Chapter 8: The Weight of a Warlord's Flag
The newspaper rustled as Ian lowered it, revealing eyes that held no trace of sleep. He had been awake long before Nami's frantic search began, his enhanced senses having caught every rustle of paper and her whispered anxieties. The low grumble that left his lips was less a question and more a statement of grim fact. "Who dares to place a pirate ship in this Commodore's path on his very first day at sea?"
The Shichibukai. The Don Quixote family.
Doflamingo's crew.
To find a Warlord's vessel on the Grand Line was a known hazard. But here, in the placid waters of the East Blue? It was a provocation. His mind raced, calculating their position and the pirate ship's opposite heading, straight from the treacherous ascent of Reverse Mountain. They were returning to the Grand Line, bold as brass, using the world's most famous pirate passage as their personal highway. The audacity was a signature in itself.
"Captain Ian," Nami's voice was a tense thread, pulling him from his thoughts. She stood before him, her knuckles white where she gripped her newly drawn charts. "Should we... should we get out of the way too?" The tremor in her words betrayed the formidable reputation she was up against. "They are Shichibukai. They have privileges granted by the World Government itself. And... Colonel Tina has already stepped aside."
She waited, poised to relay his command to the helmsman, her navigator's mind already plotting the evasive course. The legends of the Seven Warlords were not confined to the Grand Line; they were ghost stories told in every naval barracks, cautionary tales of monsters granted legitimacy. They were forces of nature, powers that could stand against entire nations, and they sailed with a freedom that mocked the very laws the Navy upheld. It was common knowledge that even a Vice Admiral would think twice before forcing a confrontation. What hope did two lone Captain-class ships have?
"Wait for my order," Ian commanded, his voice a low, steady anchor in the rising tide of her fear. It was not a request.
In the space of a single breath, he moved. He became a streak of black, a shadow detaching from the deck and flowing up the rigging with impossible grace. He landed, perfectly poised, on the highest yardarm of the main sail, the entire sea spread out beneath him. He stood there, a solitary sentinel against the vast sky, his arms crossed over his chest as his gaze sharpened, piercing the horizon.
Visual and Auditory Enhancement: Activated.
The world narrowed. The gentle lapping of waves against the hull faded, and the ten nautical miles of ocean between them and the pirate ship simply vanished. Sound and image slammed into his consciousness with the force of a point-blank cannon shot.
The Jolly Roger snapped in the wind, a stark declaration of arrogance. It was the Don Quixote family's leering jester, unmistakable and vile. But it was the secondary symbol that confirmed his suspicion—a stark, black heart stitched beside it. The mark of the Spade Army, one of the four elite divisions serving under the "Heavenly Yaksha" himself.
On the deck below this banner of privilege, a mob of roughly fifty pirates was gathered. Their forms were clear, their voices a cacophony of scorn that rang in his ears as if they stood mere feet away.
"Hahaha! Look at them scurry! The mighty Navy, making way for us!" one crowed, slapping his thigh.
"They're nothing but cowards! The sight of our flag is enough to make them soil their pristine white uniforms!" another jeered.
"What was it they called themselves? 'Masters of the Sea'?" a third pirate spat over the railing. "I call them spineless worms!"
Their collective laughter—a harsh, mocking "AHAHAHA!"—ripped across the water, a tangible insult carried on the salt-laced wind. It was the sound of absolute impunity.
A cold, sharp smile touched Ian's lips. He dropped from the yardarm, landing silently beside a pale-faced Nami. "Get me the Den Den Mushi," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Broadcast frequency. It's time to introduce ourselves."
As Nami scrambled to obey, Ian's gaze never left the distant ship. The laughter still echoed in his ears, a challenge he had every intention of answering.