The island's modest scale contained only two hills of different heights, their modest peaks creating natural landmarks across the otherwise unremarkable terrain.
The village clung to the higher hilltop like a collection of weathered barnacles, its buildings arranged in the haphazard pattern that marked communities built for survival rather than aesthetics. The settlement's strategic elevation provided defensive advantages against both weather and potential threats, though today those precautions seemed utterly inadequate.
A scene of mounting panic was unfolding throughout the cramped streets and modest establishments.
"Is it him? The new pirate?!" a voice cracked with barely contained terror.
"Yes... It's definitely him. I didn't expect him to come here..." another replied with mounting dread.
"We have to leave quickly. It will be troublesome when the Hell Pirates come looking for us. With the character of those monsters... we'll probably be caught in the crossfire," a third voice added with the desperate logic of someone calculating survival odds.
Outside a weathered tavern whose wooden sign creaked ominously in the salt-tinged breeze, several passing pirates peered through the open doorway at the solitary figure occupying the establishment's interior. Their whispered observations carried the weight of men who had witnessed enough violence to recognize genuine danger when it presented itself.
The subject of their fearful attention sat with his back to the door, methodically consuming his meal with the unhurried confidence of someone completely indifferent to the growing tension surrounding his presence.
Within moments, the tavern's other patrons began evacuating with the frantic urgency of animals fleeing a predator. Pirates who had been drinking themselves into comfortable stupors suddenly found their minds crystalline with sobriety, abandoning personal belongings and unfinished drinks in their desperate haste to escape.
The psychological effect was immediate and devastating, grown men who had made careers of violence and intimidation transformed into panicked refugees at the mere sight of this mysterious newcomer.
"Hey! You're not welcome here! Please leave immediately!"
"Your meal and wine money won't be charged... Just go away!"
"Bastard... Do you want to kill everyone here?"
Inside the tavern, the remaining villagers had marshaled their courage under the leadership of a weathered old man whose gnarled hands gripped a fishing harpoon with white-knuckled determination. The assembled crowd wielded an assortment of improvised weapons, kitchen knives, boat hooks, farming implements, creating a tableau that would have been comical under different circumstances.
Their target continued eating with mechanical precision, completely unmoved by the growing hostility surrounding him.
The man wore an impeccable black suit whose tailored lines suggested wealth and sophistication utterly at odds with his current environment. A crisp tie completed his formal appearance, while a distinctive hat cast shadows across features that remained hidden from view. Oboro curly hair cascaded past his shoulders, creating an almost artistic silhouette.
Most remarkably, a pigeon perched on his right shoulder with the casual confidence of a familiar companion. The bird wore its own miniature tie, creating a surreal mirror of its master's formal attire.
Despite the villagers' increasingly aggressive demands, the stranger remained focused on his plate, methodically twirling pasta with the kind of refined technique that spoke to aristocratic upbringing. Yet beneath his civilized veneer radiated an aura of barely contained menace that kept his would-be attackers frozen in place.
"Hey, did you hear me!"
"If you don't leave, we'll really be forced to act!"
The old village chief's voice cracked with the strain of maintaining authority in an impossible situation. Sweat streamed down his weathered face despite the island's cool climate, betraying the terror he fought to conceal.
The villagers possessed little knowledge of this particular pirate when he'd first arrived, but their community had long survived through providing services to passing criminals. Such relationships required constant awareness of maritime politics and the ever-shifting hierarchies that determined which crews commanded respect and which faced extinction.
When other pirates in neighboring establishments had recognized their unexpected visitor, word had spread with viral intensity throughout the small settlement. Within hours, everyone understood exactly what kind of catastrophe had moored in their quiet harbor.
The Hadori Pirates meant nothing to them, a single individual commanding a vessel barely larger than a fishing boat hardly inspired terror. But throughout the North Blue, no one remained ignorant of the Hell Pirates' fearsome reputation.
These monsters had systematically destroyed kingdoms whose military might dwarfed anything their modest island could muster. The casual brutality that marked every Hell Pirates operation had become legendary throughout the region, inspiring the kind of primal fear that transcended rational thought.
After several more tense minutes, the man finally completed his meal with deliberate ceremony. He dabbed his mouth with the tavern's stained napkin, then methodically placed several berries on the scarred wooden table, payment for services rendered despite the hostility surrounding him.
His movements as he rose from his seat triggered a collective intake of breath from the assembled villagers, their improvised weapons trembling in suddenly nerveless fingers. The stranger's casual indifference to their threats somehow made him appear more dangerous than if he'd responded with violent anger.
With hands buried casually in his trouser pockets, the pirate turned and began walking toward the tavern's entrance, completely ignoring the crowd of armed civilians as if they were merely furniture to be navigated around.
For a moment, hope flickered in the villagers' hearts as they anticipated his departure.
But just as the stranger reached the threshold, he paused and directed his attention toward the village chief with the kind of mild curiosity one might show when asking for directions.
"Do you have a tailor shop here?" His tone carried no acknowledgment of the hatred and fear surrounding him, as if the previous confrontation had been nothing more than background noise.
"..."
"No, nothing!" the old man shouted with desperate vehemence, his face flushing crimson with the effort of projecting defiant authority.
The pirate studied the trembling village chief with analytical detachment, then glanced toward the afternoon sky visible through the doorway. Without additional comment, he settled onto the wooden steps outside the tavern with the casual confidence of someone claiming permanent residence.
The implications struck the assembled villagers like physical blows, this nightmare had no intention of leaving.
"Get out of the way!"
A new voice cut through the stunned silence as a figure pushed through the crowd with drunken determination. The speaker was a skeletal man whose pallid complexion and trembling hands spoke to years of alcohol abuse, though his eyes burned with the kind of desperate courage that only emerged when all other options had been exhausted.
An antique pistol wavered in his grip as he advanced toward the pirate's exposed back, the weapon's corroded metal reflecting his financial circumstances. Despite his obvious terror, the man's voice carried conviction that transformed cowardice into something approaching heroism.
"I was also a pirate... just a failure who returned home in disgrace. This is my hometown... I won't watch it be destroyed by you! Everyone else is afraid to act... but I have no problem dealing with another pirate."
He slapped his free hand against his chest with theatrical emphasis, drawing upon whatever reserves of courage alcohol and desperation could provide.
"I'll give you one last chance... Leave this island immediately. You're not welcome here!"
His finger found the trigger as determination overcame the trembling that had consumed his frame.
"Tang Li!" The surrounding villagers watched in horrified fascination as their former neighbor prepared to sacrifice himself for their collective survival.
Everyone understood that driving away this monster would require someone willing to "stand up" and accept the inevitable consequences. Tang Li's willingness to make such a sacrifice represented both hope and tragedy in equal measure.
But the pirate remained motionless, continuing to occupy the tavern steps as if the weapon pointed at his skull posed no more threat than an annoying insect.
"Ah!" Tang Li's pupils contracted as terror finally overwhelmed his artificial courage. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger with the desperate motion of someone leaping from a cliff.
BANG!
The gunshot echoed across the modest village like thunder, causing every witness to flinch reflexively. When they dared to open their eyes, expecting to see blood and destruction, they instead discovered something impossible.
The pirate sat exactly where he'd been before, completely unharmed and apparently unbothered by the assassination attempt. A smoking hole in the ground near his feet marked where the bullet had struck, missing its intended target by mere inches.
Relief and disappointment warred in the villagers' hearts as they processed this miraculous failure.
Tang Li collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath as if the single gunshot had drained every ounce of strength from his emaciated frame.
"You just said... you're a pirate... right?"
The stranger's voice carried across the sudden silence with casual curiosity, though he turned only slightly to direct his attention toward the prostrate drunkard. When their eyes met, Tang Li found himself pinned by a gaze that seemed to peer directly into his soul with predatory calculation.
"You, you, you..." The former pirate's attempted response dissolved into incoherent stammering as panic overwhelmed his ability to form words.
Even the civilians present could sense the shift in atmosphere, what had been indifference was rapidly transforming into something far more dangerous. The air itself seemed to grow heavier as killing intent radiated from the formally dressed stranger like heat from a forge.
I'm going to die.
The thought materialized simultaneously in multiple minds as they watched the pirate lean forward and casually extract the bullet from the hard-packed earth where it had buried itself. His movements carried the unhurried precision of someone performing a familiar ritual.
When he straightened and pinched the mud-stained projectile between his fingers, every witness understood with crystalline clarity what was about to happen. Tang Li would die, struck down by his own bullet delivered with supernatural accuracy.
The stranger's arm began rising with mechanical inevitability, positioning the improvised projectile for its deadly purpose.
Suddenly, his entire body twisted backward with explosive force, as if invisible hands had seized him and yanked him away from his intended target. His expression shifted from cold calculation to genuine shock as he found himself staring into a pair of eyes that had materialized mere centimeters from his face.
A figure wrapped in black bandages studied him with predatory intensity, their proximity so intimate that each could feel the other's breath against their skin.
"It's you... the captain of the Hadori Pirates."
Dom's voice carried through the bandages with mechanical precision, each word delivered with the finality of a judge pronouncing sentence.
Whoosh!
The formal stranger exploded into motion, his body flickering like a mirage as he repositioned himself several meters away in the span between heartbeats. His casual posture transformed into a combat stance that spoke to extensive martial training, though his expression remained carefully controlled.
"Hehehe..."
The displaced air from such supernatural movement stirred Dom's bandages as he slowly straightened from his crouched position. His attention tracked the pirate's new location with the lazy confidence of a predator who had cornered valuable prey.
"Don't be nervous... I'm not here to kill you yet," Dom observed with genuine amusement, noting the quality of evasion that had just been demonstrated.
"Not bad... You really are skilled. No wonder you managed to eliminate so many of our people."
His praise carried undertones of professional appreciation as he casually drew the Nichirin blade from his waist, spinning the weapon with practiced ease. The steel caught afternoon sunlight and threw it back in dazzling reflections that spoke to both the blade's quality and its wielder's competence.
"There's no need for introductions..."
Dom reached up and tore away the bandages covering his lower face, revealing features that had been enhanced beyond normal human limitations. His tongue emerged briefly in a gesture of anticipatory satisfaction.
"Hell Pirates, Night Walker."
Recognition flickered in the stranger's eyes as he identified his opponent, though his voice remained steady when he responded.
"You're... alone?"
The question carried implications that extended beyond simple tactical assessment.
"Why... disappointed?" Dom's arms spread wide in theatrical surprise as he continued his measured advance.
"I am somewhat disappointed," the pirate admitted with matter-of-fact honesty. "I thought I would meet your captain, but it doesn't matter. After killing you, he'll certainly come looking for me. Then... I can eliminate him as well."
He flexed his wrists experimentally while speaking, testing the range of motion that combat would require.
"Hey..."
Dom's approach halted as sardonic laughter escaped his lips. The sound carried enough menace to make the assembled villagers retreat even further, though the pirate assumed the greeting was directed at him.
"King... this newcomer is rather too arrogant."
The words were clearly intended for someone else entirely.
Understanding struck the stranger like lightning as his muscles tensed with recognition of the trap that had been sprung around him. But even as tactical awareness crystallized, it was already too late.
An arm settled around his shoulders with casual familiarity, followed immediately by a voice that carried equal measures of amusement and deadly promise.
"Hello... nice to meet you. I am the captain of the Hell Pirates, the man who will die by your hand soon enough..."