Chapter 10: Kidnappers
We moved with purpose, melting back into the shadows of Scrap Town.
The tavern was in a stunned uproar behind us, but no one dared to follow.
Even the Marines were frozen, caught between their duty and the sudden appearance of a 100-Million-Berry "Logia user."
"Are you insane?" Elara hissed, pulling Riyon and me into a cramped alleyway between two derelict hulls. "You just revealed your face to an entire bar full of Marines! G-12 will be on high alert in minutes!".
"Good," I said, my voice still resonating with the sun's pride. "They will know who has come for them."
"Captain," Riyon interjected, his hand resting on Nagasone Okisato. His grin was gone, replaced by a focused, lethal calm.
"Your power is of the sun. An execution at 10 a.m. is to your advantage. But a fortress full of Marines is still a fortress. A direct assault is suicide, even for you.".
"Who said anything about a direct assault?" I asked.
Elara and Riyon both looked at me, confused.
"I am a god by day," I said, the Escanor persona receding as the afternoon sun began to wane, my own 15-year-old mind blending back in.
"But I am a Marine Trainee by night. And I was trained by Garp. He didn't just teach me how to punch. He taught me how to break a fortress from the inside out."
Elara's sharp eyes lit up. "Infiltration. You want to go in tonight. During your 'weak' time."
"Exactly," I said. "They will be expecting a front
al assault from a 'Logia' monster at dawn.
They will not be expecting a three-person infiltration team at 3 a.m. They will be looking for a god; they will be found by a ghost."
Riyon sheathed his sword, a new respect in his eyes. "A gamble. Using your weakness as your shield. I like it."
"Elara," I continued, turning to her. "You're a master of intel. You were a 'guest' of G-17 for weeks. I need the layout of G-12. Dungeons, patrol routes, location of the execution platform, and the Commodore's quarters."
"That's..." she started to protest, then sighed.
"Fine. It's impossible, but fine. Give me two hours and a lot of money."
"You have one hour," I said, pressing a sack of Berries into her hand. "Riyon and I will... acquire... some climbing gear."
At 02:47 a.m., the three of us lay flat on a rocky cliff, staring across a 300-meter channel of black, churning water at the G-12 fortress.
It was a monster. A sheer, black-walled citadel of seastone and steel, bristling with cannons. Searchlights swept the water.
Elara had worked a miracle. "It's bad," she whispered, laying out a stolen blueprint on the rock.
"The intel I bought... Commodore Grubb is a paranoid bastard. He's doubled the patrols. He's got the execution platform on the main parade ground, brightly lit. But the dungeons..."
She tapped a section at the base of the fortress, barely above sea level.
"They're here. Old, from before the base was modernized. The only way in, other than the main gate, is a storm drain. It's barred, naturally. And it's guarded."
"How many?" Riyon asked, testing the edge of his blade.
"Two. Posted right inside the grate."
"I'll handle them," Riyon said. "You're Commodore-level," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"You're the emergency button. I'm the infiltrator. My Observation Haki is better."
His pride bristled, but he nodded. "Fine. But if I hear a pin drop, I'm coming in."
"I'll be the overwatch," Elara said, pulling out a long-barreled rifle—my rifle, the one I'd used to kill Charlos, which she had appropriated.
"My Shooting is rusty, but I can hit a man-sized target from here. I'll cover your exfiltration."
I nodded. I stripped off my heavy coat, leaving me in a simple, dark-gray shirt and pants. I tied a rope around my waist and handed the other end to
Riyon. "I'll tug three times when the grate is clear. Follow me in."
I slipped into the freezing water without a sound and began to swim.
The 300-meter swim was grueling for my Stamina: 13 body. By the time I reached the rusted storm grate, my muscles were burning and my teeth were chattering. The cold was a physical enemy.
I clung to the bars, catching my breath. My new Observation Haki: Intermediate was my only true weapon. I closed my eyes, pushing my senses past the grate.
I could feel them. Two guards, 20 feet inside. One was slouched, half-asleep. The other was pacing, complaining about the cold.
[Observation Haki: Glimpse of the Future]
A flash. The pacing guard walks to the grate, peers out. He sees my shadow in the water. He raises his rifle. The alarm.
(Time: 12 seconds)
I had 12 seconds.
I pulled myself up, out of the water, clinging to the wall above the grate where the searchlight couldn't reach.
My Agility: 22 was just enough.
The guard ambled over, just as I'd "seen." He shivered. "Hate this damn post. Nothing but rats and..."
He peered out. He saw nothing. He shrugged and turned his back, walking back to his partner.
I drew the Marine-issue knife from my boot. Armament Haki: Control. A faint, black sheen, invisible in the dark, coated the blade.
I slipped my arm through the bars and threw.
Thwack.
The pacing guard stiffened, gurgled, and fell, the Haki-infused blade buried in his neck.
The second guard, the sleepy one, yelped. "Wha—"
Before he could even stand, I had another knife out. I'd come prepared. I threw it. It was a sloppier throw, my arm screaming from the cold, but it struck him in the chest, knocking him off his stool. He was wounded, not dead.
'Dammit!'
I heard him fumbling for his Den Den Mushi.
I didn't hesitate. I put my boot on the crossbar of the grate and pulled.
My Strength: 21 wasn't enough. The old lock held.
'Riyon! Now!' I thought, even though I knew he couldn't hear.
The wounded guard raised the snail. "Intru—"
A shadow fell over him from the inside of the tunnel. It was Riyon. He had swum faster than me and, seeing my struggle, had already picked the lock.
Shing.
Riyon's blade slid back into its scabbard. The guard's head, and the Den Den Mushi, slid off his shoulders.
"You're slow," Riyon whispered, his wolfish grin back.
"And you're impatient," I hissed, climbing through the opening he'd made. "It worked."
We were in. The air in the dungeon was thick with salt, mildew, and despair.
"This way," I whispered, my Haki sensing the life signs in the cells below.
We moved like ghosts. My Glimpse of the Future saved us twice.
A flash: A patrol rounds the corner. (Time: 4 seconds).
We ducked into an empty cell. The patrol passed, none the wiser.
Finally, we reached the lower cells. Most were empty, but one... one had a man in it
He was chained to the wall, his wrists raw. He was tall, with a wiry, powerful build. He had fiery red hair tied in a practical-but-messy bun, and a sharp, hawk-like nose. He was covered in grime, but his eyes... his eyes were sharp, intelligent, and filled with a furious, unbroken pride.
He looked up as we approached, his gaze sharp enough to cut. He wasn't scared. He was annoyed.
"Well, well," the man said, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone that was completely at odds with his surroundings.
"Look what the tide washed in. A pair of baby-faced assassins? Or just some very lost grave robbers? If you're here for me, you're late. My execution is at 10. I have a schedule to keep."
I stepped into the dim light. "You are Vasco?"
The chef's eyes narrowed, studying me. "I am. And you are...?"
"The man who is going to get you out of here," I said.
Vasco let out a dry, cynical laugh. "Oh, wonderful. My saviors. A boy who looks like he's barely held a sword, and..." his eyes flicked to Riyon, "...a man who definitely has. No offense, kid, but I've seen Marines tougher than you. Go home before you get hurt."
"This 'kid,'" Riyon said, his voice dangerously low, "is Monkey D. Luthor."
Vasco's cynicism didn't just vanish; it was obliterated. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped. He stared at me, really stared at me, seeing the 100-Million-Berry poster in his mind.
"Suncorch... Luthor?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "The one... the one who killed Saint Charlos?"
"The very same," I said.
Vasco looked from me to Riyon, then back to me. The fury in his eyes was replaced by a dawning, manic, and slightly unhinged hope.
"You... you really did it?" he breathed. "You killed one of those... swine?"
"I did."
Vasco suddenly burst into a rattling, barking laugh that echoed through the damp cells.
"By the gods! I knew it! I knew I wasn't the only one! I knew there was someone else out there with the guts!"
He strained against his chains, his eyes blazing with a shared conviction.
"I refused to cook for Saint Jalmack. I called him a pig. And you... you just shot one! Hah! I should have known!"
Riyon, ever the practical one, stepped forward and sliced the seastone chains with a Haki-laced cut.
Vasco stumbled, rubbing his wrists. He stood, and I realized he was taller than Riyon. He rolled his shoulders, a dozen cracks echoing in the cell.
"Alright, Captain 'Suncorch,'" he said, his hawk-like face splitting into a grin that was all teeth.
"I'm Vasco. I'm a chef. I was supposed to be executed in seven hours."
He looked at me with an intensity that matched my own.
"Get me to a kitchen. I'm starving. And then... get me a knife. I believe I owe Commodore Grubb my professional compliments."
(To be continued)
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