After sailing for a while, the dark speck on the horizon finally came into view—it was indeed an island, and not a small one at that.
Their guess confirmed, everyone's faces lit up with relief and excitement. They quickened their pace, steering toward the island, and before long, they were close enough to make out its details.
The first thing they saw was several old pirate ships anchored along the shore. They were patched together with crude repairs, weathered and worn, carrying the weight of decades. Just from their appearance, Buggy guessed these vessels had been built many decades ago.
Further inland, the island was dotted with houses. Some were made of stone, others of wood. The wooden ones looked especially dilapidated, clearly having gone years without maintenance. Human figures could be glimpsed moving about, and every so often a silhouette would flicker across their line of sight.
There was no proper port along the coast, so Buggy guided the Brilliant to a secluded spot to anchor. After securing the ship, the crew disembarked and set foot on the island.
This time, their goal was clear: find the inhabitants, learn the situation of the island, and most importantly, discover any way out of the surrounding mist.
As they walked inland along a path that led toward signs of habitation, two figures suddenly came running toward them.
When they drew closer, the crew saw that both men were tall, broad-shouldered, with fierce expressions and surprising speed. Clearly, they were not ordinary villagers.
The two stopped in front of them, eyes filled with a strange mix of mockery and schadenfreude.
"Hey, you lot—pirates, right? Lost your way in the fog and ended up here?"
There was no hesitation, only blunt questioning, as though they were enforcers carrying out a routine inspection.
"Yes," Buggy replied calmly. "We're pirates. We got lost in the fog and stumbled into this place by accident."
There was nothing to hide in that answer. As outsiders, it was better to be upfront. From their manner, Buggy guessed the two were some kind of patrol or lawkeepers on this island.
The men exchanged a knowing look, then sneered.
"Since you're here, don't get any wild ideas. Don't cause trouble. On this island lives Lord Gote, and his strength is beyond anything you can imagine. If you make a mess, your fate will be worse than you can picture."
It was clearly a warning.
Buggy narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly do you mean by 'wild ideas'?"
The question was sharp—and deliberate. From it, Buggy hoped to glean more.
The men didn't bother hiding the truth. Instead, they explained, and their words carried grim weight.
This island, they said, had once been a normal island along the Grand Line. But around a hundred years ago, for unknown reasons, it became shrouded in mist. Over time, the fog expanded, growing thicker and wider, until eventually the island was cut off from the outside world entirely.
The men warned them not to even think about leaving. Over the past century, countless pirates had arrived in the same way as Buggy's crew—lost in the fog, washed up here. Without exception, every attempt to escape had failed. Some ships vanished without a trace. Others were destroyed in the mist. The "lucky" ones were those who managed to crawl back here alive.
"You're the first outsiders to arrive in more than ten years," one of them added grimly. "It's been at least that long since any pirates stumbled in. Which makes you the unluckiest bunch in a decade."
Then came the real warning:
"Don't waste your lives chasing the impossible. Settle down here. Live out your days. Better that than die lost in the fog."
The crew fell silent. Their expressions grew grave.
From these words, they realized something chilling: if even the islanders themselves had long since abandoned all hope of escape, then there would be no answers to be found here. The path ahead—through the fog—would be even more perilous than they'd imagined.
After passing on their message, the two men gave a final list of instructions, then turned and hurried away, leaving Buggy's crew to digest their words.
The rules were simple but strict:
No violence on the island.
This was stressed again and again. Maintaining order was paramount. Anyone who caused trouble would face severe punishment—Lord Gote's name was repeated as a warning.
Do not cut down trees or plants.
As an isolated island, its resources were limited. Reckless destruction could mean permanent loss. To preserve their fragile environment, the islanders had collectively forbidden cutting vegetation.
Never enter the snow-covered mountains.
They did not explain—only a stern warning that the mountains were dangerous, a forbidden land that must not be approached.
With that, the two disappeared back the way they had come.
Though the crew carried heavy thoughts, they did not turn back. They pressed onward toward the cluster of houses.
When they entered the settlement, every villager stopped to stare at them with strange, curious eyes. Buggy understood immediately: in a place that had gone over ten years without outsiders, their sudden arrival was bound to cause a stir.
Whispers rippled through the crowd:
"So those are the newcomers? They're so young… such bad luck. They'll never get out. Their families must be worried sick."
"What good is worrying? It's just bad luck. At least they're alive. Here, they can still live safely."
"I heard pirates from outside set sail already prepared to die. Compared to that, being stuck here isn't so bad. It means they get to live, doesn't it?"
"Live? Hah. For people like them, who crave freedom, being trapped here is worse than death."
"What's so bad about it? Isn't it better to spend your life safe and peaceful like us?"
The villagers murmured on, voices filled with pity, curiosity, and resignation—each revealing a different perspective on pirates, freedom, and fate.