The Swift cut through a silvery morning mist, its single sail taut. The sea was eerily calm, a mirrored pane reflecting the pearl-grey sky. Travis stood at the helm, not as a subordinate, but with the quiet, uncontested authority of command. Ensign Voss was conspicuously "indisposed" in his cabin, a sudden bout of seasickness arranged by a discreetly slipped emetic from Briggs. The deck was manned by Travis's handpicked squad: Briggs, the two loyal recruits, and two others who had asked to join after whispers of the Prosperous Dawn action had spread. They moved with a tense, focused silence, checking weapons, scanning the mist.
The bait was set. Through Kuro's leak, Morgan believed the Swift carried a fortune in illicit Seastone fittings, a prize worth brazen aggression. Arne's legal framework was a masterpiece of procedural traps, defining the exact moment Morgan's pursuit would cross from territorial posturing to an act of piracy against a fellow Marine vessel. The Tactical Acumen granted by the Sign-In hummed in Travis's mind, a hyper-aware state where the roll of the waves, the shift in the wind, and the anxious breath of his crew formed a single, calculable equation.
"Sail! Starboard bow!" a lookout called, his voice tight.
The mist parted like a curtain, revealing the sleek, predatory shape of a Marine sloop-of-war, its lines sharper, its hull black-painted—Morgan's personal colors. The Iron Judge. It flew no signal, gave no hail. It simply altered course, cutting across the Swift's path with blatant, aggressive intent. On its foredeck, a giant of a man was visible even at this distance: Captain "Axe-Hand" Morgan, his namesake prosthetic hand a glint of polished steel, his posture one of contemptuous ownership.
The trap was sprung.
"Battle stations!" Travis's voice rang out, clear and calm, cutting through the tension. "Gunner, load the deck cannon with chain-shot. Aim for the rigging, not the hull. We are being approached in a hostile manner by an unidentified vessel."
"Aye, Petty Officer!"
The Iron Judge closed the distance rapidly. A bullhorn crackled to life, Morgan's voice a grating bellow across the water. "Loguetown cutter! Heave to for inspection! By order of Captain Morgan of the 153rd!"
Travis picked up his own speaking trumpet, his amplified voice devoid of fear, layered with the Authority of Presence. "Captain Morgan, you are outside your designated jurisdiction. This is Loguetown patrol lane Gamma-Seven. You have no authority to conduct inspections here. Maintain your distance."
A tense pause. Morgan hadn't expected a direct, public challenge from a petty officer. His voice returned, thick with fury. "I am the authority wherever I sail, boy! Heave to, or I will board you by force!"
"Any attempt to board a Marine vessel without proper authorization and cause is an act of piracy under Article Fourteen of the Naval Code," Travis projected back, his words precise, legal hammers. "You are ordered to stand down and return to your sector."
It was a gauntlet thrown. The legal and strategic lines were drawn in the water between them. Morgan could either back down, humiliated in front of his crew, or he could cross the line and justify the response Arne had meticulously prepared.
Morgan chose pride. "PIRACY? You dare! All hands! Prepare to grapple! I'll teach this whelp respect!"
The Iron Judge surged forward, its crew throwing grapnels. The clang of iron hooks biting into the Swift's rail was the sound of the point of no return.
"Defend the ship!" Travis commanded. "Non-lethal force authorized! Capture, don't kill! They are fellow Marines, however corrupted!"
The battle that erupted on the Swift's deck was chaos, but it was chaos Travis had foreseen. His squad, drilled in his efficient style, fought as a unit. They targeted limbs, disarmed opponents, used the ship's geography to funnel the boarders. Briggs fought like a berserker with a club, disabling men with brutal efficiency. Travis moved through the fray like a ghost, his cutlass a blur, deflecting blows, delivering precise, stunning strikes. He didn't use his Devil Fruit power. This had to be a victory of Marine against Marine, law against lawlessness.
He saw his target: Morgan himself, carving a path through the melee with his axe-hand, roaring. Travis intercepted him.
Morgan sneered, swinging the massive steel axe in a decapitating arc. "You're the talkative one! I'll silence you permanently!"
Travis didn't parry. He slipped inside the swing, his preternatural reflexes and the Tactical Acumen making Morgan's move look slow and telegraphed. He drove the pommel of his cutlass into Morgan's elbow joint, a nerve strike from the kingly legacy. Morgan bellowed in pain and surprise, his arm going numb. Before he could recover, Travis pivoted and delivered a spinning kick to the back of Morgan's knee, dropping the giant to the deck.
He placed the tip of his cutlass at the base of Morgan's neck. "Captain Morgan, by the authority vested in me by the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and for the crimes of unauthorized aggression, attempted piracy against a Marine vessel, and conduct unbecoming an officer, you are under arrest. Your command is hereby suspended."
The fighting around them sputtered and died as Morgan's men saw their captain, the invincible tyrant, subdued and humiliated by a petty officer half his size. The sheer, impossible shock of it stole their will to fight.
It was over in under ten minutes. Morgan, sputtering and enraged, was shackled. His crew, disarmed and cowed, were secured. The Swift, though scarred, was victorious.
But the victory was only the first act. The message had to be sent.
Travis had the Swift and the captured Iron Judge sail not directly back to Loguetown, but to the nearest major civilian port: Orange Town. He arrived at the bustling docks not as a conquering hero, but as a Marine officer carrying out his duty. He had Morgan and his key officers marched through the town square in chains, under a banner that read, simply: "JUSTICE IS BLIND."
The spectacle was electric. The citizens of Orange Town, who had suffered under Morgan's indirect shadow and heard tales of his cruelty, stared in disbelief. Marines arresting a Marine Captain? For piracy? It was unprecedented. Whispers turned to murmurs, then to open, hopeful conversation. A young Marine officer was photographed standing calmly beside the shackled, raging Morgan, his expression one of serene, unshakeable resolve. The image would spread through the East Blue like wildfire.
When Travis finally returned to Loguetown, he presented not just a prisoner, but Arne's meticulously compiled legal dossier to a stunned Lieutenant Commander Vance and a gathering of senior officers. The case was air-tight. Morgan had been caught in the act, on film (courtesy of a pre-planted Dial from Kuro's network), violating a dozen regulations. Any attempt to protect him would be a scandal. The political calculus shifted instantly. Vance, seeing a chance to bask in reflected glory and purge a problem, became an instant advocate for "swift and impartial justice."
The official report hailed Petty Officer Travis Pendragon's "courageous adherence to protocol" and "decisive action in neutralizing a rogue element within our ranks." He was promoted on the spot to Petty Officer, First Class, and given command of a small, fast sloop, the "Resolute." It was a real ship, with a real crew. His first independent command.
In the aftermath, the shadows stirred.
In the clinic, Elara treated a few minor wounds from Travis's men. She said nothing about Morgan, but her eyes, when they met his, held a new, thoughtful light. The key of Charity's Boon within him pulsed softly in her presence.
Arne, waiting in the shadows of the docks as the Resolute was commissioned, gave Travis a single, sharp salute—not to a superior, but to a principle vindicated. The embodiment of Diligence had seen his faith in the law restored.
And in a quiet tavern, Kuro read the newspapers with a faint, satisfied smile. The message had been sent, loud and clear: The old, corrupt justice was vulnerable. A new, equal justice was rising, and it played by its own rules, even when wearing the enemy's uniform.
That night, alone on the deck of his new ship, Travis felt the Sign-In System activate one final time for this chapter. The location was the deck of the Resolute, a ship now symbolizing his first major victory and his burgeoning legend.
[Location Reached: RRS Resolute - Deck of Victorious Principle.]
[Sign-In Available. Symbolic Significance: Supreme (First True Command, Public Enforcement of Code).]
[Reward: Captain's Mandate.]
[Effect: Permanently enhances the user's ability to inspire loyalty and unwavering discipline in subordinates under his direct command. Strengthens the 'Authority of Presence' specifically in a naval command context.]
He felt the mantle settle more firmly on his shoulders. He was no longer just a man with power and a plan. He was a captain. A leader of men. A symbol.
The storm of Morgan had been weathered, and in its passing, it had cleared the skies for his ascent. The message had been received across the East Blue: Travis Pendragon was here. His code was real. And he was just getting started.
The path to Fleet Admiral stretched before him, now visible on the horizon. He had his ship. He had his growing legend. And he had the first, tangible proof that his impossible dream was not just possible—it was inevitable.