Night deepened over the harbor of Duvall Island. A thin mist began to creep between ships and dockside buildings, blurring visibility to just a few meters. But the tension didn't come from the weather—it came from a chilling sense of foreboding.
Juno stood at the edge of the Grand Fortuna's deck, squinting toward the rooftops lining the port. She activated the silent alarm—a special frequency only detectable by certain members of the crew.
Bastien, who was inspecting his revolver in the ship's armory, froze immediately. His ears caught the sound. With a firm grip on his weapon, he moved swiftly. From the ship's kitchen, Nara and Ravi appeared at the same time. Nara held her thin black katana, and Ravi flexed the muscles in his arms, adjusting the custom-made leather gloves he always wore. Not a word was spoken. Only nods. A silent agreement.
Then, the shadows descended—soundless, merciless.
From the rooftops and masts of nearby ships, they leapt toward the Grand Fortuna like birds of prey. Clad in dark combat gear, their faces wrapped in cloth, their weapons coated to mute any sound. The assault began with three silenced shots—one nearly striking Ravi's head.
Ravi, with astounding reflexes, twisted his body and lunged toward the source of the gunfire. He slammed his fist into an attacker's chest, then swept the legs of two others in a single spinning motion. Unarmed, Ravi was a beast. He smashed a skull against the railing, broke the arm of a foe who came from behind, and lifted another enemy's body—tossing it into the sea like a ragdoll.
Elsewhere, Nara moved like a shadow under the moonlight. She faced an elite assassin—a lithe woman wielding twin curved daggers. Their duel was both graceful and deadly. Nara's katana clashed rapidly with the blades, flashes sparking in the darkness. Her opponent moved with controlled breathing and silent footsteps. But Nara remained calm, flowing like water. She sliced through the air, anticipating her enemy's steps, then pierced the assassin's shoulder with a single precise thrust.
Juno didn't stay still. She used anything she could find—wrenches, rope, even a water barrel lid became weapons in her hands. One assassin tried to ambush her from behind, but Juno spun and hurled a metal cup into their eye. A loud clang rang out as the enemy's weapon was knocked aside. Then came her knee—straight into their face. She wasn't formally trained, but her survival instincts were brutal—born of the streets, like Bastien.
Bastien himself faced two attackers in the narrow gap between cabins. He took a deep breath. Time seemed to slow. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them with intense focus. His Observation Haki flared. He read their movements. The first bullet missed to the left. The second flew upward. Then the third... struck the right shoulder of an enemy caught in the crossfire.
"I'm not some street rat," Bastien muttered coldly. "I was raised by a legend."
When his bullets ran dry, he switched to bare hands. His fighting style was a vicious mix of rapid strikes, sneaky grapples, and unpredictable moves. He used elbows, knees—even his teeth when necessary. One enemy tried to stab him from behind, but Bastien ducked and slammed his head upward into the attacker's chin, shattering their jaw.
Within fifteen minutes, the deck was drenched in blood. Ravi finished the last attacker with a spinning kick that hurled the body into the water—never to resurface. The corpses were gathered, tied to weights, and dumped into the sea before dawn.
Juno searched the pockets of one body and returned with a crumpled piece of paper. Her hands trembled slightly as she read it.
"'For Morenzo's head,'" she whispered.
All eyes turned to Bastien. He stared at the message for a moment, then looked toward the distant alleyways of the city—where Arthur was last seen.
His grip on the revolver tightened.
"This isn't just about Arthur's past," he said heavily. "This is about who dares to claim his future."
And that night, in the cold, silent harbor, the Grand Fortuna was no longer just a ship. It had become a battlefield. And its crew were no longer just sailors—they were the heirs of resistance.