Chapter 47: A Title Forged in Conviction
The memory of his final words to Shakky echoed in the quiet bar. Rayleigh sat in contemplative silence, the weight of Ian's declaration hanging in the air between them.
"Since he went to sea, he's gained fame, riches, the adoration of beautiful girls," Shakky had prodded, her tone deceptively casual as Ian had been about to leave. "They don't seem like the cruel, vicious pirates who pose a 'great threat.' Does someone like that truly deserve to be killed?"
Ian had stopped dead in his tracks. His heartbeat, steady and controlled a moment before, began to drum a faster, more passionate rhythm against his ribs. An emotion, long simmered and fiercely held, demanded to be voiced. He turned back, a cold, mirthless sneer twisting his features.
"Hah. You lofty legends are always so interesting with your words," he had retorted, his voice sharp. "What, precisely, constitutes a 'great threat'? Who gets to decide who 'deserves' to die?" He took a step closer, his gaze intense. "The kingdom of Rommel. After nightfall, commoners were slaughtered, one after another. The Marine soldiers who rushed to support them were found dead, their killers a mystery."
His voice dropped, becoming dangerously quiet. "So... the lives of those ordinary people... don't count? Their murders can be overlooked, excused, even whitewashed until the killer is worshipped as a hero?" A fire blazed in his eyes. "This world is truly, utterly insane."
He stood to his full height, his resolve solid as granite. "Then let me give you my answer. No matter how weak, an ordinary person is still a person. Their life has value. I don't belong to any faction—not the Hawks, not the Doves. I do what I believe is right. And you, who have never known what it is to be powerless, should stop trying to dictate the terms of justice from on high."
His final words were a vow, sealed in steel. "Today, I will definitely kill 'Rommel's Kamaitachi.'"
…
Back in the present, Rayleigh finally broke his long silence, taking a slow, deliberate drink. "Those who are high and mighty... please stop interfering..." he murmured, repeating Ian's words. "A young naval star with such potential... and yet, no matter how you look at him, he doesn't seem like an ordinary man himself, does he? How can he still understand the feelings of those at the bottom?"
He leaned back against the counter, his wise eyes looking through the window as if gazing into the past. Shakky, wreathed in cigarette smoke, offered a casual, cryptic shrug. "Who knows? Perhaps he's speaking from the memory of a past life." She let out a soft, knowing chuckle. "Haha. It seems this archipelago is in for some significant changes."
…
Early the Next Morning.
The news coos took flight, their cries heralding the dawn of a new legend. Newspapers across the world screamed with the headline: "White Horse" Cavendish, Executed by Commodore Jock Ian!
The reputation of the "Judge of the Sea" exploded across the waves, growing from a point of interest into a genuine phenomenon. The Sabaody Archipelago, once known to pirates as the glittering gateway to the New World, was now being rebranded in their minds as a "nightmare checkpoint" in the first half of the Grand Line.
The articles expertly dramatized Cavendish's provocation and heavily emphasized Ian's "hard-fought, half-hour battle," painting a picture of a valiant Marine officer overcoming a formidable foe. The underlying message to every aspiring pirate was clear: if you want to enter the New World, you had better be stronger than a 280-million-Berry Supernova. You had better be strong enough to face Jock Ian.
Along with the fame came a formal promotion from Marine Headquarters. Commodore Ian was now Major General Ian.
…
That Afternoon. Sabaody Archipelago, Area 66, Marine Base.
The buzz of Ian's promotion still filled the air when a new, confidential fax arrived. Gathering his core team in the conference room, Ian slapped the document onto the table.
"Amazing, Little Ian! You're so awesome!" Peacock gushed, her eyes sparkling with unabashed admiration. "A [Color] + [Animal] title! That's a privilege reserved for future Admiral candidates!"
The morning's newspaper had been shocking enough, but this internal communique was on another level entirely. It signaled that the very highest echelons of the Marines saw Ian not just as a promising officer, but as a future pillar of the entire organization.
"Hehe, Major General Ian is invincible!" Nami chimed in from behind his chair, where she was happily massaging his shoulders. "Becoming a Vice Admiral or even an Admiral is only a matter of time now!" She felt a personal thrill with every step of his ascent.
"Major General Ian," T. Peng added, standing at a respectful attention. "I have also received new orders. I am to be permanently transferred from guerrilla coordination to serve directly under your command. Please take care of me from now on!"
"Okay, okay, that's all well and good," Ian said, waving a hand to cut through the celebratory atmosphere. "I didn't call you here just to listen to you sing my praises." He pointed a firm finger at the fax. "The title. What the hell is it going to be? The alternative names Headquarters provided are all garbage! I need you to think, people! Brainstorm! Give me your ideas!"
He ran a hand through his hair in mild frustration. The deadline from Headquarters was this evening. If he wanted a say in his own legendary moniker, he had to act fast.
Skylark, holding the headquarters document, began to read the options aloud in her soft voice: "The alternative titles this department has provided for Major General Ian are: 'Brown Lion.' 'Snow Wolf.' 'Purple Eagle.' 'Vermilion Bird.' 'Black Python.' There are five in total. The Major General is... unsatisfied with all of them."
T. Peng immediately offered his vote. "I support 'Brown Lion.' The king of the jungle. It denotes strength and command."
Nami countered, "I think 'Snow Wolf' sounds better. Majestic and handsome, but with a cunning edge."
Peacock grinned mischievously. "I'm for 'Black Python.' Dark, fierce, and sneaky. Hehe, it fits Little Ian perfectly."
"Stop! Stop right there!" Ian interjected, his voice rising in exasperation. "Did I ask for a vote? If you're not going to use your ears for listening, you might as well donate them to science! Didn't Skylark just say I'm unsatisfied with these? These titles have nothing to do with me! Nothing! Where is the personal style? Where is the meaning?"
These titles felt generic, slapped on. For a name that would likely define him for the rest of his career, it felt utterly hollow.
It was then that Skylark, who had been quietly listening, tentatively raised her hand once more.
"Well, everyone..." she began, her voice soft but clear. "I... I have an idea. I think it might fit Major General Ian's character very well."
All eyes turned to her. Ian's gaze sharpened with interest. The last time, she had come up with the meaningful name "Dawn Pirates." He had hope for her yet.
"Look at little Skylark," Ian said, gesturing toward her. "Now there's a cultured mind. The rest of you, take notes! Go on, Skylark. Tell us your idea."
He leaned forward, his expression one of eager anticipation. Skylark stood up, took a steadying breath, and spoke with a newfound, righteous certainty.
"The title I propose for you, Major General Ian, is..."