BOOM.
A massive tiger went flying through the air before crashing hard into an open clearing. The impact shook the ground, and the beast—easily three to four meters long—lay still, its skull crushed, dead on the spot.
"All right, now that we've seen the wonders of this place, it's time to head back."
Aeridar relaxed his fist and walked over, grabbing the tiger by its tail. With casual strength, he began dragging it along. "This pelt will make a fine rug for my quarters."
"Captain, aren't you gonna meet those two giants?"
From the forest's edge emerged Arlan, dragging the carcass of a massive wolf with a wolf's head for its own. He couldn't understand why Aeridar had no interest in the two giants they'd spotted earlier.
"What's there to see?" Aeridar scoffed. "Two guys brawling endlessly over gods-know-what, beating each other bloody while ignoring their own crew? No thanks."
He yanked the tiger's tail and stepped in front of Arlan, asking, "Where are Oliver and Dimitri?"
Aeridar thought about it for a long moment, finally recalling why Dorry and Brogy were still fighting here. A hundred years ago, they each caught a Sea King. A curious little girl once asked which one was bigger, and the question sparked a heated debate. They'd decided to settle it with a duel—one that's now lasted a full century with no winner.
"All that over a stupid question... they abandoned their entire crew for it."
Aeridar's expression hardened. "The Giant Warrior Pirates shattered, one of their brothers tricked into becoming a government lapdog... it's disgraceful."
"Maybe it was something big?" Arlan shrugged. "Anyway, Oliver and Dimitri went to see the giants."
"Tch. Of course they did. Whatever."
Still dragging the tiger, Aeridar turned and waved a hand dismissively. "Later, take some booze to them. Say it's from me."
"Got it." Arlan nodded and followed close behind, pulling along two giant wolves by the legs.
Together, they passed through the forest and reached a river. The current carried downstream, and they followed it.
Within twenty minutes, the two men had returned to where the Chris was moored.
By now, the crew had set up a fully functional camp. Weeds and trees had been cleared, more than a dozen tents pitched. At the center, a massive bonfire pit had been rigged with a giant cooking pot. A savory aroma filled the air—meat stew, unmistakably—and judging from the nearby dismembered T. rex carcass, the stew's main ingredient was none other than dinosaur.
"Captain's back!"
"First mate, sir!"
"Captain! You bagged a tiger—gonna soak the balls in liquor?"
"Save us a sip if you do, Captain!"
As soon as they saw Aeridar and Arlan dragging in fresh kills, the crew burst into warm greetings and wild banter.
"Hahaha... sure, everyone gets a share if it turns out good."
Aeridar tossed the tiger carcass down near the fire pit, laughing heartily.
By the fire, Gorbo looked up from his seat, then calmly lowered his gaze again. "Where are the other two?"
Arlan let the wolves drop with a thud. "Went to see the giants."
"Giants?!"
Gorbo shot up, eyes wide. "The rumors were true?"
"Two giants in a death match," Aeridar nodded. "The scale is insane. But they're far from camp, somewhere near the island's center."
"Captain Gorbo! Bad news!"
A sudden, urgent voice shouted from the forest. Several crew members, weapons drawn, came sprinting into the camp.
"What's going on?"
Aeridar and Gorbo jumped to their feet. Arlan strode quickly to the front, grabbing the lead sailor by the arm.
"Pierre, calm down. What happened?"
Gorbo recognized the sharp-chinned man—it was one of his own team.
"Captain! First Mate! Commander Gorbo! It's the Navy!" Pierre pointed upstream along the river—the very direction from which Aeridar's group had entered. "We spotted two third-rate Navy warships moored upriver—hundreds of them! Our men are keeping watch now."
Hearing this, Aeridar's expression tightened. "The Navy? What the hell are they doing here?"
"There must be something—or someone—on this island they're after," Arlan muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Maybe a powerful artifact… or a pirate on the run?"
"I'll check it out with Arlan." Aeridar made a quick decision. "Gorbo, stay here. Set Chris to wartime readiness. Everyone goes on alert."
He turned to Pierre. "Lead the way."
"Understood, Captain. This way!"
Pierre took off at a run, with Aeridar and Arlan right behind.
As the three left camp, the rest of the crew sprang into action. Scouts were dispatched to the perimeter. Makeshift barricades went up. Traps were laid, and others rushed back to the Chris, uncovering the cannons and prepping the ammunition crates.
Onboard the ship, Millie and Mina rushed out of their cabin, blinking in confusion at the sudden commotion. "What? What's happening?"
...
Upstream, about a kilometer away, the river widened into a broad stretch flanked by steep twelve-meter embankments. Two Marine warships, each over 80 meters long, were anchored along the shore. Ropes lashed them to massive trees, anchors dropped and gangplanks extended to dry land.
Hundreds of Marine soldiers were disembarking. The shore bustled as they quickly cleared a makeshift staging ground.
At the center of the clearing stood two officers in Justice cloaks. Behind them were another five or six similarly garbed officers.
The first, standing at the front, had chiseled features and a statuesque two-meter frame. He wore a sharply tailored black-and-silver suit with matching shoes—spotless and formal. This was Commodore Salos Cray of Marine Headquarters.
The second officer, far more casual, wore a loose forest-green shirt and matching cropped trousers. A Justice cloak draped over his shoulders. A katana was strapped diagonally across his back. His pale skin contrasted with the black sunglasses that obscured half his face. He wore brown flip-flops.
He was Captain Aron Wazz, of G-9 Fortress.
"Are you certain your G-9 intel pointed to this island?" Commodore Cray asked, his tone razor-sharp as his gaze swept across the forest before them.
Captain Wazz scratched his head and licked his dry lips. "Should be this one. Their ship was wrecked by our main fleet. They might've barely made it this far—if at all. But they had small boats. It's not impossible."
"Then this is it." Cray smirked faintly. "The nearest island from here is at least two days away. Even if they were desperate, even if they had to crawl ashore… this was their only option."
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