The plan unfolded with the silent, terrible precision of a falling guillotine.
Two days after the meeting in the 'Salty Mermaid,' a fire broke out in the Shells Town Marine Base records annex in the dead of night. It was contained quickly, but not before several shelves of supply ledgers were charred beyond legibility. The night watch reported seeing a shadowy figure fleeing—a figure matching the description of Borin, the disgruntled former quartermaster's mate.
Simultaneously, an anonymous packet of evidence detailing Borin's years of black-market dealings and his connections to the "Riptide Scum" pirates was delivered to the desk of Mr. Silas. The evidence was damning, meticulous, and pointed directly at the attempted arson as a desperate act to cover his tracks.
Silas, the hunter of anomalies, found himself holding a snarling, tangible beast instead of a single strange thread. His focus, as Kuro predicted, pivoted with the hungry gleam of a bureaucrat presented with a prosecutable conspiracy. The discrepancy of six pounds of black powder was now easily explained as part of Borin's systemic pilfering. Travis Pendragon faded from his primary view, becoming a minor witness in a much larger case of corruption.
Travis observed the aftermath from a calculated distance. He saw Borin dragged away in chains, protesting, then bargaining, finally slumping in defeat as the offered "leniency" for a simple embezzlement charge was presented. The pawn had been sacrificed. The queen—Travis's secret—was safe.
Captain Rourke was furious at the breach of security but privately relieved the scandal was contained to a low-level crook and not systemic failure under his command. Hackett grumbled about "paper-pushers causing more trouble than pirates," but his watchful eye on Travis held a fraction less tension. The immediate threat had been diverted.
Now, it was time for growth.
The following morning, as Travis and Dorn prepared the Marlin for its patrol, a fisherman in a patched boat rowed urgently to the dock.
"Marines! You gotta check the eastern cliffs!" the man called out, his face a mask of convincing fear. "Saw a low, fast raft heading for the caves at daybreak! No colors, looked smuggler-rigged!"
Dorn scowled, spitting over the rail. "Probably just poachers. Waste of time."
"The eastern cliffs are within our patrol zone, Seaman," Travis said, his tone neutral but firm. "If it's smugglers, they could be landing contraband or scouting for a raid on the town. A visual check is procedure."
Dorn grumbled but didn't argue. Procedure, after the recent inspection, was a holy word. He turned the Marlin's bow toward the stark, windswept cliffs that rose like broken teeth east of Shells Town.
The cliffs were a place of raw, elemental power. The sea crashed against them with a relentless, booming fury, carving deep caves and sea stacks. The air was thick with salt spray and the cries of wheeling gulls. As they approached the coordinates Kuro had provided, Travis felt it—a profound, resonant pull from the Sign-In System, stronger than the cellar, stronger than Coffin Cove. This place had history soaked into its stone.
"See anything?" Dorn shouted over the wind, squinting at the forbidding coastline.
"Nothing on the water," Travis called back. "But there's a cave entrance up there, large enough to hide a small craft at high tide. I should get a closer look from the cliff top. Can you hold position here?"
Dorn eyed the treacherous rocks and crashing surf. "Rather you than me. Don't fall. Paperwork's a nightmare." He agreed easily, happy to stay on the boat.
Using grapnel and rope from the Marlin's emergency kit, Travis made the arduous climb up a fissure in the cliff face. The physical challenge was nothing to his enhanced durability, but the exposure was breathtaking—literally. The wind tried to pluck him from the rock. Below, the sea frothed like a mad beast.
He pulled himself over the lip onto a narrow, rocky ledge that led back to the mouth of a large cave. The entrance was a dark maw, its floor still wet from the receding tide. The sense of significance was overwhelming here, a pressure against his soul.
He stepped inside. The cave was cathedral-like, with a high ceiling from which stalactites dripped. Light filtered in from cracks above, illuminating ancient, faded markings on the walls—not pirate graffiti, but old Marine insignias, defaced with a single, slashing 'X'. At the rear of the cave, where the ground was dry, was the remnants of a campfire from decades past, and carved into the wall beside it, a message:
"Here stood Captain Elios, who said 'No' to a Dragon's whim. For this, they called him traitor. For this, they hunted him. My justice was my own. Let the sea have my bones, but not my resolve." - Final entry.
This was the refuge of the rogue Marine. A place of ultimate defiance against the World Government's corruption, a monument to personal justice over blind obedience. The historical and conceptual significance was perfect.
The blue screen materialized in the dim, salt-tinged air.
[Location Reached: Elios' Defiance - Eastern Sea Cliff Cave.]
[Sign-In Available. Historical Significance: High (Site of Principled Rebellion). Conceptual Significance: Extreme (Defiance, Personal Justice, The Cost of Integrity).]
[Special Condition: User possesses 'Legacy of the King of Knights' & personal code 'Equal Justice'. High Resonance Detected.]
[Sign-In to claim reward? Y/N]
With a surge of anticipation, Travis selected Y.
This was nothing like the grounding of the foundation stone or the violent insight of Coffin Cove. This was an awakening.
A torrent of golden light, silent and profound, erupted from the very walls of the cave. It did not enter him from outside; it was called forth from within him, resonating with the defiance etched into the stone. The legacy of Arthur Pendragon, which had been a dormant library, a set of instincts, ignited.
The sealed gates in his mind's eye didn't just crack. The gates before Excalibur shook, and for a glorious, terrifying second, they trembled open. Not wide enough to pull the sword free, but enough for its radiance to flood his being.
He saw visions—not of Arthur, but of the principle of kingship. A king standing alone on a windswept cliff, his land threatened, his people afraid, bearing the weight of every decision. The loneliness of command. The necessity of the hard choice. The absolute, unflinching resolution that justice, true justice, often requires standing against the world.
[Sign-In Successful.]
[Reward: King's Resolve (Awakened Fragment).]
[Effect 1: Authority of Presence. The user's innate leadership aura is magnified. His will exerts subtle pressure on those around him, making commands more compelling, presence more imposing. The first, nascent ember of Conqueror's Haki is kindled.]
[Effect 2: Burden of the Crown. The user gains an intuitive, deep understanding of strategic sacrifice and the moral weight of command. Mental resilience against doubt, guilt, and the corruption of power is significantly enhanced.]
[Effect 3: Excalibur's Echo. The seal on the conceptual sword weakens. The user may now manifest a more stable, slightly more potent version of the Foundation Blade, and can channel a minute fraction of its 'severing' concept into mundane blades.]
The light subsided. Travis stood in the cave, but he was not the same. He felt taller, denser. The golden ember in his chest was now a steady, pulsing sun. The Anchor of Resolve was no longer just a fragment of Avalon; it was fused with this new King's Resolve, becoming an unshakeable pillar within him.
He could feel the Authority like a new sense. He knew, instinctively, that if he walked into the recruit dormitory and issued an order in that tone, with this will behind it, even Groff would snap to attention without thought.
And the Burden... he understood it now, viscerally. The choice to sacrifice Borin. The alliance with Kuro. They were hard, dirty stones in the foundation of a greater good. A king did not have the luxury of clean hands. A king bore the stain so his people could live in light. This cave, this defiant captain's tomb, had taught him that final, essential lesson.
He extended his hand. The conceptual blade that formed was no longer pale gold and slightly translucent. It was brighter, more solid, its edge humming with a faint, singing tension. Excalibur's Echo. He could now make a real cutlass sharper, make its edge bite with a hint of unnatural keenness.
This was not raw power. This was legitimacy. This was the mantle of command being laid upon his shoulders.
He spent an hour in the cave, practicing with the new blade, feeling the expanded limits of his focus. When he climbed back down to the Marlin, Dorn took one look at him and paused in coiling a rope.
"See anything?" Dorn asked, his voice unusually careful.
"Just an old cave," Travis said, his voice calm, but it carried a new, unconscious timbre that made Dorn nod once, sharply, and look away. The Seaman didn't ask again.
The return patrol was silent. Travis stood at the bow, not seeing the sea, but feeling the new architecture of his soul. The destroyer's power was the weapon. The king's resolve was the hand that wielded it. And the first Virtue, Patience, was the strategy that would guide its swing.
When they docked, he found a small, oilcloth-wrapped package in the hollow of the old banyan tree behind the shipyards, as Kuro had promised. Unwrapping it, he found a single, blank sheet of high-quality paper and a new, fine-quality pen. There was no note. The meaning was clear: the strategist was in place, the lines of communication open. The tools for building an empire were being provided.
That night, in his secluded spot by the wall, Travis didn't meditate on the legacy. He commanded it. He held the new, brighter Foundation Blade for twenty minutes, executing complex drills from the knightly memory until his spiritual stamina drained and the blade dissolved. He then focused inward, on the newborn ember of Conqueror's Haki. He didn't try to unleash it—that would bring the entire base running. He simply nurtured it, felt its sleeping potential, a lion cub of absolute will waiting to grow.
He thought of Kuro, likely in a safe house somewhere, contemplating the Patience-Patience Fruit. He thought of the long road ahead—the recruitment, the campaigns, the inevitable, apocalyptic war.
The cliffside cave had not given him an easy answer. It had given him the strength to bear the difficult ones. Captain Elios had died a traitor for his justice. Travis would not make the same mistake. He would wear their uniform, win their accolades, and then, from the pinnacle of their power, he would tear their corrupt edifice down.
He looked at his hands—one capable of erasing matter, the other now thrumming with the echo of a king's blade. The recruit was gone. The officer was being forged.
The inspection was handled. The auditor was neutralized. The first Virtue was recruited. The king's resolve was awakened.
Phase One: Establishment and Growth, was underway. The foundation was no longer just being laid; it was being set in steel and hardened by resolve. Travis Pendragon closed his eyes, the crash of the distant sea against the cliffs echoing the rising tide of his purpose. The calm before the storm was over. The long, patient, and utterly relentless climb had truly begun.