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In the grand hall of Veridia's royal palace, a stone structure adorned with stained-glass windows depicting crossed swords, the king of Veri
In the grand hall of Veridia's royal palace, a stone structure adorned with stained-glass windows depicting crossed swords, the king of Veridia waited. He was a middle-aged man, draped in a gold-embroidered robe, his round face and ruddy cheeks betraying a life of comfort. His advisors, lined up behind him like nervous shadows, exchanged anxious whispers.
The presence of Dracule Mihawk, the contender for the title of the new fourth Emperor, in their modest kingdom was not something to be taken lightly.
"Lord Mihawk!" the king exclaimed, rising from his throne, his voice quivering with forced courtesy. He bowed so deeply that his crown nearly slipped. "What an honor… what a tremendous honor to welcome you to Veridia! Your reputation precedes you, and… and we are truly flattered that you've chosen our humble tournament to…"
Mihawk raised a hand, cutting off the flood of words. "Spare me the flattery. I'm not here to invade your island."
A collective sigh of relief swept through the hall. The king, visibly thrown, blinked. "R-really? Then… why are you here, if I may ask?"
Mihawk fixed his piercing yellow gaze on the king, who seemed to shrink under its intensity. "Veridia is strategically located. A hub for swordsmen and an anchor in this part of the New World. I propose to extend my flag over your island. You'll be under my protection. In return, you'll provide me with information on fleet movements in these waters."
The king swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting with the folds of his robe. "Under your protection… you mean, like Dressrosa?"
"Precisely," Mihawk replied, impassive. "But unlike Dressrosa, I have no interest in exploiting your people. Consider it an alliance."
Cavendish, standing a few steps behind Mihawk, couldn't resist stepping forward, his white cape billowing theatrically. "An alliance with the world's greatest swordsman!" he exclaimed, a dazzling smile on his lips. "Veridia should count itself fortunate!" He paused, then added, one eyebrow raised: "And my men? My loyal comrades of the Beautiful Pirates? Will they join me in this glorious adventure?"
Mihawk turned his head slightly, his gaze sliding over Cavendish with a hint of restrained amusement. "Your men will stay stationed here. They'll form the core of my fourth fleet, which you will captain. But you, Cavendish, are coming with me."
Cavendish blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Captain of the fourth fleet?" he repeated, his voice rising an octave. Then, a radiant smile lit up his face. "Me, Cavendish, leading a fleet under Dracule Mihawk's banner? This… this is magnificent! A scene worthy of the greatest legends!"
The king, who seemed lost in the exchange, hastily nodded. "Of course, Lord Mihawk! Veridia accepts your protection with gratitude. We… we'll do whatever you ask."
Mihawk gave a minimal but definitive nod. "Good. My men will establish an outpost here. You'll receive precise instructions." Without another word, he turned on his heel. Cavendish, after one last theatrical bow to the court, followed suit.
Veridia's port, nestled at the foot of the cliffs, was a scene of organized chaos. Ships of all sizes crowded the docks, their sails snapping in the salty breeze. The Nachtrone, Mihawk's vessel, loomed at the center like a floating fortress, its sleek, dark lines contrasting with the garish hulls of surrounding ships. Its figurehead, an abstract shape evoking a blade, stood out starkly.
Korran leaned against the railing, carving a piece of wood with a hunting knife. As Mihawk and Cavendish approached, he looked up, a sly grin on his lips. "That was quick, Captain," he said, his rough accent carrying in the air. He eyed Cavendish from head to toe, noting the pristine cape and perfectly styled blond hair. "This the new guy, huh? Looks… flashy."
Cavendish stopped short, one eyebrow twitching. "Flashy?" he repeated, a hand on his hip. "I am Cavendish, the Pirate Prince, the very embodiment of elegance and power! Perhaps you'd like an autograph to commemorate the moment you met me?"
Korran let out a coarse laugh, shaking his head. "An autograph? I'd rather have a good beer, clown."
Before Cavendish could retort, a woman's voice rang out from the cabin. "Hey, can we get going now?" Kiku, the Amazon carpenter, stepped onto the deck, her black hair tied in a practical bun, a carpenter's hammer tucked into her belt. She glanced at Cavendish, then at Mihawk. "This the new guy? He gonna fit on this ship with all that flair?"
Cavendish opened his mouth to protest, but Mihawk silenced him with a glance. "Yes, Kiku. Prepare the Nachtrone. We leave immediately." Then, in a slightly sharper tone, he added, "And where's Law? Isn't he going to greet his new crewmate?"
At the mention of Law, Cavendish froze. His eyes widened, and a flash of pure rage crossed his face. "Trafalgar Law?" he cried, his voice hitting a shrill pitch. "That… that quack is in your crew?"
As if on cue, a figure emerged slowly from the cabin's shadow. Trafalgar Law, his cap pulled low over his eyes, gave an ostentatious yawn. "Gotta yell like that, Cavendish-ya?" he drawled, his tone dripping with disattention. "We were bound to run into each other eventually, right?"
Cavendish, red with fury, drew Durandal in a theatrical flourish. "YOU!" he roared, pointing his sword at Law. "You… you hack surgeon! You think I'm going to sail with the likes of you? After everything you've done to me?"
Law raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. "Everything I've done?" he echoed. "Have we even met?"
Cavendish, beside himself, lunged at Law, Durandal slicing through the air with deadly precision. Law, barely reacting, snapped his fingers to activate his Room. A blue sphere enveloped the deck, and in an instant, he swapped places with a nearby crate, dodging Cavendish's strike. Durandal sank into the wood, eliciting a loud crack.
"You serious right now?" Law growled, his tone shifting from boredom to irritation. He drew Kikoku, ready to counter. "If you're itching for a fight, I can operate on you right here, Prince Charming."
Korran, still leaning against the railing, burst into laughter. "Oh, this is gonna be fun!" he said, crossing his arms. Kiku, meanwhile, sighed and muttered something about "immature kids."
Before the situation could escalate further, a chilling gust swept across the deck. Mihawk, without even drawing Yoru, unleashed an aura of Haki so potent that Cavendish and Law froze instantly. The waves around the Nachtrone seemed to still, and an oppressive silence settled.
"Enough," Mihawk said, his voice low but cutting. "You're in my crew. That makes you comrades. I won't tolerate outbursts except for training purposes, and not on this ship."
Cavendish, breathing heavily, sheathed Durandal, his cheeks still flushed with anger. Law, after one last glare, stowed Kikoku and shrugged. Perona, floating a few meters above the deck, burst into laughter, her negative ghosts swirling around her. "Hihihi! Seriously, Mihawk, you always pick the weirdos! Between the hysterical prince, the grumpy doctor, and the big brute, we're never gonna be bored!"
Mihawk ignored the comment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Kiku, has Violet signaled?"
Kiku, adjusting a mooring line near the mainmast, straightened up sharply. Her usually stoic black eyes met Mihawk's. "Yes, Captain. She sent a hawk this morning. The target's been spotted." She wiped her gloved hands on her leather apron, then added, "On Solstice Island. It's far. Three days' sail northeast, in neutral waters near the Cambelt."
Mihawk's lips curved into a faint, barely perceptible smile, but his golden eyes glinted with cold resolve. "Solstice… she's gone far, hasn't she." He turned his gaze to the northeast horizon, where the sky was turning steel gray. "But we won't go directly. Make a stop at Ker-Bisth en route."
Korran, who had just pocketed his knife, raised a surprised eyebrow. "Ker-Bisth? Where's that?"
Mihawk didn't look at him, his eyes still on the sea. "It's on our path to Solstice. Ker-Bisth is a trading hub, a chaotic place where everyone blends in." He finally turned to Kiku. "We'll resupply there. Discreetly. No flag, no displays. Understood?"
Kiku nodded, a spark of understanding in her eyes. "Yes, Captain. Ker-Bisth, then Solstice. I'll prepare the log poses." She headed toward the quarterdeck, her hammer lightly tapping her thigh with each step.
Perona floated lower, her big pink eyes gleaming with excitement. "Ker-Bisth! Hihihi! I heard they've got fancy hat shops there! And pastries with sugar clouds! You'll let me go ashore, Mihawk? Pretty pleeeease?" She pouted, a negative ghost swirling around her head like a grumpy halo.
Before Mihawk could respond, Cavendish stepped forward, his white cape flaring dramatically. "Ker-Bisth? A den of smugglers and grimy sailors?" He gave a perfect grimace of disgust, a hand on his chest. "But… imagine the people's despair seeing such elegance lost in that filth! The contrast will be heart-wrenching! Yet…" His gaze turned dreamy. "What a magnificent scene! The Pirate Prince, shining lika beacon in the darkness of mediocrity!"
Law let out an audible sigh and leaned against the railing, closing his eyes. "If I have to listen to this kind of monologue the whole way, I'd rather swim to Solstice."
Korran's coarse laugh echoed across the deck. "Then swim, Doc! That'll keep things quiet!"
Mihawk raised a hand, silencing the banter. His authority was immediate, palpable. "Enough. Perona, you can go ashore at Ker-Bisth, but under Korran's watch." He shot a piercing glance at Cavendish. "And you, Prince, will save your 'radiance' for Solstice. At Ker-Bisth, you stay on the Nachtrone with Kiku and Law. That's an order."
Cavendish opened his mouth to protest but met Mihawk's gaze. He stiffened, then bowed with forced theatrical grace. "As you wish, Lord Mihawk. The patient glow burns brightest."
Mihawk ignored the quip and turned to Kiku, who was returning with a parchment scroll in hand. "Set course northwest, Kiku. Ker-Bisth by dawn. Moderate speed."
"At your orders, Captain!" Kiku took the helm with confidence.
The Nachtrone turned slowly, its dark sails swelling with a sudden gust. The blade-shaped figurehead cleaved the waves with silent determination.
Cavendish, glancing at Law, leaned against the railing. "Me, sailing with that guy…" he muttered, shooting a sidelong look at Law, who ignored him completely.
Law, for his part, sat on a crate, his gaze lost in the ocean. "This is gonna be a long trip," he murmured to himself.