CHAPTER 117: THE ISLAND OF ASHES
Fifteen days. It had taken fifteen days to reach the waters of the North Sea—nearly twice the normal transit time from the East Blue. Every delay, every "unexpected" pirate encounter, every meandering course correction had been calculated. Satoru had stretched the journey to its absolute limit, buying every possible second for Dragon to act.
He should have had enough time, Satoru thought, staring at the gray horizon. Ten days minimum. Probably closer to twelve. That should be enough to evacuate an entire island.
"Admiral White Dragon."
The voice at his elbow belonged to Vice Admiral Brusno—a grizzled veteran who had served alongside Garp and Sengoku in their younger days. His face was weathered, his eyes sharp, and his loyalty to the World Government absolute. He was, in many ways, exactly the kind of Marine Satoru found most difficult to respect.
"The other warships are in position around Attia," Brusno continued. "They've been waiting for our arrival. Should we proceed directly to the island?"
Satoru didn't turn. "The island isn't going anywhere, Vice Admiral."
"With respect, Admiral—" Brusno's voice carried an edge now, "—the people on that island might. We've already lost nearly a week to your... detours."
Now Satoru turned, his blindfolded gaze fixing on the older man. "Are you questioning my command?"
Brusno met his gaze without flinching. "I'm questioning your commitment to this mission. Fifteen days to cross from the East Blue to the North Sea is unacceptable by any standard. We've chased pirate crews that posed no threat, investigated islands with no connection to our objective, and generally moved at a pace that suggests..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "...that suggests reluctance."
The air between them grew heavy. Satoru's presence, usually carefully contained, expanded just slightly—enough to make the nearby sailors shift uncomfortably, enough to make Brusno's instincts scream warning.
"Vice Admiral Brusno." Satoru's voice was calm, almost pleasant. "You've served the Marines for what—forty years? You've earned a certain... latitude. That's why I've tolerated your tone thus far. But let me be absolutely clear about something."
He stepped closer. Brusno held his ground, but Satoru could see the microscopic tension in his shoulders, the way his hand drifted slightly toward his weapon.
"I am the supreme commander of this mission. Not just this warship—the entire Buster Call. My orders are not suggestions. They are not up for debate. And if you continue to question my authority in front of the men..." Satoru's smile didn't waver, but something behind it shifted. "...we're going to have a problem."
The pressure increased. Brusno suddenly felt like he was drowning—not in water, but in presence. His lungs labored. His heart pounded. Every instinct screamed at him to submit, to kneel, to do anything to make it stop.
"Yes... Admiral White Dragon," he forced out.
Instantly, the pressure vanished. Satoru was smiling again, perfectly pleasant, as if nothing had happened.
"Good. Now, as I was saying—we'll continue our course. If we encounter pirates, we'll engage them. The island will wait."
Brusno nodded, unable to speak, and retreated to his quarters. It took him an hour to stop shaking.
Five more days passed.
Five more days of "coincidental" pirate encounters, "necessary" course corrections, and "unavoidable" delays. The sailors began to notice a pattern, but none of them dared comment. They had seen what happened to Vice Admiral Brusno.
Finally, on the twentieth day since leaving Windmill Village, the fleet arrived at Attia Island.
Nine warships emerged from their hiding positions around the island, falling into formation with Satoru's flagship. Ten Marine vessels. Ten Vice Admirals. And one Admiral—the youngest in history, now commanding the most destructive force the Navy could assemble short of an all-out war.
The Den Den Mushi in Satoru's hand rang.
"Satoru." Sengoku's voice was weary. "You took your time."
"The North Sea is far, Marshal. And the route was... eventful."
A pause. When Sengoku spoke again, there was something knowing in his tone. "I'm sure it was. But the waiting is over now. The island of Attia needs to disappear from the maps. Permanently."
Satoru's jaw tightened. "I understand."
"There's something else." Sengoku's voice grew heavier. "This mission isn't just Navy. The World Government has observers in place. CP agents. They won't identify themselves, but they'll be watching. Evaluating. If there's any... irregularity... they'll report it."
Of course they will.
"Understood, Marshal. Attia will be handled."
"I hope so, Satoru. I truly hope so."
The line went dead.
Satoru stood at the bow of the flagship, staring at the island in the distance. Attia. A small dot of green in an endless gray sea. From here, it looked peaceful—almost beautiful.
He closed his eyes and extended his Observation Haki.
The island unfolded in his mind—every building, every street, every living creature. He felt the life forces scattered across its surface, going about their daily routines. Hundreds of them. Perhaps a thousand.
Wait.
His eyes snapped open behind the blindfold.
Something was wrong.
He reached out again, focusing more precisely this time. The life forces were there—but they weren't right. There was something... off about them. A quality he couldn't quite name.
Then he felt it.
Killing intent.
Not directed at him—just present. A faint aura of violence and malice clinging to nearly every person on the island. These weren't civilians going about their daily lives. These were criminals. Murderers. Pirates. The dregs of society, gathered in one place.
Satoru's lips curved into a smile.
Dragon, you magnificent bastard.
The Revolutionary Army hadn't evacuated the island—they had replaced its population. Every innocent resident was gone, spirited away to safety. In their place, Dragon had deposited the worst criminals his network could locate. People who deserved far worse than a clean death.
No mental burden at all now.
Satoru's smile widened. He even thought about the observers. If CP agents are watching, they'll see an island full of people being destroyed. They'll have no way of knowing those people weren't the original inhabitants. Perfect.
The ten Vice Admirals gathered on the flagship's deck, waiting for his command. Brusno stood among them, his expression carefully neutral.
Satoru turned to face them.
"Gentlemen. You have your orders. Surround the island. No one escapes. When the bombardment begins, it continues until there is nothing left to bombard. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Admiral White Dragon!"
They dispersed to their ships. Satoru watched them go, then turned back to the island.
Sorry, whoever you are down there. You were probably terrible people anyway.
The bombardment began at noon.
Ten warships opened fire simultaneously, hundreds of cannonballs arcing through the air to crash into Attia's shores. The first volley struck with devastating force—buildings crumbled, fires erupted, and the distant sounds of screaming began to drift across the water.
Satoru watched impassively.
The second volley followed. Then the third. The island, once green and peaceful, became a hellscape of flame and destruction. Ships circled like sharks, ensuring no boat could launch, no survivor could escape.
"The Buster Call," Satoru murmured to himself. "What a horrible, necessary thing."
Behind him, a Marine lieutenant overheard and shifted uncomfortably. Satoru didn't care.
The bombardment continued for hours.
When it finally ceased, Attia Island was unrecognizable. Where forests had stood, there were only craters. Where buildings had risen, there was only rubble. The screams had long since stopped.
Satoru raised a hand. "Cease fire. Landing parties—confirm eradication."
Boats lowered from the warships, carrying Marines to the smoldering shore. They moved through the devastation, checking bodies, ensuring nothing lived. Satoru watched them go, his expression unreadable.
Dragon, he thought, you owe me for this.
But deep down, he knew the truth. He owed Dragon. For giving him a way out. For making this possible without betraying his own soul.
Hours later, the landing parties returned.
"No survivors, Admiral," the lead officer reported. "The island is completely destroyed."
Satoru nodded. "Good. Signal the fleet. Mission accomplished."
As the warships began to turn, preparing to depart, Satoru took one last look at the island. Smoke rose from its broken surface, carried away on the wind.
Somewhere out there, the original inhabitants of Attia were beginning new lives. They would never know how close they had come to death. They would never know that a twelve-year-old Admiral and a Revolutionary leader had conspired to save them.
That's probably for the best.
"Set course for Marine Headquarters," Satoru ordered. "We have a report to deliver."
The fleet sailed away, leaving nothing behind but ash and silence.
In the War Room at Marine Headquarters, Sengoku received the news with mixed feelings. The mission was a success—Attia was gone, its dangerous knowledge buried with it. The World Government would be pleased.
But as he looked at the report, something nagged at him.
Twenty days to reach the North Sea. Twenty days, when it should have taken ten.
He thought about Satoru's hesitation on the call. About the way the boy had said "I refuse" without a moment's thought. About the conversation they'd had afterward.
What did you do, Satoru?
He would probably never know. And maybe—just maybe—that was for the best.
Some questions were better left unasked.
Far away, on a ship heading for an unknown destination, Monkey D. Dragon received a coded message. He read it once, then again, and allowed himself a rare smile.
The boy came through.
He looked out at the horizon, where a fleet of transports carried the people of Attia toward safety and new lives.
This alliance might actually work.
The Revolutionary Army had gained a powerful secret ally. And somewhere in the North Sea, an island burned with only the guilty on it.
Sometimes, Dragon reflected, the world worked in mysterious ways.
(End of Chapter)
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