Transitioning from the crushing depths of the Calm Belt to the gentle swells of the East Blue was like stepping into an entirely different world. Where the waters of the Grand Line churned with supernatural currents and impossible weather patterns, these seas maintained the kind of predictable calm that spoke to their reputation as the most peaceful of the four oceans.
Oboro was unable to pinpoint their exact location using conventional landmarks, but the dramatic change in sea conditions confirmed their successful crossing. The water here had an almost crystalline quality that turned the ocean into a living work of art, sapphire depths that caught and reflected sunlight in patterns that would have inspired poets in more civilized times.
After weeks of navigating waters where every wave could hide a Sea King or a supernatural weather phenomenon, the East Blue's gentle currents felt almost surreal in their normalcy.
"There's a ship," Dom observed, pointing to the southeastern horizon where a small black speck moved with lazy determination across the distant swells.
Even at maximum range, the ship's modest proportions were immediately apparent. A pirate flag fluttered from its single mast, the traditional skull and crossbones marking the crew's allegiance to the romantic ideals of maritime freedom. But everything about the ship's construction spoke of limited resources and inexperienced craftsmanship.
Dom found the sight genuinely amusing, though not without a touch of nostalgia for his own humble beginnings. If the pirates of the Grand Line represented battle-hardened graduates of the world's most rigorous naval academy, the crews of the Four Blues were enthusiastic college freshmen with dreams that could prove either glorious or tragically naive.
His enhanced vision allowed him to observe details that would have been invisible to the naked eye. The ship's armament consisted of perhaps half a dozen cannons, their crude construction suggesting local manufacture rather than professional military hardware. The sails bore patches that spoke of countless repairs, while the hull bore stress marks that indicated the ship was operating near its structural limits.
For younger pirates, newly committed to a life of adventure and rebellion, the purchase of even such a modest vessel represented a substantial investment. Most crews began their careers with what they could afford, upgrade, or steal from more successful predecessors. The romantic ideal of piracy rarely matched the economic realities of maintaining ships, feeding crews, and acquiring the weapons necessary to survive on hostile seas.
The ship in front of them probably did not even meet the minimum standards required to sail the Grand Line. The harsh environment of these legendary waters required reinforced hulls, specialized equipment, and navigational instruments that cost more than most novice crews could afford. A single storm on the Grand Line could reduce such a ship to driftwood in a matter of hours.
But this was the East Blue, a training ground for ambitious newcomers rather than a battlefield for seasoned veterans. The small-time pirates who operated here faced challenges commensurate with their experience and skill, allowing them to develop skills that might eventually lead them into more dangerous waters.
The distant ship had spotted the massive form of their Sea King and immediately changed course, its crew undoubtedly terrified of attracting the attention of such a legendary predator. Their panicked maneuvers would have been amusing under other circumstances.
"Hey, Captain... something's wrong," called a crew member aboard the pirate ship, his voice carrying clearly over the water despite the distance.
The young pirate held a battered telescope to his eye, studying the Sea King's unusual behavior with growing confusion. His tone carried the uncertainty of someone witnessing something that defied explanation.
"What is it?" the captain demanded, his own attention focused on navigating away from what he assumed was mortal danger.
As his subordinate's first observation reached the crew, relief washed over their faces like a physical wave. Sea Kings were legendary for their aggression and territoriality, and the fact that this one showed no interest in their tiny vessel suggested that they might escape unharmed.
"But... I think I saw two people standing in its mouth," the lookout continued hesitantly, his voice now carrying a note of bewilderment that caused his crewmates to exchange skeptical glances.
"What the hell are you talking about?" another pirate laughed nervously.
"Maybe some unlucky bastard got eaten?" suggested a third voice, though his tone was more hope than conviction.
"That's scary to think about," someone else added with a visible shudder. "This is supposed to be the East Blue, not the Grand Line. Meeting a Sea King out here is incredibly rare... and now you're spouting this crazy nonsense about people in its mouth?"
The lookout lowered his telescope in obvious frustration, struggling to convince his skeptical crewmates of what he'd seen. "I'm telling you, those two didn't get eaten! They were just... standing there. Looking right at us!"
"Are you still dreaming?" the captain snapped, striding over and delivering a sharp slap that brought his subordinate to his senses. "Get your head together!"
He turned to the rest of his crew with renewed authority. "Change course! We'll go around the whole area!"
But even as the pirates prepared to flee, their worst fears began to come true. The scattered crew suddenly huddled together in collective fear as they noticed something that made their blood run cold.
The originally scattered crew suddenly trembled as one.
The young pirate who had manned the telescope slowly lowered it, his face pale as death itself. In front of their bow, the previously blue seawater had darkened to an ominous black. Upon closer inspection, a massive shadow lurked beneath the surface, growing larger by the second.
"It's coming for us!" one of the pirates shouted, his voice cracking with primal fear. "The Sea King is attacking!"
Before the crew could descend into utter chaos, the ocean itself erupted around their tiny ship. Towering waves rose like liquid mountains, dwarfing their ship and turning it into a cork, bobbing helplessly in the supernatural waves. The wooden hull groaned under the tremendous force, threatening to splinter from the stress of forces beyond its design limits.
The Sea King's colossal head burst through the surface with earth-shattering force, its emergence displacing vast amounts of water that poured over the ship in torrents. The creature's massive form took up much of the visible sky, casting shadows that turned day into twilight as it loomed over the terrified humans and their fragile craft.
From their elevated perspective, its ancient eyes, each larger than their entire ship, studied the tiny intruders with an alien intelligence that spoke of eons of accumulated wisdom and predatory instinct.
Then, under the stunned and disbelieving gaze of every pirate aboard, the Sea King opened its cavernous maw to reveal two human figures standing calmly within its mouth. The sight defied every principle of natural law they understood; humans who should have been digested long ago instead stood with casual confidence, as if commanding such legendary creatures were the most natural thing in the world.
The pirates stared in speechless shock, their minds struggling to process what their eyes insisted was real. Everything they thought they knew about Sea Kings, about the natural order, about what was considered possible, crumbled in the face of this impossible revelation.
Before their oxygen-starved brains could return to normal, two distinct sounds of displaced air announced the launch of human projectiles. Oboro and Dom exploded from the maw of the Sea King with the force and precision of artillery shells, their legs propelling them forward with a force that made the air itself crack under the strain.
They arced through the sky like twin meteors, their forms silhouetted against the afternoon sun, before landing with a thunderous crash on the deck of the pirate ship. The tremendous force of their impact drove the ship's hull deep into the water, instantly stabilizing the wild rocking that had threatened to capsize it moments before.
Both men landed simultaneously, their feet striking the wooden planking with enough concentrated force to pulverize the deck boards beneath them. Splinters exploded outward in radiating patterns as the entire ship shook from the controlled force of their landing.
Absolute silence fell over the ship as each pirate struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the power that had just been casually demonstrated before their eyes. This level of physical prowess was beyond anything they had ever imagined, the stuff of legend made manifest in their humble reality.
The Sea King sank beneath the waves without a ripple, disappearing as if it had never existed, leaving only the impossible aftermath of its passengers' arrival.
"Where are we?" Oboro asked without preamble, his tone carrying the casual authority of someone accustomed to having questions answered immediately.
He fixed the pirate captain with a steady gaze that seemed to penetrate directly into the man's soul, making it clear that delay or evasion would not be tolerated. His entire bearing radiated the kind of focused intensity that marked apex predators, individuals for whom violence was always an option just below the surface of civilized interaction.
"Glass Bead Island," the captain managed to stammer, his throat working nervously as he struggled to maintain his composure. "We're on a route approaching Glass Bead Island."
His voice carried the tremor of someone who understood exactly how precarious his situation had become. These weren't ordinary pirates seeking passage or supplies; these were forces of nature disguised as men, and their casual display of power suggested that cooperation was his only viable survival strategy.
Glass Bead Island? Oboro frowned slightly, the name failing to trigger any recognition from his extensive knowledge of East Blue geography.
"Glass Bead Island is a popular vacation destination in the East Blue," the captain added quickly, desperate to provide useful information that might keep him alive. "It's also the headquarters of the high-end Hey Panda clothing brand."
His words painted a picture of a place focused on commerce and tourism rather than the kind of strategic importance that would attract military attention. Such civilian-oriented destinations offered certain advantages to individuals seeking to avoid unwanted scrutiny from government forces.
As the captain spoke, several crew members began to show obvious signs of recognition. Pupils dilated with shock, hands trembled with nervous energy, and more than one pirate reached for the newspapers they carried, publications whose front pages featured photographs that made their current situation horrifyingly clear.
One particularly observant crew member held up a newspaper whose prominent headline was accompanied by a crystal-clear image of Oboro's distinctive scarred features. The resemblance was unmistakable, and the implications of harboring such a notorious fugitive hit the entire crew like a physical blow.
Oboro placed his hands casually in his pockets and walked through the assembled pirates with the unhurried confidence of someone surveying his new domain. His movements carried no obvious threat, yet each step seemed to radiate potential violence, causing the armed criminals to instinctively step aside to clear his path.
Despite the pirate-dominated culture of their world, Oboro understood that other aspects of civilization continued to flourish wherever security and prosperity allowed. The East Blue's relative peace had fostered the kind of cultural and economic development that the Grand Line's constant warfare had made impossible. Fashion brands, resorts, entertainment industries, all were the fruits of stable societies that could afford to pursue beauty and comfort rather than mere survival.
Such civilian infrastructure offered unique opportunities for individuals who could navigate social systems as effectively as they could combat zones.
"Take us to Logue City," Oboro ordered, settling into a chair on the deck with the casual authority of someone claiming territory that was now his.
He crossed his fingers and fixed the captain with an expectant stare that brooked no argument or delay. The destination was both strategic and symbolic; the city where pirate king Gol D. Roger had met his end represented a crossroads where past and future intersected in ways that could reshape the world itself.
"Yes, sir!" the captain replied immediately, sweat pouring down his face despite the sea breeze that should have provided cooling relief.
His clothes clung to his back, soaked with the sweat of absolute terror. Even without knowledge of Oboro's recent activities, the casual display of superhuman abilities would have been enough to ensure full cooperation. But with the Godkiller's reputation preceding him, resistance wasn't even a theoretical possibility.
To most pirates operating in the Four Blues, each crew returning from the Grand Line represented legendary figures whose abilities bordered on the mythic. The gap in experience, training, and raw skill was so vast that comparisons became meaningless, like comparing children playing with wooden swords to master swordsmen wielding instruments of death.
Whoosh!
Without warning, Dom vanished from his position beside Oboro's chair, his enhanced speed carrying him across the deck in movements too quick for normal vision to follow. He appeared and disappeared like a phantom, his path taking him to every corner of the ship with supernatural efficiency.
The sound of steel cutting through flesh accompanied his ghostly journey as he systematically eliminated several pirates who had positioned themselves near the ship's railing. Their plans to jump overboard and swim to safety died with them, their throats opened by precise cuts that ended their lives before they could draw breath to scream.
In less than a minute, Dom materialized in his original position beside Oboro's chair, the Nichirin blade in his hand dripping crimson as evidence of his deadly efficiency. His expression remained coldly neutral, as if the elimination of several humans was merely routine maintenance rather than an act of calculated violence.
"Do nothing unnecessary," Dom warned the surviving pirates, his voice carrying the flat certainty of someone who had just demonstrated the consequences of poor decision-making.
The surviving crew members stared in horrified fascination at their dead companions, their minds struggling to process the preternatural speed and deadly precision they had just witnessed. Most hadn't even seen Dom move; one moment their crewmates were alive and planning their escape, the next they lay dead with wounds that spoke of surgical precision.
The level of skill required to perform such feats was beyond anything they had imagined. This wasn't just superior training or enhanced physical conditioning, this was something beyond the normal limits of human ability.
Several pirates collapsed to their knees, their legs unable to support their weight, as the full implications of their situation washed over them like a tidal wave of despair. The arrival of the Godkiller in the East Blue, aboard their humble vessel, meant that their quiet corner of the world was about to become the center of events that would reshape everything they understood about their reality.
If they could somehow escape and spread the word of this encounter, there might be hope for survival. But in the face of such overwhelming power, choice had been removed from the equation. They were passengers on a journey that would either take them to unprecedented heights or destroy them in the process.
The Captain's bladder involuntarily released, the smell of urine mixing with the salty air as his nervous system simply shut down under the weight of absolute terror. His legs collapsed beneath him, depositing him on the deck in a puddle of his own making as his mind struggled to maintain basic function.
This was the reality of encountering true power without the strength to resist or escape. The romantic ideals of piracy crumbled when faced with individuals who could rewrite the rules of engagement through sheer skill.
"I'm hungry," Oboro announced calmly, leaning back in his appropriated chair to enjoy the gentle eastern blue sunlight on his scarred features. "Bring me something to eat."
His tone carried the casual expectation of someone whose orders were always obeyed, regardless of circumstance or inconvenience. The surviving pirates scrambled to comply, their movements motivated by the understanding that any delay could lead to their joining their deceased crewmates.
As the improvised servants hurried to fulfill his request, Oboro allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The East Blue represented a new phase in their journey, a place where legends could be born and destinies could be forged through will and determination.
The game was about to begin in earnest, and the stakes had never been higher. But for the first time since escaping the Sabaody Archipelago, Oboro felt genuine optimism about their prospects for not only survival, but triumph.
The world was about to learn exactly what it meant when the Godkiller stopped running and started building something that could challenge the established order itself.