Gunnery is not like swordplay. There are not that many tricks to dress it up.
A sniper has three jobs. Find an angle. Find a moment. Squeeze the trigger.
If you want more power beyond that, you lean on what the world gives you. Haki. Devil Fruits. The quality of the weapon in your hands.
So with Armament and Conqueror's off the table, with no Fruit effects riding the shots, a pure gunfight comes down to Observation. To handspeed and the eye that reads a breath before it is drawn.
The duel had been sharp and over quickly because that is how snipers fight. Fast.
When Yasopp came back with a loss, the crew did not make a scene. They dressed the wound and slapped his back. Shanks threw an arm over his shoulder hard enough to make him bare his teeth.
"Do not sulk. Losing to Ozz is not a shame. He is a monster."
"And that line was cool," someone said. "About it being a marksman's shame to fear a hit."
Hearing his own words out loud, Yasopp flushed and waved them off. "Hey. Drop it."
Laughter rolled across the deck until a voice cut through it like a cold blade.
"Face me, Shanks."
Hawk-Eye walked toward them with the black sword on his back. He frowned at the sight of Shanks still grinning and drew Yoru in one smooth motion.
"I hear you," Shanks said, palm settling on Griffon's hilt. His eyes were serious and met Mihawk's hawk-keen gaze without blinking. Respect sat behind the heat.
The Red-Haired Pirates roared their support.
Ozz flicked a finger. The two combatants blinked from the rail to the island's middle. He curled another finger and the Red Force slid across the water to a high vantage point on the shore, where the island lay like a map beneath them.
"Feel that pressure," Lucky Roux breathed.
"Shanks has found a hand to test himself against. He better not lose."
"Relax," Beckman said, scanning the battlefield the way other men scan a ledger. "At this level a close fight runs long."
There was a gap between them. Not a gulf. Mihawk's sword was a step above, as Ozz's had been a step above Shanks' earlier, but not enough to end things in a flurry. This would take time.
"Who wins," Yasopp asked quietly.
Perhaps being beaten by Ozz's Observation had cleared something in him. He still believed in his captain. He also wanted to know what Ozz saw.
"Winner," Ozz echoed, rocking the wine in his glass as he leaned on the rail. The first exchanges down on the flat were still feeling out timing and line, not yet decisive. He smiled. "If it is to the death, either could take it. Both can break past their limits."
"If it is blade against blade with Haki set aside," he added, "my money is on Mihawk."
A ripple of disagreement went through the crew. They respected Ozz. They trusted Shanks. It was only natural to hear bias for a subordinate in Ozz's judgment.
"Do not get ahead of yourself," Lucky Roux said around a bone he was cheerfully chewing. "Shanks does not go down easy. He is a man among men."
Heads nodded along the rail.
Ozz had not meant anything by it. Watching their faces, he let a thought rise and kept his tone light. "Want to make it interesting."
A streak of red and a crescent of green crossed in the distance and the island shifted under the cuts. A ridge split like bread. A red slash carved toward the sea and arrowed straight for the Red Force before Ozz could finish.
Men started and swore. Beckman lifted his pistol on instinct.
Ozz lifted his free hand behind his back without looking. The red cleave unwove itself in the air and faded like heat on a road.
"Neat trick," someone muttered, and a few men realized their palms were damp. The crew settled back, eyes flicking between the duel and the man who had just swatted aside a mountain's worth of force like a cobweb.
"What are the stakes," Beckman asked, tapping a cigarette out of the pack and lighting it off a match cupped in the wind.
"I have not decided," Ozz said, smiling. "How about this. If Mihawk loses, I grant the Red-Haired Pirates a favor. Open-ended."
"And if Shanks loses, you grant me the same."
They traded looks. A favor from the Black Emperor was the kind of thing men fought wars over. Beckman frowned.
"No. We cannot bind the crew to a debt without the captain's word."
Shanks' charisma and command were not a fiction. He was to them what Roger had been to his men. Unless the captain spoke, the crew did not speak on a matter like this.
"Then make it personal," Ozz said pleasantly. "You, Beckman. Lucky Roux. Hongo. Each of you owes me a favor if Shanks loses. Your word, not the crew's."
Beckman blinked.
It was outrageous and it made a kind of sense. That was the problem.
"I am in," Lucky Roux said before the strategist could answer, raising a grease-shined hand. "If we win, we get a promise from the Black Emperor. That is profit."
"Even if we sold it on, we could name our price," another laughed.
"I am in."
"Count me."
"Hey," Beckman snapped, but the current had his men now and there was no fighting it with volume. Ozz slid in before he could fight it with reason.
"What is wrong," Ozz asked, eyes smiling. "Do you think Shanks will lose."
Beckman shut his mouth. It was a trap dressed in courtesy. Answer either way and you lost a little ground. He could feel the shape of it and refused to step where he was pointed.
"Smart," Ozz murmured, not disappointed. He had only wanted to see if the hook would take.
It had, mostly.
More than half the heads aboard had nodded to the wager. When the fight ended and Shanks came back up the gangplank, would he refuse what his men had agreed to in his name. If he did, it meant he expected to lose. If he did not, he walked into the game Ozz had set on the rail a quarter hour ago.
This was not a hidden plot. It was the other thing. The stratagem you carry in the open and dare the world to answer. On a sea of hot blood and pride, among men who lived for the throw of a die and the savor of a promise, it was the highest form of an honest trick.
On the island, red and green crossed again and the mountain shuddered. Up on the rail, Ozz tasted his wine, and the Red-Haired crew leaned forward into the wind.
Somewhere in the chop between strikes, Beckman exhaled smoke and watched Ozz from the corner of his eye. He did not resent the move. He recognized it. A gambit that took men as they were, not as they should be.
A top-shelf open stratagem, suited perfectly to the pirate age.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The tides are shifting, and secrets linger in the dark... Step into the shadows early on P@treon, where the next chapter awaits before the world sees it.
[email protected]/_theon
Change @ to "a"