Chapter 29: "The Demon"
On this sea, countless lives are born, and from them, countless wills arise.
These wills drive lives into action, and from those actions, so-called "destiny" is woven.
It has always been so.
...
"What decides our path is our own will, not some 'side' we pick."
Vergil's gaze was steady, a faint, knowing smile on his lips as he looked at Tiger.
"Why do we always have to choose one?"
"..."
Tiger fell into a deep silence. Perhaps he was pondering Vergil's words. Perhaps he was searching his own soul, examining the raw material of his will to see what destiny he would forge.
After a long while, Tiger lifted his head, exhaling a slow, heavy breath.
"Indeed… I cannot bear it any longer."
The future "Hero of the Fish-Men" had recognized the truth of his own will and finally gave it voice. In another future, these words would have been spoken to Princess Otohime. They would have been the fuel for his solitary climb up the Red Line, the prelude to the world-shaking "Mary Geoise Infiltration."
Tiger's own will was leading him toward that destined, furious act.
What could Vergil say to that?
He stood, fetched a bottle of liquor from the cabin, and poured a glass for Tiger, for Crocodile, and for himself.
They raised their glasses. A toast.
To Fisher Tiger's regained freedom. To their successful, if explosive, escape.
Crocodile: "…?"
Even after downing the strong liquor, Crocodile looked vaguely bewildered. What was that look for? Still, he was a master of seizing opportunity. A connection with a fish-man of Tiger's caliber was not something to dismiss.
Before he departed, Tiger shared his extensive knowledge of the local sea currents and hazards with them.
Vergil, having drunk half the bottle himself, slung a companionable arm around Tiger's broad shoulder. "One more thing," he said, his grin softening.
"'Destiny' comes from 'will,' but it's not set in stone."
In the wake of his attack on Mary Geoise, Fisher Tiger would form the Sun Pirates. Aboard his ship, a little human slave girl named Koala would later find refuge, destined to become a cadre of the Revolutionary Army. But after returning Koala to her home, Tiger's location would be betrayed by other humans. He would be ambushed by the Marines, mortally wounded. In his final, principled rage, he would refuse a transfusion of human blood, and die.
So Vergil had one more thing to say.
"I have seen humans who are more despicable than you can imagine," Vergil said, his voice low. "And I have seen fish-men with more nobility than most could dream of."
"What you will see… is up to you."
"…"
Tiger paused, absorbing the words. Then, he clasped Vergil's shoulder firmly with one massive hand, nodded once—a gesture of deep respect and understanding—and turned. Without another word, he vaulted over the railing and disappeared into the deep blue sea.
Vergil leaned against the rail, silently finishing the last of the liquor in his bottle.
Crocodile approached, cigar in mouth, ready to discuss their immediate course. But he stopped, noting Vergil's expression.
He was smiling. A gentle, serene, almost kind smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. It was…
Wrong. It felt utterly, unnervingly wrong.
"Hm?" Crocodile frowned. "Are you drunk?"
"Of course not."
Vergil touched his own face, the benevolent smile unwavering. "My facial control gets a little… loose… when I drink."
"…"
Crocodile's eye twitched. Vergil's speech was clear, his movements precise. He wasn't intoxicated in the slightest. But this… this loss of expression control was bizarre. Some ancient, physiological quirk, no doubt.
Seeing Alvin Vergil wear that beatific, gentle smile was far more unsettling to Crocodile than his usual wild, unrestrained demeanor. It was irritating.
"Just… rest until it wears off," Crocodile muttered, waving a dismissive hand. "I can't take you seriously with that look on your face."
...
The spare sails were raised, and their voyage truly began. For Vergil, this was his first real journey upon the open sea.
...
The next day, after the last effects of the alcohol had faded and Vergil's face had returned to its normal, more familiar expressiveness, Crocodile laid out the plan.
They would sail directly, without stopping, to the desert kingdom—Alabasta.
Vergil: "…"
He didn't speak. But his entire face—his slightly downturned mouth, his disappointed eyes, the faint wrinkle of his nose—screamed a single, silent sentiment: "How boring!"
Crocodile felt a headache coming on. He almost regretted not having this conversation yesterday.
Fortunately, the rhythmic flapping of wings interrupted them. A News Coo descended, dropping the day's paper onto the deck in exchange for a few coins from Crocodile.
"Timely," Crocodile grunted. He leaned against the mast, lit a fresh cigar, skimmed the headlines, and then tossed the paper to Vergil. "Here. Your debut."
Vergil caught it. The front page was dominated by bold, black type:
RIOT GRIPS SABAODY ARCHIPELAGO!
No surprise. The events of yesterday had already been packaged and sold to the world.
But as Vergil read on, his eyebrows lifted. The article stated clearly:
'A dangerous criminal known as Alvin Vergil launched an unprovoked assault upon a visiting Celestial Dragon in the Sabaody Archipelago. In the ensuing chaos, which Vergil is believed to have masterminded, indiscriminate shelling struck multiple groves, resulting in significant civilian casualties.'
"…"
Vergil read the twisted account silently, then let out a short, genuine laugh. It was interesting.
Crocodile observed his reaction and offered a grim, knowing smirk. "A standard World Government tactic. Framing the narrative. Interesting, isn't it?"
Vergil nodded. The report was a masterpiece of omission and fabrication. The death of a Celestial Dragon was scrubbed clean. The slave revolt was minimized. The blame for the bombardment ordered by Saint Lorvim was neatly transferred to Vergil's shoulders.
"Take it as a compliment," Crocodile drawled, savoring his cigar. "Your 'infamy' is now spread across the Grand Line. After an incident of this magnitude, a period of quiet travel is wise. Let the heat die down. Otherwise, the World Government will have an eye on your every move, and reaching Alabasta discreetly will become… problematic."
The non-stop voyage to Alabasta would take over two weeks. It was the perfect cooling-off period.
Vergil agreed. Alabasta was a World Government member nation. If his presence was detected prematurely, a report to the authorities was inevitable, and his freedom of movement would vanish.
"Oh, and one more thing," Crocodile added, tapping a specific column in the paper with a gold-ringed finger. "Welcome to the ranks of the wanted."
Vergil wasn't surprised. As the supposed mastermind of the Sabaody riot, a bounty was inevitable. He flipped through the pages until he found it, nestled among other notices.
A fresh, newly printed poster.
[THE DEMON] ALVIN VERGIL
BOUNTY: 500,000,000 BERRIES
"…"
"Heh heh heh…" Crocodile's low chuckle was tinged with dark amusement. "For a world-class criminal who supposedly killed a Celestial Dragon… that's a rather modest starting figure."
Clearly, to suppress the truth of the Dragon's death, the World Government had intentionally lowballed the bounty. Yet, even suppressed, 500 million berries for a first-time offender was astronomical—a clear signal of the threat the World Government perceived in Alvin Vergil.
Not that Crocodile planned to mention that part. The last thing he needed was Vergil getting even more excited and drawing more attention.
Luckily, Vergil didn't seem overly thrilled by the number itself.
Unfortunately, Vergil knew far more about the significance of bounties than Crocodile assumed.
Most unfortunately, Vergil was intensely curious about a different aspect of the situation.
...
"You make a fair point, Croco-boy," Vergil said, studying his wanted poster with a thoughtful hum. He then looked up at the Warlord, his expression one of pure, inquisitive innocence.
"So, as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, and having been a pirate for so many years… your bounty must have been incredibly high, right?"
Crocodile: "…"
A well-known fact: the moment one accepts the Warlord title, their bounty is frozen. Therefore, the current bounty of the mighty "Sir Crocodile" was the one he'd earned very early in his career.
It was… somewhat lower.
Vergil tilted his head, a wide, expectant grin spreading across his face. "So? How much was it?"
Crocodile took a long, slow drag from his cigar, turned on his heel, and strode purposefully toward the helm without a backward glance.
As he walked away, he muttered under his breath, in the lowest, most grudging tone imaginable:
"…Eighty-one million."
"…"
A beat of silence hung over the deck.
Then—
"Pfft—"
"BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Unrestrained, booming laughter erupted from Vergil. He clutched his stomach, doubling over, tears of mirth springing to his eyes.
Crocodile could tell. There was no mockery in it. No contempt, no disdain, not even arrogance. The laughter was pure, unadulterated delight. Vergil found the situation hilarious. It was, as ever, a "pure" reaction, with no intended offense.
But—
Crocodile's eye twitched violently. He couldn't help it.
It was extremely annoying.
...
(End of Chapter)
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