Victor thought for a moment, then gestured for Gion to see if fate would choose her instead.
Gion had already sheathed Konpira, and Rebecca had lowered her guard. Wendy, meanwhile, was eyeing the stone box on the table with curiosity.
Glancing at Victor's disheveled hair, Gion didn't reach for the staff immediately. Instead, she coated her entire body in Armament Haki before picking it up.
The moment she lifted it—CRACK!—lightning struck from thin air, hitting her directly. She quickly returned the staff to the box.
No need to test further. She wasn't the chosen one either.
Victor chuckled beside her. Same result—he was satisfied.
He didn't let Rebecca or Wendy try. Neither had Armament Haki yet and would get hurt if struck. Besides, they definitely didn't seem like "chosen ones."
"See? None of us can wield it. So, what now?" Victor spread his hands helplessly at the portly merchant.
"Take the Divine Staff," the merchant pleaded earnestly. "You're Marines—you'll find a way to handle it. I can't keep it any longer. I feel it'll bring me ruin. Please, take it away!"
Victor had been thinking the same thing but didn't want to force the issue. Now that the merchant was willingly giving it up, this was the best outcome.
He'd always felt a strange connection to the staff. Sure, it had zapped him twice, but there was something inexplicable about it.
And he was certain its power went far beyond what they'd seen. Mastering it would take time.
"Fine. I'll take it. Since you already offered it as a prize, I won't refuse. Consider this matter settled."
The merchant exhaled in relief, finally free from years of obsession.
Using Life Return, Victor restored his appearance, then tucked the stone box into his coat. He was keeping it for himself—this was a mysterious artifact even the original story hadn't mentioned, one tied to lightning. He had to uncover its secrets.
Standing, he glanced around the ruined parlor and smirked. "Might want to redecorate. No more lightning strikes. We're leaving."
With that, he led the women out. No point staying—their ship was probably resupplied by now.
The merchant remained on the sofa, dazed. Victor didn't bother with him further.
This trip hadn't been wasted—a feast and a treasure? Worth it.
Gion trailed behind, lips pursed in disapproval at Victor's selfishness. But the staff had been the prize, and Victor was the winner. As long as it didn't harm the Marines, she couldn't protest.
---
By the time they reached town, Barnett's group had nearly sold all their goods. Victor told him to deliver the rest to the merchant's villa.
Barnett hesitated. "But the beast—?"
"Dead. Tried to bite me. Safe now."
Soon, Barnett returned, goods sold, looking relieved.
"We'll head back to the ship," Victor announced. "Don't want some idiot damaging it. Keep shopping—don't mind us."
Barnett rolled his eyes. "Sure, 'guard the ship.' More like nap after playing around." But Victor's carefree attitude made him hopeful—maybe joining his crew would be easy.
---
On the way back, Gion asked, "What will you do with the staff?"
"Keep it. Feels like fate. And don't report this—that merchant trusted us. You wouldn't want him arrested, right?"
"Of course not!" Gion huffed, cheeks reddening. At twenty, she wasn't yet the future Vice Admiral—just a girl who didn't want Victor thinking poorly of her.
Victor nodded, then warned Rebecca and Wendy: "Remember—this staff has nothing to do with the island. Don't bring trouble here."
"Got it!" they chorused.
Back on the ship, everything was normal. That strange feeling from before? Gone.
An hour later, Barnett's group returned with supplies, and the ship set sail for Peace Island at full speed.
---
The Next Day
Another two-hour spar between Victor and Gion ended the same way—her, panting against the railing, flushed and gritting her teeth; him, still clad in full-body Armament Haki, staring at the horizon.
"Gion…" Victor mused. "If the World Government ever abolished the Marines… what would you do?"
Victor gazed at the blood-red sunset as he spoke to Gion, his voice low and solemn, as if stating an inevitable truth.
"How could you even think such a thing? That's impossible!" Gion replied, baffled. "The World Government needs the Marines to maintain order on the seas. They'd never abolish us. I'll always remain a Marine!"
Victor's question was so strange it seemed absurd—who would even consider such a scenario?
"You said it yourself—they need the Marines to maintain order," Victor continued, his voice distant, as if reaching across time. "But what if they found a replacement? What about the Ancient Weapons—Pluton and Uranus?"
"A replacement? The Ancient Weapons?" Gion hesitated. "That... that can't be. They're too rare to control the entire ocean."
"And if they developed technology to replicate those weapons?" Victor pressed, his tone still heavy. "Or created mass-produced weapons just as powerful? Would the Marines still be necessary?"
His words dragged her mind into a future she'd never imagined.
"Then... then where would I go?" Gion murmured, lost in the thought. "What would my efforts have been for? Does justice no longer need me? Maybe... I'd become a dancing geisha instead?"
Her imagination spiraled—a world without the Marines, where justice was enforced by something else. A world where she could abandon duty and pursue her passions.
"No," Victor cut in firmly, turning to face her. "It's not that justice wouldn't need you. It's that they wouldn't. The World Government doesn't necessarily represent justice—what if it's just tyranny in disguise?"
"If that day ever comes," he said, locking eyes with her, "I want you on my ship. We'll uphold the justice we believe in—together."
"We... could we really do that?" Gion whispered, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.
"Not just the two of us," Victor admitted. "But if we gather allies who share our ideals? Then yes. We'll fight for it—until our last breath."
"Really?" Gion's voice trembled with sudden emotion. "Then... I'll join you! I'll fight by your side!"
In Victor's eyes, she saw a blazing light—a reflection of the crimson sunset, but also something deeper. A terrifying future, already taking shape in his vision.