Chapter 14 - Kenbunshoku

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Douglas, age 32, a towering giant standing 2.3 meters tall, hails from the North Blue. He is the first mate of the Sea Wolf Pirates, with a bounty of 20 million Berries. His weapon of choice is a spiked mace, and his raw arm strength is said to be monstrous—rumor has it that he once smashed the bow of an enemy pirate ship to splinters with a single swing. Cruel and violent by nature, Douglas has a notorious hobby of torturing prisoners to death.

This was the intelligence Shuma had gathered on Douglas.

After watching Shuma disappear into the grand, luxurious building, Aaron led his men to a nearby food stall. There, he pretended to idly snack while secretly waiting for Shuma to reemerge.

Even while waiting, Aaron did not neglect his training. From time to time, a faint, almost imperceptible red glint would flash in his eyes—he was honing his Kenbunshoku Haki, observing every movement in his surroundings while refining his sensory abilities.

Aaron had awakened Kenbunshoku Haki a year ago, during a forced participation in a duel of gunmanship.

Unlike the usual competitions where the goal was simply to hit targets, this was a true fight to the death between sharpshooters. Cornered by an opponent whose gun skills far outmatched his own, Aaron found himself at the brink of death. In that desperate moment, his Kenbunshoku Haki awakened—allowing him to evade the enemy's fatal shot and turn the tables with a killing counterstrike.

From that day on, Aaron trained his Kenbunshoku relentlessly, practicing whenever he wasn't in immediate danger.

For the longest time, he thought his aptitude for Kenbunshoku was poor.

After over a year of training, his range had only increased from two meters to five, and the cooldown between uses had barely improved.

But after engaging in a series of sword duels—especially the near life-or-death clashes against Aels—he began noticing real progress.

Through these fights, Aaron realized that Kenbunshoku Haki grows best under pressure. It is a skill that thrives in life-threatening situations, and simple, repetitive training could never match the gains earned in true battle.

Now, although his Kenbunshoku was still at a basic level, its range had more than doubled. Within a radius of twenty meters, he could instantly perceive any movement, and he could maintain the ability for up to ten seconds. The tradeoff was the much greater physical stamina it consumed.

However, thanks to more than three months of grueling Kuja Body-Training and two months of dedicated swordsmanship drills, Aaron's stamina had soared. He could now activate Kenbunshoku over a dozen times in a row without issue.

"A 20-million-Berry pirate from the North Blue, huh? His strength should be decent. Let's see just where my current level stands."

Once again, Aaron swept his surroundings with Kenbunshoku. Sensing nothing unusual, his gaze shifted toward a certain room inside the luxurious building.

Inside that very room—Aaron's target for tonight—Douglas was lounging in a lavish private suite, surrounded by his crew and entertained by the affectionate attention of several courtesans. They gorged themselves on meat, swigged liquor, and bragged loudly, grinning lasciviously as their hands roamed freely.

Knock, knock, knock.

Suddenly, someone rapped on the door.

Douglas and his men froze instantly, their hands stopping mid-motion, eyes fixed on the entrance.

Though they had come here to indulge and relax, their sharp instincts—honed from years on the sea—had never dulled. The slightest disturbance would put them on high alert.

Sensing the change, the courtesans quickly fell silent and retreated to the edges of the room, keeping out of the pirates' way.

They were all part of the Frosthorn Gang and knew very well the kind of clientele they served on this street—and what dangers those men feared.

Ever since the Flower Street outside the outer city of Velia Harbor became a favorite haunt of pirates, bounty hunters had flocked there, eager to hunt. Many had succeeded, taking down pirates with modest reputations from the first half of the Grand Line.

With such cautionary tales in mind, men like Douglas could never be too careful. One fight with a bounty hunter here, and neither the local authorities nor the gangs would lift a finger to help them.

Some of the less clever courtesans in the past had ignored such situations, clinging to their clients—and had paid with their lives at the hands of these wealthy yet vicious men. The rest had learned never to make that mistake.

"Who's out there?!"

At Douglas's signal, a pirate crept toward the door, pistol in hand, and barked the question.

"Sir, I'm just here to deliver the drinks! Don't misunderstand—Miss Lami, it's me, Barti!"

The server outside hurried to explain, his voice loud and trembling.

Working here might pay well, but the risk was high, and he had no wish to die inexplicably like some of his predecessors.

"It's Barti, the drinks runner—I recognize his voice. It's fine, boss, we're safe here. No one would dare cause trouble in this place unless they've got a death wish. Didn't you say we were running low on booze? I went out to call him."

The most beautiful of the courtesans flashed a smile as she reassured Douglas.

Douglas nodded, realizing it was a false alarm. He signaled for the pirate by the door to open it and laughed. "Hahaha! All right, lads, false alarm—let's keep drinking!"

But while he laughed, neither he nor the other pirates let their guard down. Their eyes stayed fixed on the doorway, and their pistols remained subtly trained on it.

Clearly, they didn't truly believe the server or the courtesan's words.

Creaaak.

The door swung open, revealing a timid young server with lowered eyes, pushing a cart piled high with liquor bottles.

In less than half a second, Douglas sized him up: submissive posture, trembling calves—utterly harmless. He immediately lost interest and turned back to Lami, grabbing another hunk of meat and swigging from his mug.

The rest of the pirates followed suit, and the room's rowdy energy quickly returned, as if the brief tension had never happened.

None of them noticed the tiny, pinky-sized paper ants crawling out from beneath the cart. They skittered under the couches, then toward the roaring fireplace—and without hesitation, leapt into the flames.

"The show's about to start."

In the neighboring suite, Room 202, Shuma—nestled between two beautiful courtesans—wore a sly, almost sinister grin.

Moments later, angry shouts and panicked screams erupted from Room 203. Douglas and his men burst out into the hallway, coughing and swearing as thick smoke billowed from their private suite, rapidly spilling into the corridor.

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