After being turned down on the idea of traveling together, Frant only looked mildly disappointed. It had been a half-serious offer, anyway.
"Well, in that case… good luck out there," Frant said, patting Bane on the shoulder.
He flicked his coat and stood to leave—cool, casual, the image of a seasoned man walking away.
Or at least, that was the idea—until he froze.
Bane's solid hand clamped down on his shoulder like a vise.
"Hold up," Bane said. "There's one last thing I need from you."
"If there's no profit in it—" Frant began to grumble, but Bane cut him off.
"Get me a gun."
Frant blinked. "Seriously? You came to me for that? Don't you already own a few?"
"Not the regular kind," Bane said, pulling a handgun from his waistband and slamming it on the table. "I need something meaner. Something nastier."
This world, as Bane had come to realize, was far from primitive. In fact, some of the tech here even outclassed his previous world. Especially in the war-torn western regions, where things like firearms and industrial weaponry were common.
The pistol Bane had placed on the table was a locally manufactured sidearm—one of the common "Westward Model" handguns, somewhat resembling a Beretta.
Frant studied the gun, then looked up."I could get you something. But can you afford it?"
Bane grinned. "I'll throw in my apartment. You sell it, keep the cash—I just want the gun."
Frant's eyes lit up."Now I know you're serious about skipping town. I sold mine two days ago. Got a good price, too… yours is in better shape, so I'm sure it'll—"
He stopped himself short, remembering Bane didn't care about the price.
"I've actually got something in stock," he said. "Was meant for someone else, but screw it—I'm leaving anyway. What's it matter who buys it?"
He disappeared into the back room.
About ten minutes later, Frant came back, struggling to haul a heavy steel case.
"Give me a hand."
Bane stepped around the bar and lifted the case with ease, placing it on the table like it weighed nothing.
Frant wiped the sweat from his brow."Still strong as hell, huh?"
"Maybe you're just weak," Bane snorted.
Frant didn't argue. He popped the latches and opened the case.
"Now, automatic rifles are beyond my means. But I figured you weren't looking for that anyway."
Bane's eyes locked onto the weapon inside.
"…A hand-cannon?"
"Exactly," Frant said, patting Bane's muscular arm. "This baby's too much for someone like me. But for you? Perfect."
He continued with a bit of showmanship."Behold—the 'Raging Bull Mk VI,' the standard sidearm for Chatar Legion officers!"
The Chatar Legion was one of the Empire's elite military divisions—infamous for its size and strength. Nearly every member was a physical-type ability user, especially the officers.
Civilians nicknamed them the "Muscle Corps."
Naturally, their weapons were designed to match—oversized, overpowered, and brutally effective.
Bane picked up the weapon. It was massive.
He leveled it casually at Frant's head, the barrel so wide it practically swallowed the man's entire face.
"Hey, cut it out!" Frant flinched. "It's not loaded, but still—don't point it at me!"
The gun was sleek and well-crafted, finished in deep navy blue. A fierce, charging bull was engraved along the barrel. Bane glanced at the fist-sized ammo rounds inside the case and nodded, satisfied.
Originally, he had thought about trying to get his hands on an electromagnetic pistol, especially since he'd just sold his apartment. But this beast of a hand-cannon? It felt right.
He slung the bandolier of twenty rounds over his waist and holstered the gun. The weight tugged heavily at his hip—but in a good way.
It made him feel… safe.
Even if a rogue elephant came charging at him, he was confident he could blow its head off with a single shot.
"Ammo?" he asked.
Frant shrugged."That's all I've got. But with this caliber, you don't need high-precision craftsmanship. Just find a factory later and get someone to craft them manually. Won't make much difference."
It was true. Hand-cannons like this didn't need fine machining.
Bane thought for a second, then didn't press the issue. Instead, he pulled out the property documents and deed for his apartment and handed them to Frant.
"This is goodbye."
Frant took them, smiling."I'll lock these away. Grab a drink before you go."
He slipped back into the back room—but when he returned…
Bane was gone.
Frant stood in silence for a moment before sighing."Wonder if we'll ever see each other again… Bane."
Outside, Bane ducked into an empty alley. He murmured the words:
"Open the gate."
His stamina began draining rapidly, and time itself seemed to freeze as a shimmering Dimensional Gate opened before him.
As it formed, Bane noticed something odd—the blue hue in the swirling colors was dimmer than usual.
When he shifted his attention to the other colors, his stamina drained even faster—like the gate was preparing to open another world instead.
"…Do the colors represent different worlds?" Bane wondered.
But now wasn't the time to test it.
He focused on opening the same world as last time.
Once the gate stabilized, he peeked through.
An empty alley.
No one around.
Perfect.
Without hesitation, Bane stepped through the portal.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, he could feel it in his bones—he was back in the One Piece world.
The gate shut behind him.
He had understood Teach's words last time, so clearly the language barrier didn't exist here. As for reading and writing—well, this was the pirate era. There were probably plenty of illiterate thugs around.
"No time to waste," Bane muttered. "First things first—where the hell am I?"
He heard shouting and street vendors calling from beyond the alley.
Sounded like a busy marketplace.
He straightened his coat and stepped confidently out into the sunlight.