From the starting point of the first half of the Grand Line to the Sabaody Archipelago and Fishman Island, seven different routes carved their way through treacherous waters. Each offered its own unique challenges, mysteries, and dangers to those brave or foolish enough to navigate them.
The Straw Hat Pirates had chosen the middle path on their legendary journey, but that knowledge was of little comfort to the two fugitives who now found themselves in the most precarious situation imaginable.
Facing relentless pursuit by both the World Government and the Naval Forces, Oboro and Dom had remained hidden in the protective belly of their Sea King transport for nearly a month. They hadn't dared to surface until they approached the treacherous waters of the Calm Belt, where even the most determined pursuit vessels would hesitate to follow.
When their massive host finally broke the surface and opened its cavernous maw to release them onto solid ground, both men felt as if they were being reborn into a world that had undoubtedly changed in their absence.
Oboro had deliberately avoided the obvious escape route through Reverse Mountain. That legendary gateway between the seas would surely be heavily fortified by now, swarming with marines and possibly even an admiral lying in wait. To approach such an obvious chokepoint would be suicide.
Instead, his strategy centered on reaching the East Blue through the Calm Belt that bordered the first half of the Grand Line, then crossing the Red Earth Continent to enter the North Blue. It was a circuitous route that would take considerably longer than the conventional passage, but it offered their best chance of avoiding the dragnet that had undoubtedly been cast over every major shipping lane.
The North Blue's location, adjacent to the calm belt of the New World, made direct travel extremely dangerous. Fishman Island, the traditional gateway to the second half of the Grand Line, would now be under constant surveillance. Even if they somehow managed to reach it undetected, entering the New World would only invite the attention of the Four Emperors themselves.
Geography worked against them in ways most refugees never had to consider. The world's oceans were divided into four distinct seas by the Red Earth Continent and the Grand Line itself. Only the East Blue and the South Blue connected to the Calm Belt of the first half, which meant that to reach the West Blue or the North Blue, one either had to pass through heavily guarded government territory or take routes that were simply beyond their current capabilities.
Of course, World Government and Marine ships enjoyed special privileges that allowed them to cross these barriers at will, but such luxuries were hardly available to the most wanted criminals in recent history.
After breathing fresh air for what felt like the first time in ages, both men felt a profound sense of renewal. The salt spray on their faces and the feeling of solid ground beneath their feet served as a powerful reminder that, despite the overwhelming odds against them, they were indeed still alive.
Oboro scanned the surrounding waters with heightened perception, confirming that no warships or pirate vessels were lurking nearby, before signaling her Sea King companion to depart. What had initially appeared to be an uninhabited patch of land now showed signs of human habitation.
"There's a settlement," Oboro observed, pointing to structures visible in the island's interior.
The area designated as the Grand Line appeared deceptively small on most maps, but the reality was far more expansive than the cartographers could adequately depict. The islands and places marked along the seven established routes were generally either exceptionally large, politically significant, or had some other notable characteristic that warranted inclusion. Countless smaller islands like this one existed in the spaces in between, too numerous and insignificant to merit detailed documentation.
Their current location near the Calm Belt meant that normal shipping traffic was minimal. Most of Oboro's geographical knowledge came from following the adventures of the Straw Hat Pirates along the central route, so this area was largely unfamiliar territory. The same limitation applied to Dom, whose previous experience with the Flame Dragon Pirates had focused on the Sixth Route, which was far from their current location.
They needed to reach the settlement to gather information and determine their exact position. After nearly a month hidden beneath the waves, the outside world had undoubtedly changed in ways they could hardly imagine. The death of a Celestial Dragon would have sent shockwaves through every level of society, and understanding those reverberations was crucial to their survival.
"Let's go," Oboro decided, discarding his salt-stained clothes and fashioning a crude disguise that served primarily to hide his distinctive scarred features.
Dom followed suit, hiding his own transformed appearance with equal care.
As they approached the center of the island, there were clear signs of systematic deforestation. The lack of tree cover explained why the distant buildings were visible from the shore; what should have been dense tropical forest was reduced to scattered stumps and thick grass growing over the devastation.
The climate near the Calm Belt favored rapid vegetation growth, making the thorough removal of mature trees all the more striking. Someone had gone to great lengths to harvest every stick of wood this island could provide, leaving only the stubble of what had once been a thriving ecosystem.
Less than a kilometer inland, they encountered the first inhabitants along a well-worn path. Most were shirtless laborers wielding pickaxes, their backs glistening with sweat as they dug deep into the earth. Women and children struggled under the weight of ore-filled baskets, their faces etched with exhaustion and resignation.
Mining on this scale suggested either desperate poverty or external coercion, possibly both.
What immediately caught Oboro's attention was the armed figure supervising the workers. The man's bearing, weapons, and general demeanor unmistakably marked him as a pirate rather than a legitimate overseer.
"Wait," the pirate shouted, his expression changing from boredom to suspicion as he noticed two unfamiliar faces approaching his work detail.
Before the man could finish his challenge, Dom moved with preternatural speed, leaving only afterimages in his wake. The Nichirin blade whispered through the air, opening the pirate's throat in a single, precise cut that ended his life before he could draw breath to scream.
The gathered workers paled at the sudden violence, huddling together defensively, protecting their women and children behind the shields of the men's bodies.
"Boss," Dom said quietly, nudging the body with his foot as he pointed to the distinctive emblem that adorned the dead man's clothing.
The pirate flag featured a white skull with twin snakes protruding from its eye sockets, a design that spoke of both menace and a certain creative flair.
Oboro conducted a brief interrogation of the frightened workers, his questions met with trembling but honest responses. Their answers painted a picture that was both familiar and disturbing.
This was Bona Island, named for the town that served as its only significant settlement. In the years since the Grand Line routes had been established and pirate activity had skyrocketed, Bona Island had changed hands among various criminal organizations. Previous occupiers had been content to collect modest protection fees and operate entertainment venues that provided a steady income without destroying the local economy.
Residents had grown accustomed to such arrangements, accepting them as preferable to the alternatives that awaited unprotected islands in these dangerous waters.
But everything changed with the arrival of the Slick Pirates.
The name "Slick" refers to a particularly poisonous type of snake, which proved prophetic given their behavior since claiming the island. They had slaughtered the previous group of pirates and immediately begun intensive resource extraction, far beyond sustainable levels. Systematic deforestation was just the beginning; now they had moved on to strip mining, which threatened to hollow out the island completely.
Bona Island had never been known for its mineral wealth. Its primary value has always been its lush forests and strategic location as a supply point for ships traveling the First Route. The current exploitation represented short-term thinking that would ultimately destroy the island's long-term viability.
"Slick Pirates? Never heard of them," Dom admitted with a shake of his head.
His experience in the first half of the Grand Line was considerable, but the route system meant that information about distant areas remained fragmentary at best. The Flame Dragon Pirates had operated at a level that provided access to only the most general information about other organizations.
"But groups like this are everywhere," he added grimly. "Pirates need money to survive, and exploitation is often the easiest way to make a quick profit."
His own former crew had engaged in similar activities when circumstances demanded. The romantic ideals of piracy rarely survived contact with the practical necessities of feeding a crew and maintaining a ship.
What puzzled Dom was how such a small organization had managed to maintain control of an island for any length of time. Even remote locations like Bona Island usually attracted the attention of more powerful groups looking to expand their territory. The reputation of the Grand Line attracted ambitious pirates who rarely hesitated to eliminate weaker competitors.
The lack of naval intervention was equally suspicious. While individual islands might escape official notice for months at a time, systematic resource extraction on this scale should have triggered some form of government response.
"This area is restricted for mining operations," one of the workers explained when questioned. "The Slick Pirates forbid all outsiders to come here. You've landed in the wrong place, there's a small dock on the other side of the island where legitimate ships are supposed to arrive. Visitors are then escorted to Bona Town, which has still managed to maintain some basic services. Taverns, gambling houses, weapons suppliers, the usual infrastructure that keeps pirates happy."
"What's their captain's name, and what's his bounty?" Dom interjected. "If they've held this place this long, it must be formidable."
"Before their patrol finds you missing," an older voice interrupted coldly, "you'd better leave."
Oboro located the speaker, a man in his sixties whose bearing suggested extensive experience with violence and danger. Unlike the other villagers, he showed no fear of the strangers who had just killed one of their oppressors.
"No matter who you are or where you come from," the old man continued, "this group of pirates is not something you can afford to challenge."
"Oh? And why is that?" Oboro asked with genuine curiosity.
Both Dom and Oboro had no memory of the Slick Pirates, which suggested that they were relatively insignificant in the grand scheme of Grand Line politics. Still, there was something about the old man's warning that mere caution could not explain.
"The fact that the Slick Pirates have established themselves in the first half of the Grand Line, completely taken over our home, conducted large-scale resource extraction, and operated various businesses without interference should tell you all you need to know," the old man replied evenly.
His composure under pressure marked him as someone who had weathered many storms. Perhaps he had been a pirate himself in his younger days, which would explain his ability to read dangerous situations with such clarity.
"They have support," Oboro stated rather than asking.
The old man remained silent, but his expression confirmed the assessment.
"From whom?"
"That's not information I share with strangers."
"One of the Seven Warlords?" Oboro suggested with calculated nonchalance.
The old man's reaction, a slight narrowing of his eyes and an almost imperceptible stiffening of his posture, provided all the confirmation he needed.
"Let me think," Oboro mused aloud, enjoying the intellectual puzzle. "Given our approximate position on the Grand Line and the nature of these operations, most of the warlords can be eliminated as possibilities. They either have no interest in such small-scale resource extraction or have more profitable enterprises elsewhere..."
As Oboro spoke, the old man's pupils dilated with each accurate deduction, his composed facade beginning to crack under the weight of revelations that should have been impossible for a stranger to know.
"Combined with his current circumstances and his well-documented thirst for capital..." Oboro went on with predatory satisfaction.
"You know far too much about classified information," the old man said slowly, his voice carrying notes of both respect and caution. "Details of its operations rarely leak beyond a very small circle. It seems your identity is anything but ordinary."
Oboro smiled with dark amusement as the pieces fell into place.
The silence of the old man spoke volumes.
Sir Crocodile. The desert king himself.
How intriguing. They had just escaped a conflict with one Sea Warlord, only to stumble directly into territory controlled by another. The irony was almost poetic in its perfection.
But unlike their previous encounter with Doflamingo's organization, this situation presented entirely different opportunities and challenges. Crocodile's methods, motivations, and ultimate goals followed patterns that Oboro understood with crystalline clarity.
The game was about to get a lot more interesting.