On Peace Island, Gion had already informed Rebecca and Wendy that Victor had gone to Gia Island. When she left, her face was slightly flushed, and there was something unusual in the way she looked at Rebecca.
"Rebecca, Vice Admiral Gion seemed different today—not as composed as usual," Wendy remarked, watching Gion's retreating figure.
"Maybe she's not feeling well. It's not that strange," Rebecca replied dismissively. She wasn't the type to overthink things.
"But the way she looked at you was different too! And she was the one who told us about Victor leaving, which means he was with her before he left. Do you think Vice Admiral Gion might be trying to steal your Victor?" Wendy widened her eyes as she analyzed the situation.
"No way! Vice Admiral Gion is several years older than Victor, and she's already a Marine vice admiral while he's just a recruit. The age gap and status difference are too big. Impossible, absolutely impossible..." Rebecca muttered, trying to convince herself, but her voice trailed off uncertainly.
"But Victor acts way more mature than someone his age, and we've all seen how strong he is—even stronger than Vice Admiral Gion! It's totally possible she's fallen for him. And status isn't an issue—Victor's already this powerful, so he'll climb the ranks fast after graduation. He'll probably catch up to her soon. Plus, on the ship, Victor always went to Vice Admiral Gion to talk about things. You've practically become his little sidekick!" Wendy continued mercilessly, shattering Rebecca's illusions one stab at a time.
"No, that's just because I'm too weak. I'm not strong enough yet. I need to get stronger..." Rebecca grew anxious. Vice Admiral Gion was practically perfect—powerful, with a great figure, beauty, status, and even able to spar with Victor in swordsmanship. And Victor kept smacking her butt with the flat of his blade during training—she couldn't even let herself think about it further. The more she dwelled on it, the more she felt threatened.
Rebecca lowered her head and stared at her own feet. Her mood soured even more. 'There's no way I can compete with that... Waaah!'
"So, Rebecca, you should tell Victor how you feel! If you keep it bottled up, he'll never know. Don't let Vice Admiral Gion swoop in and take him first!"
"Eh—?!"
"Hehehe!'" Wendy giggled, delighted at her successful teasing.
---
Under the clear moonlight, Victor finally set foot on Gia Island.
He didn't rush to search for his target immediately. Instead, he sat cross-legged by the shore, restoring his Observation Haki and stamina. The Pet Pirates had been active for years—maybe even longer—and their current strength was unknown. To be safe, he needed to face them in peak condition.
At dawn the next day, Victor headed toward the royal capital. According to intel, the pirate crew was once again eyeing someone's treasure vault, so they were likely hiding in the capital.
Rather than rushing, Victor hitched a ride with a merchant caravan heading to the capital, paying for passage on their wagon. He blended in perfectly—eating when they ate (though in smaller portions), answering nature's call when they did, and sleeping when they slept. He looked like any ordinary traveler.
After a day's journey, the caravan arrived in the capital, and Victor bid them farewell. He found an inn near the city center and settled in.
One peculiar habit caught his attention—despite the island's warm climate, many people wore large scarves. It was an oddly popular fashion choice.
'The cultural differences in this world really are something else,' Victor mused.
From his central location, Victor spread his Observation Haki, covering the entire capital. His plan was to gather intel first, pinpointing the pirates' hideout.
His current mastery allowed him to maintain full-range Observation Haki for half a day, so he had to time his scans carefully—focusing on periods when the most useful information would surface.
For now, he stayed in his room, never stepping outside. He could go a month without eating, after all—one meal was enough to sustain him for weeks.
As his Observation Haki expanded, countless voices flooded his mind:
"Your Majesty, this year's tax revenue has reached a new high. The pressure from the Celestial Dragons' tribute should ease considerably!"
"There's a new tavern on Jink Street—their drinks are amazing! You should check it out!"
"That lucky bastard Meigen found some weird fruit and handed it to the royal family. Got his tribute waived for the year!"
"Shh! Keep your voice down! That guy with the scarf is Count Ifrit, the kingdom's logistics minister. This whole scarf trend started a year ago—it's a high-society thing. Don't let him hear you, or you'll be in trouble!"
"Black Bull Town's taxes are too heavy this year... People are probably going to starve again. Damn shame."
", let's hit the red-light district tonight! Heard some new girls arrived—apparently their hometowns got wrecked. Let's go 'comfort' them, hahaha!"
Then, finally—the intel he needed.
In a certain tavern, a scarf-wearing man whispered to the owner:
"Boss—er, I mean, 'proprietor'—Count Ifrit sent word. He's luring the royal vault's record-keeper out for drinks tonight. Should we make our move?"
Victor immediately sharpened his focus on the conversation.
"Of course we move. Have the count bring him here—easier to handle. Once we control the record-keeper, we can infiltrate the vault. Hahaha!"
"Got it. I'll prepare the drinks."
"Good. Go."
Victor had found his targets—pirates disguised as tavern owners.
'They've been patient, staying undercover this long just for a treasure vault. Looks like they're close to their goal. Good thing I arrived early—any later, and I might've missed them.'
He planned to strike that night, wiping out the pirate hideout in one go.
Withdrawing his Observation Haki, Victor sat cross-legged, replenishing his energy for the upcoming battle.
As night fell and lanterns lit the streets, Victor—carrying a backpack—entered the pirates' tavern.
The place looked well-established, not like a recent front. 'Did they buy it? Or take it by force?'
Victor pushed the thought aside and stepped inside.
He chose a corner table, ordered some ale, and acted like any other bodyguard.
The "owner" stood behind the counter, the picture of a shrewd businessman—greasy smile, obsequious demeanor. He was a large man, taller and broader than Victor, with a protruding belly, a round hat, and a chubby face missing several teeth. 'Almost looks like Blackbeard.'
Victor averted his gaze.
'Not yet. It's not time.'
He sipped his drink, looking utterly dejected—like a lonely soul abandoned by the world, licking his wounds in solitude. No one disturbed him; they probably assumed he was nursing a broken heart.
Soon, the scarf-wrapped logistics minister arrived at the tavern with a pudgy man in tow.
The two ordered drinks, and the tavern owner shot a meaningful glance at the waiter, who nodded and slipped into the back room.
Victor observed the scene calmly. He already had a plan—now, it was just a matter of timing.
"Count Ifrit, what brings you out for drinks today? 'Hic'..." The record-keeper was already a little drunk, his words punctuated by hiccups.
"Nothing much. Just needed a break—work's been piling up, haha!" Ifrit replied vaguely, his tone strained.
"Take that scarf off already! You're sweating buckets. What, is it some keepsake from a lady friend? Hahaha!" The record-keeper roared with laughter.
Ifrit chuckled along, though his smile was bitter.
His fingers brushed the scarf, memories of 'that day' flashing through his mind. With a resigned sigh, he let his hand drop. 'Blackmailed into servitude...'
Before long, the record-keeper slumped over the table, unconscious. Ifrit paid the tab and hauled him out of the tavern.
Instead of heading home, he took a detour to a small courtyard behind the establishment.
The tavern's back door faced the courtyard gate, where the "owner" and his waiter now stood waiting—grins sharp as knives.
"Ifrit, quit dawdling. Get him inside."
Adrian's meek tavern-keeper act was gone. His true nature surfaced—voice icy, face twisted with malice.
"Adrian, remember your promise. This is the last time." Ifrit spat the words through gritted teeth as he dragged the record-keeper into the courtyard.
The place was unremarkable—just a simple residential yard, nothing suspicious.
Which, of course, was exactly what Adrian wanted. The best hiding spot was one no one glanced at twice.
"Let's begin." Adrian extended his left hand toward the unconscious man on the ground.
"Hey now… Isn't this Adrian the Pirate? What was your bounty again?"
A stranger's voice cut through the air—and froze them all in place.