. "The lock should be in the captain's cabin. It is where men like him keep their secrets."
They picked their way through the debris, a grim walk through the aftermath of their own making. The galleon was a hollow shell, its decks splintered, its masts fallen like broken bones. They descended into the belly of the ship, the darkness a cool, musty shroud.
The captain's cabin was a large, opulent room, a stark contrast to the decay of the rest of the ship. A massive oak desk, carved with intricate nautical scenes, stood in the center, its surface covered in maps and charts. And on the far wall, set into the wood, was a large, iron-bound chest. The lock was a complex, heavy mechanism, a challenge to any thief. But Arima had the key.
He inserted the heavy iron key into the lock. It turned with a satisfying, well-oiled click. He lifted the heavy lid. Inside was not gold, or jewels, or weapons. It was a collection of ship's logs and a single, large, leather-bound book. The book was ancient, its cover cracked and faded, the title embossed in gold leaf that was barely legible: "The Shipwright's Codex of Wano."
Arima picked up the book. The leather was cool and smooth under his fingers, the pages heavy with age. He opened it. The text was in a language he didn't recognize, a complex, flowing script that was both elegant and alien. But the diagrams were universal. Detailed, technical illustrations of joints, hull designs, and mast configurations that were far beyond anything he had ever seen. This was the knowledge Rorkaan had been after. Not a treasure to be spent, but a secret to be learned.
He thumbed through the pages, his meathead's brain struggling to comprehend the complexity of the designs, but a part of him, the collector, the geek, the connoisseur of fine craftsmanship, was captivated. This was a master's work, a blueprint for building ships that were not just vessels, but legends.
"The girl will understand this," Takeshi said, stating the obvious. "This is the key to your ship."
Arima closed the book, the leather cool and solid in his hands. "And a key to something more."
He tucked the book into the inventory, the icon a new, valuable addition to the grid. He left the cabin, the ancient knowledge a heavy, promising presence in his mind. They returned to the beach, the rising sun a harsh, unforgiving glare on the wreckage of the night's violence.
The Sea Serpent was waiting for them at the main port, tied up at the shipyard pier next to the skeletal form of the Queen Anne's Revenge. Higgs and his crew stood guard, a tense, professional presence that kept the curious dockworkers at a safe distance. Gills Malone's two thugs were there too, their faces pale, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a new, awestruck respect. They were no longer just smugglers; they were witnesses to the rise of a new power on the island.
Silas, the old shipwright, was standing on the pier, a pipe in his hand, a scowl etched onto his weathered features. He was looking at the Sea Serpent, a new, dangerous gleam in his small, beady eyes. He saw the fresh cannon scars on her hull, the professional, military discipline of her crew. He saw a weapon.
"You're a busy man," Silas grunted, as Arima and Takeshi boarded the pier. "Heard the rumors. A battle on the far side of the island. Rorkaan's wreck is smoking like a chimney. They're saying a ghost did it. A ghost with a magic sword."
Arima looked at the old shipwright, a cold, hard glint in his eyes. "I have your money. And I have a new problem for you."
He turned and gestured towards the jolly-boat, where Rizzo was helping Kairi onto the pier. The girl looked lost and terrified, a small, fragile creature in a world of brutal men and dangerous monsters.
"This is Kairi," Arima said, pushing the girl forward. "She's a shipwright. And this," he retrieved the ancient codex from the inventory, the heavy book materializing in his hands, "is her new textbook."
Silas's pipe fell from his mouth, clattering onto the wooden pier. He stared at the book, his scowl melting away, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock, a reverence that bordered on worship. He stumbled forward, his gnarled, trembling hands reaching for the tome. "The... the Codex of Wano," he breathed, the words a hoarse, reverent whisper. "By the Sea Kings... it's real."
He took the book, his touch gentle, almost fearful, as if he were handling a sacred relic. He opened it, his old, rheumy eyes scanning the pages, the complex diagrams and flowing script a universe of knowledge he had only ever dreamed of. He looked up at Kairi, then back at the book, a slow, dawning understanding, a profound, earth-shattering connection, forming in his mind. "You... you can read this?"
Kairi, who had been staring at the old man with a mixture of fear and curiosity, nodded slowly. "My master... he was from Wano. He taught me." She looked at the book, a flicker of recognition and a deep, academic interest cutting through her terror. "The jointing technique for the stem... it's... brilliant."
Arima watched the exchange, a cold, calculating gleam in his eyes. He was no scholar, but he was a master of leverage. He had just handed a master craftsman the equivalent of the holy grail of his trade, along with the only person on the island who could interpret it. He had them.
"The Queen Anne's Revenge," Arima said, his voice a flat, unarguable command. "You're going to use that book, and her," he gestured to Kairi, "to fix it. Not patch it. Fix it. The way it was meant to be. You'll have your Adam Wood."
Silas looked up from the book, a fire in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "This... this knowledge... it changes everything. The Adam Wood... it's not just about strength. It's about resonance. The Codex shows how to treat it, how to join it so it sings with the sea. I'll need a master carpenter. A full crew."
"You'll have them," Arima said, cutting him off. "Use your men. Use my men. I don't care. Just get it done."
He looked at Higgs, who had been watching the exchange with a professional, unreadable expression. "Higgs. Your men are now on double duty. They work for Silas here when they're not on my ship. You report to both of us."
Higgs gave a curt, military nod. "Understood, Captain."
The power structure was solidifying, a pyramid of fear, respect, and mutual greed with himself at the apex. He had the muscle, the money, the knowledge, and the master craftsman. He was no longer a piece on the board; he was the one moving the pieces.
"Get started," he ordered, turning to leave the shipyard. "I want to see progress by sundown."
He walked back towards the town, Takeshi a silent, ominous shadow at his side. His arm was still a dull, throbbing ache, the regeneration a slow, searing fire that was knitting the deep wounds, but leaving a network of ugly, puckered scars. He was a map of his own violence, a testament to the cost of ambition.
His next stop was the Golden Lily teahouse.