At this moment, hundreds of soldiers stood assembled on the island's shore, their weathered armor gleaming dully in the morning light.
These battle-hardened warriors studied the approaching pirate vessel with expressions that mixed grim determination with barely concealed tension. Their formation spoke to years of military discipline, yet the nervous energy rippling through their ranks revealed the desperation that had driven them to this unprecedented meeting.
After several tense minutes, the three members of the Hell Pirates made contact with their would-be employers.
This army represented the remaining forces of a kingdom that had been devastated by prolonged warfare, survivors clinging to hope through increasingly desperate measures. The man who stepped forward to greet Oboro bore the insignia of a captain, his long black hair framing features that had aged beyond his years under the weight of command.
"Have you brought the goods?" the captain demanded, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to life-and-death decisions.
His wary gaze swept over the three pirates, noting their empty hands before shifting toward the ship anchored in the harbor. Everything about his posture suggested a man prepared for treachery, though circumstances had left him little choice but to trust these dangerous strangers.
"Of course," Oboro replied with casual confidence, snapping his fingers with theatrical flair.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Without warning or visible mechanism, dozens of weapon crates materialized from thin air, arranging themselves in neat rows across the sandy beach. The sight drew gasps of amazement from the assembled soldiers, their disciplined formation wavering as minds struggled to process what their eyes insisted had just occurred.
What kind of Devil Fruit power allows for such precise materialization? The captain's analytical mind raced through possibilities, though none adequately explained the scope or precision of what he'd witnessed.
A flash of barely controlled excitement crossed the captain's weathered features as he approached the crates for inspection. His experienced hands confirmed the quality and quantity of the weapons, exactly what had been promised, with the kind of professional-grade armaments that could tip the balance in their desperate conflict.
He nodded curtly to his subordinates, and the disciplined formation dissolved as soldiers began retrieving payment from their concealed positions. Soon, several chests filled with the kingdom's accumulated wealth sat before the Hell Pirates, their contents representing years of careful hoarding in preparation for this moment.
This was the arms trade that had originated from their raid on Fishhead Island, weapons that had once belonged to the Donquixote Family's industrial network, now being redistributed to fuel the North Blue's endless cycle of warfare.
Oboro moved between the treasure chests with predatory grace, and wherever his hands passed, entire containers simply vanished into his dimensional storage. The systematic disappearance of such valuable cargo should have been impossible, yet occurred with the same casual ease as his initial weapon manifestation.
"Don't you want to verify the amount?" the captain asked, his professional instincts warring with the need to maintain this crucial alliance.
"No need," Oboro replied with disarming sincerity. "I trust your kingdom's honor in such matters."
His tone carried just enough warmth to suggest genuine respect, though his enhanced perception had already catalogued every coin and jewel through brief contact with the containers.
"Excellent... this cooperation benefits us both," Oboro continued, turning to lead his companions back toward their vessel. "If future needs arise, don't hesitate to contact us. I genuinely hope your forces achieve victory in this conflict."
The dismissal was polite but final, exactly the kind of professional courtesy that legitimate arms dealers might display after completing a transaction.
"Wait," the captain called out suddenly, his voice carrying notes of desperate calculation.
Oboro paused and fixed him with an expectant stare, recognizing the moment when their real business would finally begin.
"Recent rumors suggest the Hell Pirates possess extraordinary combat capabilities, enough to challenge entire nations. Is this accurate?"
The captain's question hung in the salt air like a challenge, though his tone suggested he already suspected the answer.
"There are many nations across these seas, varying greatly in size and influence," Oboro replied with deliberate ambiguity. "If a modest territory like Fishhead Island qualifies as a serious country, then I suppose such claims have merit."
His casual dismissal of their previous conquest as trivial sent a chill through the assembled soldiers. Everyone in the North Blue had heard whispers about the Hell Pirates' devastating assault on Doflamingo's industrial operations, though few understood the true scope of what had been accomplished.
"In that case," the captain took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to propose, "the Kingdom of Scan formally requests the Hell Pirates' assistance in defeating our enemies!"
"We're pirates, not a mercenary organization," Oboro observed with apparent amusement. "Though such arrangements don't particularly trouble me, won't your king face political consequences for inviting foreign criminals into his domain? It hardly seems... diplomatically sound."
His teasing tone carried genuine curiosity about how far desperation had driven this once-proud kingdom.
The captain's expression darkened with embarrassment, revealing just how accurately Oboro had assessed their situation. "You needn't concern yourself with such considerations. We're prepared to offer substantial compensation that will certainly satisfy your expectations."
"Your Kingdom of Scan is currently locked in desperate warfare," Dom interjected with cutting precision, his voice carrying the cold amusement of someone who understood exactly what they were witnessing. "The funds for purchasing these arms were probably scraped together from your treasury's last reserves, weren't they?"
The captain's face flushed with humiliation as the accuracy of that assessment became obvious to everyone present.
"Very well, I accept your proposal," Oboro declared unexpectedly, his sudden agreement surprising both his own crew and their prospective employers.
"Don't worry about monetary compensation," he continued with predatory satisfaction. "We accept payment in many forms, territory, resources, political arrangements, future considerations. As long as your kingdom can honor its commitments within reasonable timeframes, we can reach acceptable terms."
"Understood," the captain nodded heavily, relief and apprehension warring across his features.
The Kingdom of Scan was indeed gambling with its very existence, recognizing that victory over their enemies would provide access to conquered territory and resources that could easily cover any debts incurred. But defeat would render such concerns meaningless, as a destroyed nation couldn't honor any agreements.
In the North Blue's war-torn political landscape, such desperate alliances had become commonplace. The arms trade represented merely the opening gambit, the real objective had always been securing the Hell Pirates' direct intervention.
"And..." Oboro stepped closer to the army captain, placing one hand on his armored shoulder with deceptive gentleness, "please ensure your king understands the full implications of allying with pirates. He should comprehend what such arrangements traditionally entail."
His voice carried notes of friendly advice, though the underlying steel was unmistakable. "Money represents only one aspect of our potential relationship. If we succeed in preserving his kingdom from destruction, then the Kingdom of Scan will fly the Hell Pirates' flag from this day forward. Do you understand what that means?"
"Correspondingly, should future enemies threaten your territory, we would provide assistance. Mutual benefit through shared commitment."
The arrangement was elegantly simple and utterly binding. While Oboro spoke as though offering generous partnership terms, both parties understood the true nature of what was being proposed, vassal status in exchange for protection and survival.
The captain's hand moved instinctively toward his weapon before discipline reasserted itself. The casual murder they'd witnessed earlier had demonstrated exactly what resistance would accomplish.
"This invitation has been extended, and we've accepted your proposal," Oboro continued with deceptive pleasantness. "This particular transaction is now complete, which means you currently have no formal relationship with the Hell Pirates. Attempting to withdraw your offer now would represent... poor etiquette."
His tone never shifted from conversational warmth, yet every word carried implicit threat. "We're still relatively new to these waters, but reputation matters tremendously in our profession. If agreements were casually broken, we might find ourselves compelled to discuss alternative arrangements with your enemies instead."
"You, !" The captain's pupils contracted with rage as the full scope of the trap became clear.
This was naked coercion disguised as business negotiation. The Hell Pirates had maneuvered them into a position where refusal would trigger the very destruction they'd sought to avoid.
"I suggest contacting your king for guidance," Oboro advised with mock helpfulness.
The tense silence stretched for several minutes before the captain returned from his distant consultation with obvious defeat written across his features. The king had made the only choice circumstances allowed.
There was no alternative. Even if accepting pirate protection carried future complications, the immediate threat of national annihilation left no room for principled resistance.
"I'll escort you to the palace," the captain said with grim resignation.
Thus, the Hell Pirates found themselves temporarily installed within the royal palace of the Kingdom of Scan, officially participating in an interstate war that would serve as their first major political operation in the North Blue.
Their meeting with the aging monarch proved as cordial as such encounters could be when one party held overwhelming leverage. The king understood precisely what he was trading away, but survival trumped sovereignty in the harsh mathematics of warfare.
Oboro also received comprehensive briefings about the current strategic situation, painting a picture of systematic defeat that explained the kingdom's desperation.
Scan found itself in an untenable position, steadily losing ground to better-equipped and more numerous enemies. Several outlying islands had already fallen to invasion forces, while enemy troops had established beachheads on the main island itself, advancing to within thirty kilometers of the capital city.
While the scale of conflict might seem dramatic, the actual strategic complexity remained manageable for Oboro's purposes. This represented a training exercise rather than a genuine challenge, an opportunity to test his subordinates' capabilities against organized military forces while establishing the Hell Pirates' reputation for decisive intervention.
The confrontation differed significantly from the individual combat or small-group conflicts they'd experienced previously. Here, massed artillery, coordinated infantry movements, and sustained engagement would test different aspects of their enhanced abilities.
For Dom and Dolan, this battlefield would provide exactly the kind of pressure that forged combat experience into genuine expertise.
Several days later, as dawn painted the eastern horizon in shades of gold and crimson, the Hell Pirates made their way toward the front lines where two nations' armies prepared for another day of brutal warfare.
The landscape before them bore the scars of prolonged conflict, cratered earth, destroyed fortifications, and the kind of desolation that spoke to months of systematic destruction. Fire and smoke painted the morning sky while the thunder of artillery announced that the day's killing had already begun.
Bodies from previous engagements dotted the battlefield like grotesque markers, their presence creating the atmosphere of desperate struggle that defined modern warfare. Though soldiers from both sides maintained their formations and continued fighting with disciplined determination, the visible carnage spoke to casualties that had already reached horrific levels.
"Time to begin," Oboro announced calmly, stepping over corpses as he led Dom and Dolan toward the area where combat raged most intensely.
After delivering his simple command, he raised one finger toward the section of battlefield where enemy forces had achieved their greatest concentration.
The morning air shimmered with gathered power as Oboro's Qi Refining techniques focused tremendous energy into a point no larger than a grain of rice, concentrated force that would demonstrate exactly why the Hell Pirates had earned their fearsome reputation throughout the North Blue's war-torn waters.
The Kingdom of Scan's salvation was about to begin, and with it, another chapter in the Hell Pirates' inexorable rise to power.