The sun hung lazily above the Moby Dick, streaking the rolling waves of the Grand Line with gold and orange. The ship's timbers creaked in rhythm with the tide, the scent of sea salt and old wood thick in the air — a familiar embrace for the men who called this ship home. Laughter rang out across the deck as the Whitebeard Pirates gathered around barrels of sake, swapping stories of skirmishes, treasure hauls, and the kind of tall tales that only got taller with drink.
Somewhere near the rail, half in shadow, sat Lupin — the man they called Black Rose. His pistol rested at his hip, but his mind wasn't on drink or dice or the latest bet on who could out-eat whom. He leaned against the rail, eyes thoughtful as he brought up a screen no one else could see. It shimmered faintly before him, pale and ghostly in the late afternoon light.
[Monthly Quest: Earn the Respect of Whitebeard Pirates' Division Commanders — Complete]
Reward: 1 Creation Point, 1 Mystery Chest
A grin tugged at his lips. His first mystery chest since setting foot on the Moby Dick. He told himself to wait — find a quiet spot below deck, maybe the crow's nest. But temptation was a cruel mistress, and in the end, curiosity won.
A small, ethereal chest materialized in his palm for a heartbeat, then burst apart in a soft glow. Nestled within the fading light was a revolver unlike anything he'd ever laid eyes on.
It was a beast. A custom Smith & Wesson XVR 460 Magnum, built for a man his size — nearly three meters tall. The polished steel barrel caught the light as though it had been waiting for this very moment. Along the frame, intricate black rose engravings coiled like living vines. The grip settled into his hand like an old friend finally come home.
[Item Obtained: Smith & Wesson XVR 460 Magnum (Custom)]
He stared at it, something warm and dangerous curling in his chest. This wasn't a weapon. This was a promise.
[Note: Bullets not included. Exchange 1 Edit Point for 5 bullets.]
A quick glance told him he had 560 Edit Points banked. More than enough.
"Good," he muttered under his breath.
He spent 20 Edit Points, and in a shimmer of light, a stack of heavy, gleaming rounds appeared in his inventory. Each one radiated a weight, a promise of devastation in polished lead and steel. He pocketed them quickly, careful not to draw attention.
But it was already too late.
"Oi, Lupin!" came a voice, lazy but sharp. Marco, the First Division Commander, strolled over, pineapple hair catching the breeze. "What the hell is that beauty?"
Heads turned. Conversations stuttered to a halt. Eyes found him.
Thinking fast, Lupin slid the revolver into his holster, offering a lopsided grin. "Family heirloom," he said, voice easy. "Been in my bloodline for generations. Figured it was time I started carrying it proper."
A collective whistle rose from the crowd.
"Damn," Vista mused, leaning in, the sunlight catching the gleam of his twin swords. "Looks like it could drop a Sea King in a single shot."
"How's it shoot?" Jozu rumbled, arms crossed like twin boulders.
Lupin chuckled, drawing the revolver again for a casual spin. The weapon moved like it was an extension of his hand — perfectly balanced despite its massive frame. "Like a dream," he said. "Accurate, clean, and lethal at any range."
Marco grinned, stepping closer. "Mind if I—"
Before he could finish, Lupin tipped the revolver away, raising a hand. "Bad luck to let someone else handle a family piece."
Marco's brows lifted, but he laughed, hands up in mock surrender. "Fair enough. Still, that's a hell of a gun, old man. Didn't peg you for the sentimental type."
"I don't flaunt it," Lupin shrugged, playing it cool though he could feel his pulse in his throat.
From the great chair at the stern, a deep, rumbling laugh shook the deck.
"Gurararara! A fine weapon for one of my sons," Whitebeard boomed, raising his massive sake cup. "Keep it close, boy. A good weapon's a good friend — reliable when it matters most."
Lupin grinned, raising the revolver in a casual salute before holstering it again.
The afternoon swelled with curiosity and bets. Fossa swore the thing could punch a hole through a ship's hull. Rakuyo claimed it could outshoot cannon fire. The crew demanded a demonstration, and Lupin, grinning like a man with a loaded deck, obliged.
He fired a round over the starboard rail. The revolver kicked hard — a thunderclap splitting the air — and a geyser erupted where the bullet struck the water far out to sea.
A roar of approval rose behind him.
"Damn, you weren't kidding!" Fossa barked, clapping him on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth.
"Nothing without a steady hand," Lupin replied, letting a hint of modesty soften the pride rising in his chest.
As the evening bled into dusk and the sky burned red, the crew slipped back into old songs and dice games. Lupin ducked away to a quiet corner near the bow. He exchanged another 10 Edit Points for 50 more rounds, stashing them away with practiced hands. He knew better than to trust fortune's favor to last forever.
He glanced out at the horizon, the sun slipping beneath the waves like a coin tossed into the dark.
Another voice came, familiar and easy.
"Seriously, Lupin," Marco said, sauntering over with a fresh cup. "That gun's too damn cool. Kinda makes me jealous."
Lupin chuckled, taking the drink. "You've got the whole immortal phoenix thing going. Think you'll manage without a six-shooter."
Marco laughed, clinking their cups together. "Fair enough."
They drank. The sake was warm, sharp at the back of the throat, chased by salt and sea air. The kind of drink that marked good days and better nights.
And as the Moby Dick sailed on under a sky dusted with stars, Lupin stood at the rail — revolver at his hip, the weight of his strange second life a little lighter in his chest.
Whatever came next, he was ready.