"What… what are those things!?"
Commander Haake's legs trembled beneath him, his voice cracking with fear.
"This… how could something like that exist in this world!?"
"They look like zombies, Commander,"
Lian's reaction wasn't much better; he was drenched in sweat, stuttering:
"It must be a Devil Fruit ability, Commander… We've encountered a Devil Fruit user among the pirates!"
"Damn it, damn it!"
Haake forced himself to stay calm. He whipped around and bellowed,
"What are you morons waiting for!? Open fire! Now! Before those freaks reach the ship—blast them into the sea!"
"Y-Yes, Commander!"
...
Elsewhere – aboard the massive pirate ship
The deck was cloaked in a damp, eerie fog. Behind the row of lurching, grotesque zombies, a monstrously tall middle-aged man reclined lazily in a rattan chair, gently swirling a glass of red wine in his hand.
His skin was deathly pale, and his eyes were half-lidded like a devil's. His long, purple-red hair jutted upward like a spring onion, and he wore a shirt with a dramatic bat-shaped collar—half vampire, half gothic nobleman.
He was none other than Gecko Moria, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.
"There's a Marine ship up ahead, Master."
A gaunt, blond young man respectfully reported, bowing low.
"The crew seems rattled by the zombies. Should we announce who we are?"
"Heh-shishishishi! Absalom, don't bother!"
Moria didn't even open his eyes, waving his hand dismissively.
"A backwater Marine branch like this probably doesn't even know what a Warlord is. I'm on vacation in my homeland—I have no interest in dealing with those clowns. Just steer clear of them."
"Yes, Master."
The blond youth, Absalom, bowed again. As he straightened up, he secretly observed Moria, who was leisurely sipping wine, feeling a slight sense of relief and emotion.
So that's the power of 'home.'
A place that could soothe even the most broken man.
He still remembered how, just last year when he'd first joined the crew, Moria had been like a walking corpse—numb, hollow, completely crushed by the loss of his entire crew in the New World.
But after returning to his roots in the West Blue, things had slowly begun to improve.
Hopefully, Master Moria can eventually leave that shadow of the past behind.
Absalom silently offered up a prayer as he turned to adjust the helm, then made his way toward the kitchen to prepare dinner.
There was no helping it; among Moria's current crew, he was the only living person.
The zombie soldiers were good for basic tasks, but anything requiring actual skill still fell entirely on him.
"If only we had some new crewmates…"
Absalom stepped up to the helm and began turning the wheel.
But just then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of firelight in the night sky—bright, violent, and sudden.
His expression changed immediately.
BOOM!
BOOM! BOOM!
In the next instant, cannon fire roared across the sea. Black cannonballs streaked through the air—most splashed harmlessly into the ocean, but several slammed into the bow of the pirate ship.
The entire pirate ship rocked violently.
Absalom stumbled, nearly losing his footing.
The zombie soldiers on the deck, slow to react, finally raised their heads. Letting out hoarse roars, they leapt forward to intercept the next barrage of cannonballs.
"Hm?"
Still reclining, Moria was jolted as wine splashed all over him. He snapped open his eyes and turned his head toward the small Marine ship that had dared to attack.
"You fire on me even after I ignored you?"
He shrieked furiously.
"Absalom, take us in! I'll leave it to you—bring the zombie soldiers and teach those blind Marine dogs what real terror looks like!"
"Yes, Master!"
...
In the dark room beneath the floorboards.
Nao sat in grim silence, listening to the trembling voice of a woman in her thirties as she wiped tears from her gaunt face, struggling to finish her story.
"So what you're saying is… all of you were refugees—survivors from towns that were attacked by pirates."
His voice was low, heavy.
"And these Marines, after arriving too late to help, didn't even try to restore order—instead, they dragged you onto their ship and planned to sell you to underworld families as slaves?"
"Y-Yes, sir…"
The woman choked back her sobs.
"All the men in our village were killed by the pirates… When we saw the Marine ship, we thought we were saved… but instead…"
The memory overwhelmed her. She buried her face in her hands and began weeping uncontrollably.
These bastards.
Nao's gaze darkened.
As someone who'd crossed over into this world, he'd long known that the Marine system was far from pure—especially in the poorly regulated Blue branches. Cases like Morgan or Nezumi weren't rare.
But even so—
He had never expected things to sink this low.
Collaborating with criminal syndicates, enslaving civilians, selling women and children—
What's the damn difference between them and pirates?
No.
Even most pirates wouldn't stoop this low.
Glancing around at the weary, hollow-eyed captives—and then at the sobbing woman before him—Nao let out a long breath. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, about to speak words of comfort—
When the sound of cannon fire suddenly erupted above.
Screams and shouts followed—panic and chaos breaking out on deck.
The captives stirred, startled. Nao's brow furrowed as he looked up.
"Stay here. Don't rush out."
He pulled his white hood back on, picked up his two swords, and stood up. Then, taking a deep breath, he shimmered, disappearing without a trace amidst the slaves' exclamations.
And in a corner.
A little pink-haired girl, who had been quietly watching him ever since she woke up, couldn't help but bite her lip, pressing her palms together, silently praying in her heart…
...
On the deck.
The two ships were now side by side.
Under Absalom's command, the zombie soldiers surged onto the Marine ship like a black tide—screeching and groaning, their grotesque forms throwing the crew into disarray.
Most of the Marines were so terrified by the sight that they couldn't even muster a proper defense. Within minutes, the zombies had taken control of the entire ship.
There were hardly any casualties—
Because the Marines surrendered almost immediately.
Now they lay prone on the deck, arms twisted behind their backs, watching in horror as a massive, shadowy figure slowly approached from the pirate ship.
Absalom stepped forward to greet him.
"It's done, Master."
He respectfully saluted, then directed two zombies to drag the fat-brained Commander Haake before him:
"This is their commanding officer. He's the one who ordered the attack. What should we do with him?"
Moria glanced at the blubbering man.
Haake was already shaking like a leaf—but when Moria's eyes met his, he completely lost it, wetting himself on the spot. A trail of yellow liquid ran down his pants leg.
"Heh-shishishishi~ did he wet his pants? How amusing…"
Moria let out a shrill, eerie laugh. He bent down, tapping Haake's jiggling face with one long, pale finger.
"Tch… almost tempted to make you into a zombie soldier, fatty. But unfortunately…"
His grin widened.
"I hate fat people the most."