The weeks passed by without any major incidents, and the three sisters continued to live quietly under Shakky's roof.
They made sure not to draw attention to themselves, as the memory of being hunted still lingered deeply within their minds. Over time, however, the sisters began to relax little by little.
Hancock, in particular, opened up more compared to before, especially after she noticed Arthur and Rayleigh training together outside.
Normally, the two wouldn't spar this openly within the island, but given the uncertain times and the possibility of danger, both father and son agreed that it was necessary to stay sharp.
Even with the risk of being discovered, their training continued without interruption. Arthur spent those days polishing and refining the technique he had named Abyssal Breathing, while Rayleigh observed his growth with visible interest.
Each time they clashed, Arthur's strikes became sharper and more refined, his movements smoother, and his control over pressure more precise. Rayleigh couldn't help but feel both proud and amazed at the progress of his son, who was growing at a speed that defied all logic.
From the sidelines, Hancock watched their battle intently. Her eyes followed every movement, every clash, and every sound of steel colliding against steel.
The determination that Arthur displayed reminded her of something she thought she had lost long ago. Watching the young boy fight with such confidence and purpose stirred something inside her chest.
'If only I had that kind of strength,' Hancock thought to herself bitterly, 'then no one in our family would have suffered like that.' Still, she couldn't turn away. There was a strange comfort in watching the two train—a reminder that strength could be earned.
Meanwhile, Arthur remained completely focused on his fight against Rayleigh. Every swing and parry carried intent, as he was trying to adapt his swordsmanship to fit the rhythm of his new breathing style.
His mind, however, drifted in and out of the present battle. He found himself remembering the deep ocean currents, the feeling of the abyss swallowing the light, and how those movements might translate into sword techniques of his own.
Rayleigh, who immediately noticed that his son's attention was divided, decided to use the moment as a lesson. Without any warning, he infused his sword with Haki and unleashed a flying slash directly toward Arthur.
The compressed air shot forward with terrifying speed, slicing through the air in a straight line.
Arthur's eyes widened slightly as his intuition flared. The world seemed to slow down, and the rushing wind of the incoming slash filled his ears.
His body moved on instinct alone, guided not by thought but by reflex, as if his muscles had memorized what to do long before he did.
"Trenches' Embrace," Arthur muttered unconsciously as he swung his sword in one swift motion. The moment his blade cut through the air, an immense force rippled outward, producing a crushing pressure that mirrored the deep-sea weight of the abyss.
The ground beneath them trembled as if struck by a wave, and Rayleigh's flying slash dissipated instantly, crushed under Arthur's counterattack.
The strike continued downward, tearing through the soil and exposing the massive roots of the mangrove trees beneath the Sabaody surface.
For a brief second, silence filled the air. Arthur lowered his sword, only to notice a large crack spreading along its blade.
The weapon, unable to withstand the force of his strike, broke apart from the hilt. Arthur sighed, frustration visible on his face, before throwing away the broken hilt harder than he meant to.
"What a piece of crap," Arthur muttered, shaking his head.
Rayleigh laughed heartily at his son's expression. "Hahahaha! You need to find a weapon that can handle your strength. Maybe it's time we visit an old friend of mine."
Arthur's expression immediately changed into one of curiosity and excitement as he turned to face Rayleigh. "Really? When are we going?" he asked eagerly.
"Soon enough," Rayleigh replied, though his tone suggested there was more to it than he was saying.
Before Arthur could press the matter further, both of them noticed something approaching in the distance.
The sound of waves breaking against a hull grew louder, and when Arthur turned his head, he could see a ship adorned with two enormous snakes pulling it forward—the unmistakable vessel of the Kuja Pirates.
Standing proudly on the deck were Empress Tritoma and Gloriosa, the former empress, who looked noticeably older now yet still carried herself with confidence and grace.
Within minutes, the ship docked at the shore. Gloriosa immediately leapt off, her eyes lighting up the moment she spotted Arthur.
She ran toward him with open arms, intending to give her nephew a tight embrace.
"My dear nephew! Come here!" she exclaimed warmly.
But before she could reach him, Arthur turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, clearly wanting to avoid the incoming hug.
"Moh, my own nephew hates me already!" Gloriosa said with mock sadness, causing Empress Tritoma to laugh beside her. Rayleigh also laughed at the sight, shaking his head as he welcomed the guests into their home.
Arthur, meanwhile, was already jumping across rooftops, putting as much distance between himself and the house as possible.
'Even if I'm a young boy now, I still have my pride as an adult from my previous life,' he thought, leaping from one house to another. 'I won't let myself get spoiled, no matter what.'
He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't really care. Sometimes, fate led people where they needed to be—and for now, Arthur was content to follow wherever it took him.
-----------------
As Arthur kept leaping from rooftop to rooftop, the cool night air brushed against his face. He didn't really have a destination in mind, but fate seemed to always guide him somewhere worth his attention.
This time, his sharp senses picked up the faint noise of shouting near the docks—rough, careless voices, mixed with the sound of crates being dragged and chains rattling.
When Arthur landed silently on top of a warehouse roof overlooking the shore, he immediately saw what the commotion was about.
Below him was a newly arrived ship, its sails still wet from the ocean mist. A group of pirates was unloading goods from it, and just from their looks and mannerisms, Arthur could tell what kind of men they were.
These weren't ordinary smugglers or traders—they were slavers, pirates who dealt in human lives as easily as they sold weapons.
Shackled men and women were being forced off the ship one by one, their faces pale from exhaustion and hopelessness.
Beside them, several crates filled with weapons and treasures were being sorted by the crew.
Arthur crouched low, quietly observing the scene. His gaze lingered on the swords among the cargo.
'At least I can make use of that,' he thought. Lately, he'd been breaking every training sword he touched, and without a proper replacement, he needed something to last—something durable enough for his growing strength.
Because he was always in the Selfless State, his presence remained completely unnoticed. To the pirates, it was as if he didn't exist at all. Without wasting time, Arthur silently descended from the roof, landing lightly on the deck of the ship. The pirates continued talking and laughing, unaware that death was already among them.
In one seamless motion, Arthur drew a sword from the nearby rack and moved. His blade flashed once—then twice—and by the time the pirates realized something was wrong, heads were already rolling on the wooden planks.
The silence that followed was broken only by the thud of collapsing bodies.
Those on the shore turned in confusion, but before they could even shout, Arthur was already there. To them, it looked as if invisible blades were cutting them down one after another.
When the last pirate fell, Arthur stood calmly amidst the wreckage, his expression unchanged.
The freed slaves, still trembling and confused, looked around in disbelief. They couldn't understand what had just happened or who this boy was.
Arthur slowly turned toward them and raised a hand—not as a threat, but as a quiet gesture for them to calm down.
He tossed them a ring of keys that he had taken from the fallen pirates. "Free yourselves," he said simply.
The slaves hesitated for a moment, then hurried to unlock their chains. As they did, Arthur turned away and started searching the ship for anything useful. His steps were steady and unhurried, his eyes scanning every corner of the vessel.
Eventually, he found what he was looking for—two large treasure chests secured in the captain's quarters. Opening them, he was surprised to see the swirling patterns of two Devil Fruits resting inside.
"So these bastards were merchants for the Celestial Dragons," Arthur muttered under his breath. He carefully stored the fruits in a cloth sack and continued searching the cargo. Nearby, he found a barrel filled with weapons—mostly cheap steel swords, but still usable. He took the whole barrel without hesitation, deciding it was better to have disposable weapons than nothing at all.
When he emerged from the ship's hold, the former slaves were already preparing to depart. Some of them had found rope and tools to repair the sails, while others were organizing supplies. Their faces, though still tired, carried a faint glimmer of hope.
"Are you sure you can sail this ship?" Arthur asked, looking at the man who seemed to be leading them.
"Yes," the man replied firmly. "Some of us were fishermen before we were captured. We know how to read the sea and handle storms. We'll manage. And… we thank you, truly. If you hadn't intervened, I don't know what would have become of us."
Arthur gave a small nod in acknowledgment. "Then go. The faster you leave, the safer you'll be."
He didn't wait for further thanks. Slinging the barrel of weapons over his shoulder, he stepped off the ship and began walking back toward the town.
Behind him, the ship slowly pulled away from the shore, its sails catching the wind as the newly freed men and women steered it toward the open sea.
Arthur glanced back one last time before continuing on his way. 'What a messed up world,' he thought silently. No matter where he looked, strength dictated everything—who ruled, who served, who lived, and who died.
With that thought, Arthur quietly made his way back toward his residence, disappearing once again into the shadows of the Sabaody night.