"How long have we been gone?"
The sun had gradually set, and Larson, walking at the front, came to a halt.
"I don't know, but it should be there within a few hours," Rayleigh replied.
Larson said: "Let's fix it first."
The group obeyed and stopped to rest where they stood.
"Larson, why did you stop?"
Whitebeard approached, frowning.
In his mind, shouldn't they press forward as fast as possible? Wasn't this a waste of time?
Although they had been running for hours, this level of exertion was nothing to people like them. It wasn't even worth mentioning.
For powerful figures like Whitebeard and Roger, battles could stretch on for days and nights. Covering a short distance by foot was trivial by comparison, so Whitebeard found it hard to understand why Larson wanted to stop.
Larson replied simply: "We won't fall behind."
Whitebeard said nothing in response and walked off to find Roger.
"Did you notice anything?" Rayleigh asked as he approached Larson. Having traveled with Larson for some time, Rayleigh knew he wouldn't stop without good reason.
Larson shook his head. "I don't think it's too late yet. We've been running long enough that we should have already cleared the outskirts of the forest. Every step now brings us deeper toward its center. But don't forget—what did we encounter outside the forest? Those creatures we faced on the outskirts were likely the weakest ones here. There could be far more dangerous things waiting ahead, things more difficult to deal with."
Pausing for a moment, Larson looked around, then continued, "It won't hurt to take our time, stop when needed, and observe more carefully."
Rayleigh nodded in understanding. "Alright, I'll handle the scouting then."
"No need," Larson said, shaking his head.
Rayleigh raised an eyebrow, confused. "What do you mean?"
"We don't have to go anywhere. If there's real danger, it'll come to us on its own," Larson replied.
He looked up at the darkening sky, letting out a soft sigh.
More people had gathered on Yerug Island than he initially anticipated.
Along the way, they had encountered numerous pirate crews—some of whom were still alive, others torn apart by the beasts lurking in the wild.
None of the pirates they met were particularly strong, though.
The most absurd part was when one crew foolishly launched an attack on Larson's group, unaware of who they were dealing with. Unsurprisingly, the result was a swift defeat—just one outcome possible in such a situation.
These encounters hadn't slowed their pace, but the frequency of meeting others along the road left Larson somewhat surprised.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby.
The team instinctively turned toward their two captains, Whitebeard and Roger, for guidance. Both captains, in turn, looked toward Larson.
Larson raised a hand, signaling everyone to stay still. He then glanced at Marco, giving him a subtle nod.
Marco understood. Rising to his feet, he silently made his way toward the approaching sounds alone.
The footsteps grew louder, and whoever it was clearly hadn't noticed Larson's group.
Taking a deep breath, Marco ducked into the dense foliage. Moments later, sounds of panic erupted from the jungle, followed by several terrified screams, which soon faded into silence.
After a brief moment, Marco emerged from the brush. There were bloodstains on him, but none of the blood was his own.
"How did it go?" Shanks asked curiously.
"Handled," Marco replied with a raised brow, his expression neutral.
The only ones paying him any attention were Shanks and Buggy. The others passed by without sparing him a second glance.
Annoyed, Marco scoffed, "Hey, I took them down all by myself."
"Good work, Captain," Larson said encouragingly as he walked past.
Marco grinned smugly. "Hmph! That's more like it."
The group pushed aside the dense foliage and stepped into the clearing beyond. What lay before them was a grim sight.
Dozens of pirates lay sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain, clutching various injuries. Blood trickled from some of them, though none seemed fatally wounded.
"Looks like they were just small-time pirates," Rayleigh remarked casually.
Everyone agreed. If Marco had taken them down so easily, they were nothing more than ordinary pirates.
"Don't worry about them. Let's all rest for a while, and then we'll move out," Larson said calmly.
Just as everyone was preparing to leave, Larson's expression changed. His eyes widened as if he had discovered something unsettling.
"Wait a moment!"
His gaze locked onto the pirates lying unconscious on the ground. His pupils trembled slightly, and a look of disbelief crept across his face.
"Have you noticed... we've seen them somewhere before?"
Everyone froze in place.
Roger stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, they do seem familiar. But I can't place where exactly we've seen them."
The others exchanged glances, feeling the same eerie sense of familiarity. The fallen pirates gave off a strange impression as if they weren't strangers, but no one could immediately pinpoint why.
Larson inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm as he pushed away a creeping sense of dread. "Take a good look. Don't they look exactly like the pirates we saw killed by those wild beasts an hour ago?"
The group went silent. Shock washed over their faces.
They immediately began comparing the memory of the dead pirates from before with the ones lying here now. Their eyes widened in disbelief—it was undeniable.
It wasn't just a vague resemblance. The pirates lying on the ground now were exact duplicates of the ones they had seen mutilated earlier.
"Hiss..."
Someone sharply sucked in a breath. The wind suddenly howled through the forest, making the already tense atmosphere even more unsettling.
The realization left everyone uneasy.
"Larson, what the hell is going on?" Gaban asked, his voice trembling slightly. Even he, usually calm and collected, felt unnerved.
A group of people they had already seen dead had somehow appeared alive in front of them. It defied all reason.
Whitebeard frowned deeply, his grip tightening on his naginata. The eerie situation put him on edge, though he said nothing. His eyes narrowed, already prepared for a fight if necessary.
Roger crossed his arms, lost in thought, his expression unreadable.
"Could it be... a Devil Fruit?" Rayleigh asked, his voice low and cautious.
In a world where Devil Fruits granted powers beyond logic, that was the only explanation that made any sense—at least, for now.
"I don't know," Larson muttered, rubbing his temples as if to dispel the tension building behind his eyes. "This is the first time I've seen anything like this. And we're on Yerug Island—who knows what other strange things might be at play here."
The silence that followed weighed heavily on the group.
"How about... we withdraw for now?" Marco suggested, cautiously breaking the silence.
His tone was tentative, almost pleading. Even he—fearless in battle—felt the unease creeping into his bones.
The idea of retreating from an unknown threat, rather than pressing forward, didn't seem cowardly—it felt like survival.