The wind carried the scent of dry grass and distant buffalo across the rolling plains at the foothills of the Red Rampart. The colossal crimson stone wall rose behind the plateau, its ancient surface weathered by centuries of salt wind and storms. Below, the Amiso warriors stood corralled in a tight formation, their hands bound, their faces masks of grim resignation. The Navy surrounded them in a loose perimeter, rifles held at the ready, boots scuffing against the dusty earth.
Vice Admiral Auricha Uzumati stood at the center of the Marine formation, his thick braid of jet-black hair whipping in the breeze. His scarred Marine coat hung loosely over his shoulders, and his dark brown eyes swept across the prisoners with a mixture of duty and quiet sorrow. The eagle feather tucked behind his left ear swayed with each turn of his head. His hand rested on the handle of his tomahawk, Mato's Claw, a familiar weight that grounded him.
Captain Joy Jenebe approached, her high braided bun neat and commanding under the open sky. Her yellow neckerchief fluttered at her throat, and her warm brown eyes carried the focused intensity of a woman who had seen too much to be surprised by anything. Her Marine uniform was pristine, the "Justice" coat draped over her shoulders. She walked with a high, dangerous pitch to her stride, her digitigrade legs already tensed for action even in human form.
"Vice Admiral," she said, her voice carrying that warm, encouraging tone she reserved for official reports. "The prisoners of interest have been singled out and detained. We have the two you requested."
Captain Sane Galedo appeared at her side, his narrow shoulders hunched in that characteristic posture of his. His dark brown eyes held their perpetual wounded look, and his hand drifted unconsciously to touch his own nose—a nervous habit he could not break. His katana, Nagisa, rested at his hip, and his leather-bound notebook bulged from his breast pocket.
"The girl and the boy," Sane said, his voice a quiet, thoughtful murmur. "They fought harder than the others. Had to use non-lethal pressure points to subdue them. They are unharmed."
Auricha nodded, his expression unreadable. "Present them."
Joy and Sane exchanged a glance, then stepped away, their boots crunching against the dry earth.
Auricha pulled a small transponder snail from his coat pocket, its shell a mottled gray-green. He pressed the receiver and waited, his deep brown eyes fixed on the plateau above where the God's Knights stood silhouetted against the crimson wall.
---
On the plateau, Garrett Hasapis stood with his arms crossed, his hazel eyes fixed on the horizon. His hand rested on the hilt of his saber, Stinger, and the dry, clicking sound of chitinous legs scraped against the inside of the scabbard. His jaw flexed with barely contained irritation.
Artie Grimly pranced before him, his plum-colored velvet tailcoat billowing in the wind. His massive, feathered tricorn hat sat at a rakish angle, and his gold-plated den den mushi megaphone was clutched in one hand. His wide, manic eyes sparkled with theatrical excitement as he gestured wildly at the landscape below.
"The light, the light, the light!" Artie exclaimed, his voice rising to an operatic screech. "Darling, do you see it? The way the sun catches the Red Rampart, the way the shadows stretch across the plains like the fingers of the gods themselves! This is cinema!"
Garrett's eye twitched. "We are here to hunt, not to film."
"Exactly!" Artie clapped his hands together, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And what is a hunt without a record? Without a legacy? Generations from now, they will watch these images and say, 'Ah, yes, the God's Knights, the pinnacle of power, the—'"
"The pinnacle of power does not need a camera," Garrett said, his voice flat.
Artie gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "You wound me! The artist in me weeps! You think I do this for vanity? No, no, no. This is history, darling. This is the story we tell the world about who we are and what we do."
Garrett's jaw flexed again. He forced the words out through gritted teeth. "What else do you need?"
Artie cocked a hip and tapped his chin with a theatrical finger, his eyes narrowing in exaggerated thought. "Well, since you asked—"
The transponder snail on Garrett's belt began to ring. The sound was jarring, too loud in the open air. Garrett answered it with a sharp, clipped motion, his voice carrying a note of strained patience.
"Yes?"
Auricha's voice crackled through the receiver, warm and steady. "We are ready to present the prisoners."
Garrett's expression shifted, a flicker of relief passing across his features. He glanced at Artie, who was already flailing his arms in the air with theatrical abandon.
"I suppose I will have to make it work," Artie declared, his voice rising to a dramatic pitch. "The lighting is acceptable, the framing is adequate—barely—but I shall persevere!"
He clapped his hands, spinning to face his team of camera operators. "Get in place! The show is about to begin! Move, move, move!"
Garrett groaned into the transponder snail. "We are ready. Move the prisoners into place."
He hung up without waiting for a response.
---
Dracule Micah Aliter stood at the edge of the plateau, his golden, ringed eyes fixed on the plains below. His black hair was slicked back, two sharp strands framing his face. His blood-red waistcoat was immaculate beneath his white captain's coat, and his hand made that slow, repetitive sawing motion in the air by his side—the Phantom Bowing Hand. He was unaware he was doing it.
Bovee Rin Ethanbaron stepped up beside him, his pale grey-blue eyes scanning the distance. His calloused fingertips pressed against his palm in a rhythmic pattern, the ghost of a bow movement that his body remembered even when his violin was absent.
Marcella Vio Marcus moved into position on Micah's other side, her auburn ponytail swinging with each step. Her amber eyes sparkled with anticipation, and a small smile played at her lips. "Well, this should be interesting. A hunt across the plains. How... rustic."
Hao Silvera Shepherd joined them, his silver-white hair falling across his forehead. His warm brown eyes carried a quiet curiosity, the look of a man who always asked "why" even when he knew the answer wouldn't be pleasant. "Rustic is one word for it. I was thinking more along the lines of 'pointless spectacle,' but rustic works too."
Darcy Rue and Garrett Hasapis made their way to the edge of the plateau, their imposing silhouettes casting long shadows across the prisoners below. Darcy's silver eyes swept across the captives with cold detachment, the faint, ghostly wail of her Devil Fruit power emanating from the very stones beneath her feet. Garrett stood at her side, his hand still resting on Stinger's hilt.
Artie Grimly squealed in excited glee as he called out to his camera team, his voice rising to a fever pitch. "GET THE SHOT! GET THE SHOT!" He yelled into the transponder snail radio, his words tumbling out in a manic rush. "This is spectacular! The lighting! The angle! The drama! The tension! I love it! CHOP! CHOP!"
The camera team scrambled to get into position, their equipment clattering against the stone. They moved with the frantic energy of professionals who had learned that Artie's whims were not to be questioned.
Below, Captain Joy Jenebe and Captain Sane Galedo brought Aya Calian and Yuma Dasan forward, forcing them to their knees. Aya's dark hair was tangled, and her eyes were red from crying. Yuma's face was a mask of cold fury, his jaw tight, his muscles coiled. They looked up at the God's Knights, their gazes meeting the cold, indifferent stares of their captors.
With a fluid pull, Garrett bared Stinger; the obsidian steel severed the surrounding illumination, twisting it into a predatory, metallic glare. He pointed it's ravenous edge down at the prisoners, his voice carrying across the open plain.
"The rules are simple."
Aya and Yuma exchanged a look, their eyes meeting in a silent conversation. Aya's hand trembled, but Yuma's gaze held steady.
"You will be given a thirty-minute head start," Garrett continued, his voice flat, measured. "Then we will release your companions. Fifteen minutes after that, we will be coming for you."
He glanced over his shoulder at the other God's Knights, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Whoever brings back the head of the golden deer is declared the victor."
Micah, Bovee, Marcella, and Hao exchanged challenging glances. Marcella raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at her lips. Hao shrugged, his expression one of quiet amusement. Bovee's fingers stilled against his palm. Micah's smirk widened.
Darcy Rue stepped forward, her voice a low, dry rasp. "Do not keep us waiting."
Garrett chuckled, a low, cold sound. He turned his attention back to the prisoners and announced, "Proceed."
Joy and Sane stepped forward and cut the bindings on Aya and Yuma's wrists. Sane leaned in, his voice a quiet murmur that only they could hear.
"Hope you are fast," he said, his tone almost apologetic.
Aya and Yuma rose to their feet, their eyes meeting. A long moment passed between them—a silent acknowledgment of what was about to happen. The vastness of their jeopardy crystallized in an instant, invading their bodies like an icy current that left every nerve fiber raw and paralyzed.
A buzzer sounded. A clock appeared on the plateau, its digits glowing red, counting down from thirty minutes. The sound echoed across the plains, a stark reminder of the countdown that had begun.
Yuma cursed under his breath. Without hesitation, he grabbed Aya and threw her over his shoulder. His body shimmered, golden light erupting from his skin, and the Ushi Ushi no Mi, Model: Sangai took hold. His antlers burst from his forehead, his skin rippled with golden fur, and his legs transformed into powerful, deer-like haunches.
With Aya on his back, he bounded into the foothills, his hooves barely touching the earth. He moved like a golden blur, disappearing into the trees and rocks, leaving only dust and the faint echo of his departure.
Micah watched him fade, his yellow eyes tracking the golden figure with cold indifference. The Phantom Bowing Hand continued its slow, rhythmic motion at his side.
Bovee stepped up beside him. "Can you still see them?"
Micah sighed, a theatrical exhale that carried the weight of his boredom. "I thought this might be a challenge, but they are taking the most predictable path in existence. Through the riverbed, directly toward the Red Rampart. They are making no effort to conceal their trail."
Bovee chuckled, a soft, dry sound. "Well, at least this will not be a long, drawn out experience."
Micah's gaze shifted, a subtle lift of his brow signaling reluctant solidarity. "Agreed. This purgatory has outlived its novelty. Every breath here chokes with the metallic tang of threshed iron and calcified pride.
Hao clapped a hand on Micah's shoulder, his voice warm and familiar. "Come. Marcella has tea for us."
Micah's lips pressed. "Tea?"
"Tea," Hao confirmed. "She says it is a 'pre-hunt ritual.' I think she just wanted an excuse to sit down."
Marcella waved from a cluster of rocks further back on the plateau, holding a steaming cup in each hand. "Are you three going to stand there brooding, or are you going to come enjoy some perfectly brewed tea before the real work begins?" she called out, her voice carrying a note of playful exasperation.
Micah's smirk widened. "Fine. But I am not drinking out of a cracked cup."
"All my cups are cracked," Marcella replied, her voice bright. "It adds character."
Artie Grimly's voice cut through the moment, high-pitched and ecstatic. "Perfect! Cut! Let us get into position for the next scene! The lighting, the drama, the tension—chef's kiss! This is going to be magnificent!"
He clapped his hands, his camera team scrambling around him like panicked chickens. His megaphone blared across the plateau, a sound that set teeth on edge.
The God's Knights turned away from the edge, their silhouettes casting long shadows across the plains below. The hunt had begun.
If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider giving Dracule Marya Zaleska a Power Stone! It helps the novel climb the rankings and get more eyes on our story!
Thank you for sailing with us! 🏴☠️ Your support means so much!
Want to see the Dreadnought Thalassa blueprints? Or unlock the true power of Goddess Achlys?
Join the Dracule Marya Zaleska crew on Patreon to get exclusive concept art, deep-dive lore notes, and access to our private Discord community! You make the New World adventure possible.
Become a Crewmate and Unlock the Lore:
https://patreon.com/An1m3N3rd?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
Thanks so much for your support and loving this story as much as I do!