Robin handled all of Baroque Works' business operations, while Crocodile remained a shadowy figure pulling strings from behind the scenes. This organizational structure made her voice on the Den Den Mushi unsurprising; what impressed Oboro, despite the shock of his accurate identification, was her instant analytical ability.
There was no denying Robin's extraordinary intelligence, honed by years of survival as the world's most wanted child. Her life on the run had forged an extraordinary wisdom and adaptability, though her reaction revealed that she still lacked the absolute composure that true masters of deception possessed.
Simply hearing her real name had unsettled the Devil's Child enough to end their conversation abruptly. The vulnerability was understandable; Crocodile's protection amounted to little more than hiding her in plain sight with a false identity. If news of her location spread to the World Government, even his status as a warlord wouldn't protect him from their coercion. More likely, he would abandon Robin without hesitation to preserve his own position.
"What about Crocodile?" Dom asked, glancing in the direction of the abandoned Den Mushi.
"We'll see," Oboro replied casually, tossing the communication device aside as he returned to his meal.
He had no particular interest in either Crocodile or Robin, though he understood their potential value. While Robin could interpret the poneglyphs and lead them to the legendary treasure, such goals held no appeal for him. His ambitions went beyond mere wealth or fame; he wanted to overthrow the Celestial Dragons' hegemony, eliminate as many of these parasites as possible, and plunge their corrupt world into chaos.
From that perspective, Robin did not meet his criteria for crew recruitment. This encounter with Baroque Works was purely coincidental, a byproduct of circumstance rather than deliberate planning.
Oboro found a detailed map among the Slick Pirates' navigational materials and studied their current position relative to the established routes. Bona Island lay in the first half of the Grand Line, upstream from Little Garden and downstream from Alabasta's Kingdom, though not on the same horizontal trajectory. Following the normal shipping lanes would eventually lead them to Reverse Mountain, exactly where the World Government would expect them to appear.
"Let's go," he announced after scanning several recent newspapers for news of global developments.
With their immediate objectives accomplished, there was no reason to linger. The Navy's pursuit remained a constant threat, though their Sea King transport offered advantages that conventional forces couldn't match.
"Boss... someone's here," Dom warned as they emerged from the luxurious headquarters building.
Oboro spotted the lone figure standing in the middle of the deserted street. At this hour, with the entire town evacuated, only someone with a death wish or nothing to lose would remain.
It was the old miner they had encountered earlier.
Wearing his tattered work clothes like a uniform, the old man sat cross-legged on the cobblestones with the casual indifference of someone who had made peace with his fate. His weathered features studied Oboro with unmistakable fascination, as if examining a particularly rare specimen.
"Something on your mind?" Oboro asked, though the answer was obvious.
With his identity exposed and the Slick Pirates eliminated, the old man's presence here spoke more of resignation than hope. Bona Island's fate was sealed, the World Government would soon arrive, and this remote outpost would likely disappear from all navigational charts.
"I have sailed these seas most of my life," the old man began, his voice carrying the weight of accumulated experience. "This is the first time I've seen anyone with the courage to kill a Celestial Dragon! When you two first arrived, I thought you were just another pair of naive youngsters from the outer seas. I never imagined that you would actually eliminate the Slick Pirates..."
He looked at Oboro with the mixture of awe and professional respect that one veteran had for another, and chuckled softly as he continued. "But the Slick Pirates were small fry in the grand scheme of things. Now they've interfered with Crocodile's business..."
The old man shook his head in rueful amusement and pulled out a cigarette he'd obviously scavenged from the abandoned city. "Forget it, words won't change anything at this point. You might not make it out alive this time. This place isn't far from a Marine branch directly under the command of Headquarters. Calculating their sailing speed... they should arrive within the hour."
He lit the cigarette with practiced movements and took a deep drag before giving his estimate. "In other words, you have maybe sixty minutes to reach open water and break through the encirclement they've prepared."
"Enjoying our predicament?" Oboro raised an eyebrow at the old man's matter-of-fact tone.
"Hardly," came the reply through exhaled smoke. "I was once a pirate myself. I came to see you because it would be a waste for someone like you to die in this backwater."
The old man rose slowly, his joints protesting decades of hard labor. "Come. I know these waters well, there's a relatively secret route through some treacherous seas. The area is full of hidden undercurrents and unpredictable weather patterns. This is, after all, the Grand Line, where strange things happen all the time. If you want to have any chance of survival, you'll have to rely on a combination of luck and skill. The key is to reach the Zone quickly. Whether you escape afterwards... well, I won't make promises I can't keep."
Dom was about to laugh at the seemingly misplaced confidence, but Oboro's gesture cut him off. Both men fell in step behind their unlikely guide as he led them away from downtown.
"Why are you helping us?" Oboro asked, keeping up with the old man's steady pace.
"Well... if you need a reason, there's something familiar about you."
"What kind of familiarity?"
"The aura of a real powerhouse. A real force on these seas."
The old man's answer contained decades of hard-won wisdom. "I have encountered countless pirates in my career. Some appear formidable, but have a weak core. Others rise overnight, making headlines across the oceans, only to fall just as quickly. Not everyone is built to stand on these waters for years. Surviving longer than your enemies is a skill in itself. Your escape from the Sabaody Archipelago proves that you have something extraordinary. But what I really admire is your courage."
His weathered features grew more serious as he continued. "Attacking celestial dragons directly... that's a concept even the Four Emperors wouldn't consider lightly, if at all."
"You've met the Four Emperors?" Oboro caught the implication in his words.
"Indeed. Edward Newgate, Whitebeard himself. Since you recognize Crocodile's influence, you've probably guessed my background. I once served under him, though "partner" would be too generous a description. To him, we were expendable minions. I witnessed his battle with Whitebeard firsthand, saw what the strongest man in the world truly represents.
The old man's expression grew distant with the memory. "After our crew disbanded, I returned here and became the town's unofficial mayor, helping Crocodile make a profit from the island's operations. But eventually things changed. He became more ruthless, more demanding. We had... philosophical disagreements about acceptable methods. The result is what you saw."
"Why didn't you leave?" Dom interjected, his curiosity overcoming his caution.
"Heh... I'm old. This place is my home." There was no bitterness in the old man's smile, only acceptance. "Fallen leaves return to their roots. Even if I die, it will be here."
"Don't you resent us?" Oboro asked with genuine interest. "If we hadn't come, this island might have survived."
"Look at the lords of these seas," the old man replied philosophically. "Before they became great, they all did something earth-shattering that made their names in history. From the perspective of destiny, the involvement of an unknown island is relatively insignificant. Besides, as a weak person, I have no right to complain. The day I chose piracy, I accepted that only absolute strength provides the power to change circumstances."
He laughed at himself before continuing. "Hating you serves no purpose. Could it change anything? But don't get overconfident, you have the 'traces' of power, but you're still far from the likes of Whitebeard or Crocodile. When you reach the New World, you'll understand what I mean. There are a lot of people like you. You're just more... unique than most. Right now, you're a fugitive whose life is hanging by a thread. One day, you may become a major player, but not yet."
The old man paused, studying Oboro's expression carefully. "I wanted to see how you would react to the full attention of the World Government. Had your eyes shown fear or panic, I would have offered no assistance.
After navigating several winding paths, the old man led them to a secluded beach. Hidden in a nondescript cave among the rocks was a small ship covered in black canvas.
"Take it," he said, pulling a detailed map from his jacket.
Oboro made no move to accept the map, but fixed the old man with an appraising look. "Interested in a wager?"
"What kind of bet?" The old man snorted with amusement.
"You said I could be a great man one day. Want to board my ship? Think of it as an investment opportunity."
The invitation hung in the salt air between them.
"I no longer have that ambition," the old man replied with gentle finality.
"Pity." Oboro meant it, the old man possessed exactly the kind of practical wisdom and experience that separated successful crews from the countless failures that littered the ocean floors. One who had fought alongside Crocodile against Whitebeard and lived to tell the tale represented the pirate elite. Such veteran knowledge could prevent many costly mistakes.
Moreover, having an experienced elder on board would provide invaluable guidance through the political complexities of high-level piracy. But the offer was declined.
"What is your name?" Oboro asked as a last courtesy.
"Just a dying man. Does it matter?"
There was a peaceful resignation in the old man's smile.
"Fair enough."
Oboro nodded in understanding. The stranger's kindness confirmed something important about the nature of this world: its governing will could not control every character's choices. While influence existed, individual agency remained possible.
"Forget the boat," Oboro announced, turning to face the water. "I doubt we'll need it. Still, meeting you was... enlightening."
The old man stared in confusion as the two fugitives walked directly into the surf. Were they planning suicide instead of trying to escape? Logic completely eluded him.
Then the sea itself erupted.
A massive shadow rose from the depths, displacing vast amounts of water that crashed over the beach in towering waves. The Sea King that emerged dwarfed anything in the old man's vast experience, a living mountain of flesh and primal power whose very presence redefined its surroundings.
Its colossal jaws gaped open like the entrance to some primordial cathedral.
Under the old man's stunned gaze, Oboro and Dom swam the short distance to the creature's mouth and climbed in with casual familiarity. The beast waited patiently, as if obeying unspoken commands from its tiny passengers.
Oboro paused at the threshold and turned back to the tiny figure on the distant shore. For a moment, their eyes met across the vast expanse, predator acknowledging prey who had earned respect through wisdom rather than strength.
Then he disappeared into the maw of the Sea King, Dom following close behind.
The Leviathan sank beneath the waves without a ripple, leaving only the empty ocean where the impossible had become reality moments before.
"So this is it..." the old man whispered, finally understanding.
No wonder they didn't seem to care about the Navy's pursuit or conventional escape routes. No wonder Oboro had possessed such absolute confidence in seemingly hopeless circumstances. This wasn't just another powerful pirate, this was someone who possessed powers beyond normal comprehension.
A sudden laugh erupted from his weathered throat, echoing with manic intensity across the deserted beach. Suddenly, he regretted declining the invitation. This young man was not only a possibility for future greatness, he was inevitable.
What a shame he would not live to see that ascension.
But what a privilege to have met a legend in the making.