I splurged on the most expensive inn I could find because I was tired from the voyage, and my last experience with inns was not preferable.
While I know it goes against my monetary code and a complete disregard of my BargainingHiki, I just was not in the mood.
The "Golden Anchor" boasted rates that would make a high Marine officer weep, but at least the robbery came with clean sheets and a window that actually opened. Small victories in the grand theater of existence.
The room greeted me with the kind of understated luxury that whispered rather than shouted—polished wood floors, clean furniture that didn't creak ominously when touched, and a bed that looked like it might support human weight without collapsing in protest. I collapsed onto it anyway, testing the theory while my body registered the novel sensation of genuine comfort.
'This is what financial irresponsibility feels like. Not terrible, actually.'
The ceiling bore no water stains, cracks, or evidence of structural decay—a refreshing change from my previous accommodations. Instead, carved beams intersected in geometric patterns that probably had cultural significance I'd never understand. I stared at them for twenty minutes, waiting for my brain to shut down and grant me the mercy of temporary unconsciousness.
'However, even expensive rooms can't cure existential restlessness.'
Admitting defeat to my own inability to relax, I hauled myself upright and decided that exploring this maritime paradise might prove more productive than contemplating architectural details. The sun still hung high enough to suggest afternoon rather than evening, leaving plenty of daylight for discovering new ways to be depressed.
The inn's dining room operated on a different level than the usual dockside establishments. Actual tablecloths covered surfaces that weren't sticky with accumulated grime, while servers moved with practiced efficiency rather than sullen resignation. I ordered something the menu called "catch of the day," which arrived looking like food rather than oceanic roadkill.
'Amazing what happens when you pay three times the normal rate.'
The fish tasted like it had been swimming that morning rather than decomposing for weeks, seasoned with herbs that actually enhanced rather than masked the flavor.
Escaping the inn's refined atmosphere, I stepped into streets that struck me as remarkably... normal.
Not a maze of twisted alleys and architectural afterthoughts, but planned thoroughfares that actually connected to each other in logical patterns. Buildings stood upright without requiring mutual support, painted in colors that didn't assault the retinas.
From what I knew, this island is not exactly prosperous. But looks like it didn't mean its citizens wanted to live in a garbage dump.
The place radiated the kind of organized prosperity that came from competent governance and citizens who'd figured out that cooperation produced better results than chaos.
Clean streets, functional drainage, and street lamps that probably worked after dark.
'This is what happens when people actually plan instead of just hoping for the best.'
I wandered deeper into the commercial district, noting the absence of the usual decay that characterized open marketplaces.
No beggars camping in doorways, no shady criminal enterprises operating in broad daylight, no sense that violence might erupt at any moment over minor disagreements.
The open market sprawled across a central plaza with the organized chaos of genuine commerce rather than desperate survival. Vendors operated from proper stalls instead of improvised structures, their wares displayed with pride rather than defensive desperation. The atmosphere buzzed with the energy of people who expected to make an honest living rather than scrape by with some scamming tactics.
But what caught my attention wasn't the organization or prosperity—it was the sheer variety of seafood that defied my limited understanding of marine biology or life in general.
Stalls groaned under specimens that ranged from mouthwatering perfection to absolute aquatic nightmares, creatures that looked like they'd escaped from some abyssal sea.
The ocean really went all-out on the "bizarre diversity" front.
Normal-looking fish sat beside specimens sporting too many fins, eyes in improbable locations, and color schemes that probably served as warnings to potential predators.
Vendors displayed their catches with equal pride, whether they were selling something that looked like fine dining or something that resembled an ingredient in some black magic ritual.
I paused at a particularly well-stocked stall, studying creatures that challenged every assumption I'd made about aquatic life. The vendor, a cheerful woman whose weathered hands spoke of decades handling the sea's bounty, noticed my 'fascination'.
"First time seeing the Red Line catches?" she asked, her voice carrying the practiced enthusiasm of someone who'd explained the same thing countless times.
"The Red Line?"
'Yes, this sea region is close to the Red Line. But does it really have some connection?'
"Aye, currents from the great wall bring us species you won't find anywhere else in the Blues. Deep-water creatures, rare breeds, things that normally stay in the depths." She gestured proudly at her display of aquatic impossibilities.
"Some taste like heaven, some need a skillful cook, and some..." She shrugged. "Well, everything's food to someone."
'Philosophical fish vendor. The day keeps getting stranger, in a good way hopefully.'
A memory surfaced from my extensive reading—something about the Red Line affecting local ecosystems through current patterns and thermal gradients. The massive continental wall disrupted normal ocean circulation, creating upwelling zones that brought deep-sea species to accessible depths.
At least now I know why the fish look like they escaped from a nightmare.
The explanation made sense, though it didn't make the creatures any less unsettling. Mother Nature had clearly been experimenting with recreational substances when it designed some of these specimens.
I navigated through the crowd toward the financial district, where the banks and money exchangers' luxurious buildings served as some kind of sign.
The clerk, a middle-aged man whose mustache had achieved impressive proportions, weighed my pirate gold with the reverence of someone handling historical artifacts.
It made me wonder if this was their professional protocol or if it was just an act to make their job look legitimate.
'Everyone and their mother knows where did this gold came from, some even had dirt and questionable substances on them. And there are not many sources a man with weapons on him could get literal gold from the sea.'
Anyway, taking my money, I headed for my next objective.
Maps called to me from a well-organized cartographer's shop, where charts covered the walls in systematic and neat displays. The proprietor, a scholarly woman whose ink-stained fingers suggested extensive personal involvement in her craft, guided me toward regional references with professional expertise.
I selected current nautical charts, detailed guides to local waters, and historical texts that promised to explain the political and economic forces shaping the archipelago. Information was power, even when it revealed truths I'd rather not know.
The proprietor wrapped my purchases in oiled cloth with the care of someone who understood that information was valuable cargo. "Planning extended travel?" she asked, making conversation while calculating my total.
"Hm? Y-Yeah, I will likely be hopping around for a while."
'A bit sudden of a question, don't you think?'
"These waters can be challenging. Currents change seasonally, and some of the smaller islands aren't well documented." She tapped one of the charts. "Local knowledge saves lives out here."
'Local knowledge and basic competence, neither of which I can guarantee, but I will take what I have.'
The return journey to the inn felt shorter than the outbound exploration, weighted down as I was with purchases and the growing certainty that my evening was about to become exponentially more complicated.
My room welcomed me back with the same expensive comfort it had offered earlier—at least consistency came included in the premium rates.
I spread the new maps across the polished table, their edges overlapping like puzzle pieces designed by someone who actually wanted them to fit together properly. The Sparrow Compass emerged from my bag. I placed it carefully on the map, centered over this island's position, and watched the needle swing toward my current target.
'Let me be wrong, please.'
For the last few days, I'd checked the Devil Fruit's position regularly. The coordinates were changing unpredictably, or not exactly where I guessed they should be. Looking at it now again after having a good reference,
'Oh, you've got to be kidding me.'
My hypothesis was becoming more and more assured.
I checked the compass calibration, verified the map alignment, and tested the reading again. The needle settled on a bearing that definitely wasn't where it had been yesterday, or the day before, or any day since I'd started tracking this particular prize.
"This Devil Fruit is moving. Of course it is."
My jaw clenched as the implications cascaded through my mind like dominoes arranged by someone with a sick sense of humor.
Someone had found it. Someone was transporting it. Someone was probably planning to use it, sell it, or otherwise complicate my existence in ways I should have anticipated but had foolishly hoped to avoid.
'Because nothing in my life is ever straightforward.'
I have written it off as a loss immediately, and demonstrated the basic pattern recognition that separated functional people from stubborn idiots who refused to accept when situations exceeded reasonable effort thresholds, and turned my focus on targets that didn't require chasing mobile objectives across hostile waters.
Instead, I checked the compass readings for the next closest Devil Fruit.
The second target lay further out, roughly in the same direction as the first but separated by enough distance to guarantee extended travel time.
"Tsk!"
And close enough that investigating the mobile fruit wouldn't completely derail my plans, but far enough to transform a simple retrieval mission into a maritime odyssey of indeterminate duration.
'This world really does have a twisted sense of humor.'
I spent the next three hours tracking the moving target, mapping its probable course against my new charts and calculating arrival times with the grim determination of someone who knew he was making a mistake but couldn't stop himself.
The ship carrying my prize would reach one of several islands in the Gecko region within the next two and a half days, assuming they maintained current speed and didn't alter course specifically to spite me.
If I left immediately and pushed my vessel to maximum speed, I could reach the target island around the same time as my quarry.
'If I wait until morning, they would maybe voyage the sea again before I reach the island, turning this into a sea chase, or maybe they would eat it and I would lose the opportunity.'
The choice boiled down to uncomfortable urgency versus comfortable failure.
I stared at the maps for another fifteen minutes, searching for alternatives that didn't exist and hoping for inspiration that refused to come. The compass needle held steady, pointing toward complications I didn't want and problems I couldn't solve from the comfort of an expensive inn room.
'Procrastination won't get me home.'
"Sigh…"
My belongings fit back into my pack with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd learned to travel light and expect loneliness as a constant companion. The innkeeper's expression when I appeared at his desk perfectly captured the universal look of a businessman watching profits walk out the door.
'I kind of liked this feeling!'
"Checking out so soon?" His voice carried the particular dismay of someone whose premium rates were supposed to encourage extended stays. "I trust everything was satisfactory?"
"The room was perfect. Business elsewhere calls with unfortunate timing."
"But you've barely been here six hours—"
"And now I'm leaving. The unpredictable nature of commerce and travel, supply chains disrupted by unforeseen circumstances, entropy asserting its dominance over optimistic planning." I placed payment on his polished counter. "Keep the change as compensation for the philosophical education."
At least expensive luxury comes with better customer service.
He protested as I walked away, but his words dissolved into the background noise of a world determined to question every decision I made.
Outside, the evening air carried promises of salt spray and regret over wasted money, two things I'd grown accustomed to and plan to change.
The port at night maintained the same organized efficiency as the rest of the city. Well-lit walkways, clearly marked berths, security personnel who looked like they might actually respond to problems rather than create them. Even the late shift operated with professional competence.
A few sailors moved between vessels, checking lines and conducting the routine maintenance that kept ships seaworthy. Night-shift personnel patrolled with the relaxed alertness of people who expected minimal trouble and were prepared to handle whatever arose.
I found a shadowed corner between two warehouses, far enough from foot traffic to avoid awkward questions about the bottle I withdrew from my bag.
My Barbossa Sword hummed as I used it's edge to break the bottle and threw it into the sea.
Moments later, the fishing boat popped out of the water with a grand splash. One moment, I stared at empty space, the next I stood in front of a seaworthy transportation that had no business existing according to any rational understanding from my previous world.
No matter how many times I witness this transformation, the process will always strike me as fundamentally absurd.
I clambered aboard with the practiced awkwardness of someone who'd spent too much time pretending to be a sailor. The Barbossa Sword connected with the ship's entire hull through processes I'd abandoned trying to understand.
The boat responded to my will with the eager efficiency of a creature returning to its natural element, slicing through harbor waters while I contemplated the series of poor decisions that had led to this moment.
Behind us, the well-organized port dwindled to a collection of lights against the darkness.
'Comfortable refuge abandoned for uncertain complications.'
The Barbossa Sword thrummed with power as I pushed our speed higher, spray cascading over the bow in sheets of liquid starlight. The compass needle held steady, pointing toward complications that grew more inevitable with every meter we covered.
…
A/N: This is a short Chapter before the final act of this Arc.
This Arc as a whole is a training/introduction Arc, so I know it feels a bit slow (Training Arcs are always like that), but it will end soon.
Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this one!
Have a nice day!
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