Chapter 1: Stranger
Somewhere in Texas.
This town built in the desert is called San Venganza, once a place where countless people dreamed of starting their lives during the gold rush era, and also a graveyard where countless dreams were shattered. Now fewer than three hundred people remained, most of them elderly folks who refused to abandon their land. Weathered wooden houses lined the dry riverbed. Dust hung in the air as if it had seeped into the town's bones.
On a patch of ground near the church cemetery on the east side of town, an elderly man worked alone.
Carter Slade was half crouched as he used a damp coarse cloth to scrub the hind leg of a black stallion. His knuckles were worn from years of labor, though his movements held a gentleness that spoke of deep affection, like he was tending to a cherished companion.
The horse snorted and flicked its tail.
"Easy there, partner. Just bear with me a little longer." Carter's voice came out low and gravelly.
The stallion's mane gleamed, its muscles smooth and defined. Even standing still, it carried a wild spirit that couldn't be tamed.
Carter's wrinkled hand brushed along its back. His eyes softened with memories. There had been a time when he rode a horse like this across the western frontier, wide-brimmed hat low over his brow, chasing dust trails and danger under the desert sun.
Years had since carved their marks into him. His hair had turned white, and his adventures had become stories only the wind remembered. Now he kept watch over this resting place for the dead with his faithful horse at his side. The worn hat hanging from the saddle was the last fragment of the life he once lived.
He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes toward the distant desert. Noon sunlight scorched the earth. Heat shimmered in wavering waves. He remembered being young, urging this same black horse across the sands in search of freedom and adventure that always felt just out of reach.
These days all he wanted was to guard this quiet cemetery and keep company with old friends long laid to rest beneath the soil.
"Hey, old man. Do you know where I am? I think I'm lost."
The lively voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Carter turned and looked straight at a young man who made his brow crease in an instant.
The kid stood about six foot one, maybe twenty or so. Short black hair glinted under the sun and faint freckles dotted both cheeks.
What drew the eye first was the orange cowboy hat perched on his head. A smiling face badge and a crying face badge clung to the brim, and a skull trinket swung from the chin cord. A string of red beads hung around his neck. He wore shorts, nothing more on his torso.
Bronzed skin and complex tattoos coiled around both arms. And he wore a wide, carefree grin as if nothing in the world could ever trouble him.
Carter gave him a once-over and felt another twitch of disapproval.
To an old cowboy like him, this look was pure nonsense. It felt like the sort of getup worn by kids who learned everything they knew from flashy cowboy movies and none of it from real life. The outfit was gaudy, mismatched, and impossible to take seriously.
"San Venganza, Texas," Carter replied, tone cool. "State Route sixty-three heads north about twenty miles. You'll reach the highway. Off you go."
With that, he turned back to tending the horse, intent on ignoring the odd stranger.
The young man didn't leave.
Carter heard footsteps behind him, light and unconcerned, like someone taking a stroll through his own backyard. He looked back again and found the kid wandering through the cemetery as if it were a park.
"Hey!" Carter raised his voice. "That's a graveyard."
The young man glanced back with an easy grin. "Yeah, I know, old man. I've seen plenty of graveyards. Doesn't bother me."
Then he actually stepped inside, weaving between the worn tombstones. He paused now and then to read the names and dates etched into the stone, mumbling as he went.
"Eighteen sixty-seven to nineteen oh-two… only thirty-five. What a shame."
He wandered farther in, muttering again.
"Wonder what happened to my idiot little brother after I died. Bet he'd be heartbroken. He already lost one big brother… losing another one… tch. I can already picture him bawling his eyes out."
He snorted softly. "I'd love to see his face then so I can mock him all over again. Something like, 'You're the younger brother. Of course your big brother's supposed to protect you. What're you crying for?'"
His voice trailed off into a quiet murmur.
Whatever memories he'd stirred up clearly wiped the goofy smile from his face. He stared at a small bouquet resting before a headstone, lost in thought.
Carter rose to his feet, ready to snap at him again, though the words wouldn't form. Strange as the kid's behavior was, he wasn't doing anything disrespectful. He was just… far too casual.
A few minutes later the young man finished his little tour. His spirits bounced right back, and he strolled toward Carter with a spring in his step, eyes locked on the black stallion.
"Whoa, this horse is gorgeous!"
He lifted his hand, ready to stroke the mane.
"Don't touch!" Carter smacked his hand away. "This horse has a temper. It'll bite."
He could feel his patience fraying. In all his years he had never met someone this oblivious to personal boundaries. The kid's social instincts were almost aggressively strong in the strangest way.
"It'll be fine," the young man replied with a beaming smile. "Animals love me."
He reached out again, quicker this time, and Carter didn't manage to pull him back. To Carter's shock, the stallion — proud and temperamental as it was — didn't shy away. Instead, it leaned in and nudged the boy's palm with a soft rumble.
Carter was stunned.
This horse had been with him longer than he could count. It never let strangers near it. Not even the merchants who tried buying it could get close without risking a broken rib.
"See? Told you." The young man glanced toward Carter, grin even brighter. "Your horse looks amazing. Great build, solid muscles. You must've been a real rider back in the day, huh?"
"That was… a long time ago. Back then I—"
Carter's words halted as his gaze fell on the boy's bare back when he turned.
He stared.
A massive tattoo dominated the center of the young man's back — a skull with a white, crescent-shaped mustache sweeping upward like a proud banner. Behind the skull crossed two long bones. The design was jet black, bold and untamed.
That symbol…
Carter Slade had lived long enough to witness things most people would never believe. He had bargained with devils and crossed paths with angels. A tattoo should have meant little to him.
But this symbol resonated with something buried deep in his memory. Old knowledge about "contracts" and "souls"… forgotten except for its echo.
His posture shifted. The stern, impatient cowboy faded away, replaced by wary curiosity.
This grinning, bare-chested oddball was probably not as simple as he appeared.
"What's your name, kid?"
Carter asked the young man in his weathered voice.
"Me?" The young man grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth.
"Portgas D. Ace. But you can just call me Ace, old man."