The place of execution maintained its perpetual guard of marines, though their numbers were kept deliberately sparse. Regular patrols swept the area with practiced efficiency, knowing that any pirate foolish enough to set foot in Logue Town would inevitably be drawn to this place like moths to a flame.
Roger's last moments had transformed this simple wooden structure into something far more significant, a symbol calling to every soul that dared dream of freedom on the high seas. The Marines understood this magnetic pull all too well, which explained their constant vigilance despite the seemingly casual nature of their mission.
Climbing onto the execution platform was strictly forbidden. When Oboro's elegant form appeared on the weathered wood, he instantly became the focus of every eye in the square.
"Who is he?" whispered voices from the gathering crowd.
"How did he get up there? Did anyone see him climb?"
"Mama, look! Someone is standing where the pirate king died!"
Passersby, who had been meandering through the square in small groups or walking alone, suddenly stopped, their conversations fading as they craned their necks upward. Children pointed with wide-eyed fascination at the mysterious figure silhouetted against the afternoon sky.
"Must be another pirate," someone muttered with familiar disdain. "Only pirates are stupid enough to pull stunts like this."
"I don't know," another voice countered thoughtfully. "He's dressed like a proper gentleman, expensive suit, fancy hat. Can't see his face clearly from down here, but he doesn't look like the usual rabble."
As the discussion grew louder and more animated, Oboro remained motionless on the platform, showing no intention of coming down. The crowd's curiosity turned to anticipation, then concern as the precious minutes ticked away.
Soon, two Marines stationed at the perimeter of the square heard the commotion and came running, sweat beading on their faces as they pushed through the thickening crowd.
"Hey! You up there!" a soldier yelled, his voice carrying the authority of his uniform. "Come down at once!"
Oboro's silhouette cut a striking figure in the brilliant sunlight. Upon hearing the command, he stepped forward with deliberate grace, stepping directly into the empty air. His body began to fall in a perfect vertical line, the sight sending gasps of horror through the assembled crowd.
One woman covered her mouth and barely held back a scream. The height of the execution platform was no joke; any ordinary person attempting such a leap would suffer at least broken bones, more likely death upon impact with the unforgiving stone below.
But as the elegantly dressed gentleman plummeted to his doom, something extraordinary happened. Just before his feet would have struck the cobblestones with bone-crushing force, his descent became featherlight. No sickening thud echoed through the square. Instead, he landed with the casual ease of someone stepping off a low curb, his polished shoes hitting the stone surface with barely a whisper.
The landing looked as natural as walking down a single flight of stairs.
Incredible.
"You..." the Marine soldier began, his training fighting his disbelief.
Ordinary citizens did not casually violate Marine regulations, which meant that the stranger before him was almost certainly a pirate. The effortless display of superhuman skill only reinforced that assessment. The soldier's hand instinctively moved to his weapon.
But the moment he opened his mouth to continue his challenge, his entire body froze. Muscles locked, voice trapped in his throat, consciousness still perfectly clear but utterly incapable of responding to his desperate mental commands.
To any observer in the square, Oboro had simply nodded politely at the soldier, tipped his gentleman's hat with practiced courtesy, and walked past without incident. The Marine officer seemed to accept the gesture, allowing the well-dressed stranger to pass unimpeded.
Knovody saw nothing out of the ordinary in the exchange.
The assembled crowd began to disperse, their brief entertainment over. The second Marine who had accompanied the first was similarly "frozen," unable to call for reinforcements or sound the alarm.
Thus, Oboro and his two companions left the square without further interference.
After their departure, two female Marine officers in civilian clothes passed through the area, laden with bags from their supply run.
One wore distinctive red-rimmed glasses and carried a katana at her side with the easy familiarity of long practice.
"Hey, Tashigi..." the other woman frowned, her instincts tingling with unease. "Something seems wrong here."
She had noticed the lingering conversations among passersby, fragments of discussion that painted a picture of recent excitement. The crowd's dispersal pattern and animated gestures suggested that they had just witnessed something significant in the center of the square.
After pausing to eavesdrop on several conversations, they pieced together that someone had climbed onto the execution platform.
Such incidents weren't uncommon; pirates and glory seekers regularly tried to claim their moment atop Roger's final stage. Usually, these episodes ended in arrest and brief imprisonment.
They had ventured out to purchase essential supplies for their unit. Originally, Tashigi should have accompanied Captain Smoker on active patrol duty, especially in light of recent intelligence suggesting that the God Slayer might be heading for the East Blue. Logue Town had been placed on high alert, every available resource mobilized for what could be the most significant operation in the city's recent history.
But Smoker's notoriously difficult personality had resulted in Tashigi being sent on mundane errands instead.
The assignment left her frustrated and resentful, even though as a subordinate, she had no choice but to follow orders. She could still picture Smoker's cold expression as he bit into his cigars, saying nothing while somehow communicating everything. His unspoken message had been clear enough: her current strength would be useless in a confrontation with someone capable of killing a Celestial Dragon, and her presence might even prove dangerous.
The thought only deepened Tashigi's depression.
Eventually, the two women reached the execution platform itself and discovered the source of the earlier disturbance. The two soldiers assigned to guard the square stood like statues, completely motionless, yet somehow still holding their posts.
"No!" Tashigi's scream pierced the afternoon air.
She realized immediately that something was terribly wrong. She dropped her supplies without a second thought and rushed over to examine the affected soldiers.
Both men were fully conscious, their eyes able to follow movement and clearly aware of their surroundings. However, their bodies had become completely rigid, their muscles locked in an unnatural paralysis that prevented any voluntary movement or speech.
What kind of power could cause such a condition?
Tashigi spent several tense minutes trying various remedies, but nothing she tried had any effect on the soldiers' mysterious affliction. Finally, she grabbed a nearby civilian and demanded a detailed account of everything they had witnessed.
Her hands shook slightly as she picked up a Den Den Mushi and made an urgent call to Captain Smoker.
"A black suit, a gentleman's round hat, and a mask covering half his face... did you say a mask?"
Smoker's gravelly voice carried clearly through the Den Den Mushi's transmission. As Tashigi described the perpetrator's appearance, she noticed a distinct pause in his response, as if the detail about the mask had triggered some important memory.
...
Aboard a Marine warship slicing through the open waters, Captain Smoker leaned back in his cabin chair, his feet propped up on his desk as thick clouds of cigar smoke enveloped his weathered features. His mind worked through the implications of Tashigi's report, connecting dots that painted an increasingly disturbing picture.
A subordinate knocked and entered with a manila folder of freshly compiled intelligence.
The soldiers under Smoker's command in Logue Town possessed exceptional investigative skills and maintained high standards in the performance of their duties. Thanks to the preemptive measures taken in response to the Godkiller threat, the Marines now monitored every "unusual occurrence" in Logue Town with microscopic attention to detail.
When witness descriptions of the execution platform incident were cross-referenced with their extensive database, matching records appeared almost immediately.
"Three individuals from the Kingdom of Goa. The man in the black suit is listed as... Zirkand," Smoker read aloud, his expression growing more skeptical with each line. "Arrived on the island aboard a merchant ship, supposedly affiliated with some commercial trading company."
The more details Smoker absorbed, the deeper his frown became. "Idiots. Look at his clothes, his bearing, his demeanor, does any of it suggest an ordinary crew member? Much less middle management. If he were really a legitimate ship owner, why would he risk execution by pulling such a stunt?"
Smoker's eyes grew cold as ice.
His veteran instincts screamed that this reeked of pirate involvement. The pieces fell into place in his mind, but he couldn't voice his suspicions until he had concrete evidence.
It would also be premature to file an official report. If this man wasn't really the murderer of Saint Charlos, making false accusations in such a politically volatile case would bring down the full wrath of the World Nobles. The people of the Holy Land didn't forgive mistakes when it came to avenging their own.
Besides, jumping the gun might alert their prey and ruin any chance of a successful capture.
"If this person really is the God Slayer, then today might be my lucky day," Smoker muttered with wild satisfaction.
"You really came to the East Blue... and went straight to Logue City. If it's really you, then your story ends here and now."
That scum who escaped from the Grand Line!
Smoker didn't care about the identity of the God Slayer or his motives for killing Saint Charlos. Whatever political implications surrounded the case were irrelevant to him. As long as this criminal crossed his path, there would be no mercy, no quarter.
Lady Luck had never smiled upon pirates in his presence.
Smoker had encountered countless varieties of scum during his service on the Grand Line. If it hadn't been for his abrasive personality and the resulting friction with Marine Headquarters, he wouldn't have been transferred to this backwater outpost in the East Blue in the first place.
Being relegated to the "weakest sea" had actually suited him well, it gave him distance from political games and bureaucratic interference.
"Return to Logue City at maximum speed," he ordered.
"Yes, sir!"
...
That same evening, in a hidden underground chamber beneath the streets of Logue City, Oboro sat casually on a stack of wooden barrels and surveyed the line of trembling pirates kneeling before him.
"So," he said with an amused smile, "are you interested in making a deal?"
Nearby, another pirate stood covered in fresh blood, his expression twisted with euphoric disbelief as he stared at his own hands. "I've become stronger... I've actually become stronger! My God, this is incredible!"
The remaining pirates watched in stunned amazement as their once-weak companion demonstrated his newfound abilities. The transformation they had witnessed defied everything they thought they knew about power and its limits.
"There should be an extensive Marine search operation on the surface right now," Oboro continued in a conversational tone. "You and I are all marked targets, show your faces up there and you know exactly what will happen. You're going to die anyway, so why not take a chance? What if you succeed? More importantly, you'll gain real power... a trump card that could raise your standing on the seas forever.
"The better you perform, the stronger I'll make you. This is an excellent deal, don't you think?"
"I also have methods to get you out of Logue Town safely..."
In the dimly lit chamber, lit only by flickering candles, his magnetically persuasive voice had an almost hypnotic quality. To pirates who had spent their lives grasping for power and opportunity, his words seemed to possess true magic.