The child was soon given a name—Silvers Arthur. He carried the surname of his father, as most of his physical traits seemed to mirror Rayleigh's more than Shakky's.
His blond hair, his smile, and even his temperament leaned heavily toward Rayleigh, though traces of Shakky were certainly there as well.
From her, he inherited the wide, expressive irises of his eyes, a sharp contrast to Rayleigh's narrower gaze, and perhaps something more subtle that could not yet be put into words.
As days passed, Arthur's development showed signs far beyond that of a normal child. The inherited talent of Yoriichi Tsugikuni, the greatest swordsman of another world, had begun to surface even in infancy.
Barely a week after his birth, once his vision had cleared enough to properly open his eyes, something awakened within him.
The Transparent World—a heightened state of perception that Yoriichi had since birth. Through it, Arthur could see the inside of a human body, something that normal eyes couldn't do, the strength contained within himself, and the weight of even the smallest movements.
One afternoon, while Shakky was playing with Arthur near his crib, he decided to test the strange power building within his tiny frame. Reaching up, he grasped her finger with his infant hand, curious about the measure of his own strength. At first, he only meant to tug gently.
Yet when he applied pressure, the force he released was far greater than he intended. With a single pull, Arthur lifted Shakky clean off her feet and sent her tumbling backward, colliding with the door before she could regain her balance.
Thankfully, Shakky was no ordinary woman. Her reflexes as a former warrior empress spared her from injury, though her surprise was impossible to hide. Regaining her footing, she immediately rushed to Rayleigh, her voice filled with astonishment rather than anger.
"Ray-san, Ray-san! Our baby is incredible—he threw me against the door with just one hand!" Shakky exclaimed, her tone more proud than alarmed.
Rayleigh raised an eyebrow, visibly startled, though not entirely disbelieving. He looked from his wife to the small child in the crib, who seemed to be smiling innocently. To test her claim, he crouched down, extending his hand toward Arthur.
"Come here, Arthur. Grab hold of my finger," Rayleigh said calmly, though his eyes carried a glint of curiosity.
Shakky puffed out her cheeks in mock offense, crossing her arms. "Honestly, Ray-san, don't you trust me? I told you already," she said with a playful pout.
Rayleigh glanced at her, realizing he might have sounded doubtful. He scratched his head awkwardly, murmuring an apology, but before he could finish, Arthur's lips curled into a mischievous smile.
With a gleam of excitement in his infant eyes, he gripped Rayleigh's extended finger—and with a sudden burst of force, tossed him aside just as easily as he had done with Shakky.
The result was immediate. Rayleigh crashed into the far side of the room, sending splinters and dust into the air. Meanwhile, Arthur burst into cheerful laughter, clapping his tiny hands together in delight at his own antics.
"Hahahaha! That's right, Arthur," Shakky said between laughs, lifting her son into her arms with pride. "Protect your mama from now on whenever your father tries to bully me!" She grinned down at her child, both of them giggling together as if they had formed a secret alliance.
Rayleigh, brushing rubble from his shoulders, stood up with a sigh and a sheepish smile. "Alright, alright. I admit it—I shouldn't have doubted you," he said, raising his hands in surrender.
Arthur looked at the scene, amused beyond words. Though he could not speak yet, his thoughts rang clear. 'What a funny family dynamic,' he mused. He didn't believe for even a second that he had truly hurt Rayleigh. After all, this was the man who once stood beside the Pirate King himself.
Still, he couldn't deny how much he enjoyed the moment—the warmth, the laughter, and the bond already forming within this unusual family.
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Years passed quickly, and Arthur had now reached the age of five. It was at this point that Rayleigh decided his son was ready to begin formal training. The decision, however, was not one that Shakky accepted easily. As a mother, she believed Arthur was still far too young for rigorous training, and she voiced her concern openly.
Normally, Rayleigh might have agreed with her—after all, even Shanks, the child prodigy raised aboard Roger's ship, hadn't started serious training until he was at least eight years old.
"Isn't he a little too young, Ray-san?" Shakky asked one morning, her tone laced with worry as Arthur prepared to step into a new stage of life.
Rayleigh shook his head, his expression firm yet thoughtful. "His body was ready years ago, Shakky. Physically, he could have started training at three. Don't forget what happened back then—when he defeated that entire pirate crew with a combined bounty of five hundred million berries.
That wasn't something an ordinary child could do. If we don't shape that strength now, it could end up wasted. The seas are about to change, and he'll need discipline to survive what's coming."
Rayleigh's words carried weight, but Shakky's frown deepened. The memory he referred to was still vivid in both their minds. Arthur, who had never once picked up a real sword or gone through a single day of structured training, had grabbed a wooden practice blade one afternoon and single-handedly beaten an entire pirate crew that had drifted too close to Sabaody.
They weren't weak pirates either—they had come from the New World, the sea of monsters where only the strongest dared to sail. The feat was so absurd that even Rayleigh had been reminded of Kozuki Oden's childhood stories, or even of Charlotte Linlin, who had made a name for herself at a frighteningly young age.
Rayleigh had once asked Arthur directly how he managed such a thing. The boy, still only three at the time, had looked him straight in the eyes, his blue gaze sharpened by sunlight, and replied without hesitation.
"Before a person moves, their lungs expand to prepare for action. Their muscles twitch in response. I just… read them, and reacted before they did."
That answer had seared itself into Rayleigh's memory. It was a frighteningly mature observation for a child, and one that convinced him Arthur's gifts were beyond normal comprehension.
There were other incidents, too. Arthur had gone out fishing on his own and casually dragged home a Sea King that could have devoured entire ships. He did it as if it were nothing more than a casual hobby. Over time, these feats piled up, each one reinforcing Rayleigh's belief: his son wasn't just ready—he needed guidance.
Rayleigh had no intention of letting Arthur's future spiral aimlessly like Oden's reckless path, nor did he want him to stagnate like Linlin, who had never reached her true potential despite her monstrous strength.
No—Arthur needed direction. He needed to be molded, not only in strength but in philosophy. Rayleigh wanted him to grow into someone like Shanks, who balanced power with restraint, who never bowed to threats but never harmed the innocent.
If Arthur ever learned of this desire, he might have laughed. In his mind, the very idea of a "good pirate" was a contradiction, and Blackbeard was far closer to what a true pirate really was—a man willing to do anything, kill anyone, and betray anyone for his own gain.
Still, Arthur respected Rayleigh too much to dismiss his intentions out loud. And so the day of training arrived.
Father and son stood facing each other in a clearing, each with a wooden sword in hand. The atmosphere was quiet but charged with anticipation. Rayleigh's eyes studied Arthur carefully, gauging not only his posture but the way he carried himself.
"Don't hold back, Arthur," Rayleigh said, his voice steady. "Show me everything you've got."
Arthur nodded once. "Yes." He didn't need to be told twice. In his heart, he already knew he couldn't land an easy strike on his father.
Rayleigh was no ordinary opponent—he was the Dark King, the man who had stood beside Roger. But still, Arthur was determined to test himself.
Rayleigh gave the signal. "Start!"
Arthur exploded forward immediately. His movements were so fast that to the untrained eye, it would have looked like teleportation.
Any marine officer standing nearby would have assumed he had eaten some kind of Devil Fruit that allowed instantaneous movement. Yet this was pure speed, born from muscle and perception.
In the blink of an eye, Arthur launched a flurry of strikes. His wooden sword blurred as he aimed for Rayleigh's side, temple, neck, and legs in rapid succession. Each strike carried surprising weight for a five-year-old, but more than that, his precision was uncanny.
Rayleigh, though caught off guard by the sudden assault, parried every blow. His body moved on instinct, his blade intercepting Arthur's attacks at impossible angles. But though his defense held, his mind was shaken.
His eyes widened as he registered the sheer speed and sharpness of his son's strikes. The image of Arthur as merely a "prodigy" collapsed in his mind, replaced with something far more terrifying.
This wasn't a prodigy. This was a monster.
The word carved itself into Rayleigh's thoughts as the clash continued. Afterimages of Arthur's wooden sword seemed to multiply in the air, each one coming from a slightly different angle, forcing Rayleigh to adjust his parries faster and faster. The intensity built until
Crack!
Both froze as the sound split the air. They glanced down and saw the splintering edges of their wooden blades. The force of the impacts had been too much. Both swords had cracked under the sheer pressure of their exchange.