"Captain, we should drop anchor and hold position till the fog clears. Little Black says something ahead makes it uneasy," Redfield advised.
The fog was too thick—sailing through it meant gambling with reefs you wouldn't see till impact. Even though their ship was Adam-wood and tougher than most, there was no need to court disaster. This vessel still had many years of voyaging to carry.
"Alright," Creed nodded.
They had supplies for ten days or more without issue. As for whatever lurked ahead—he didn't care. With himself and Redfield on deck, even the fiercest Sea Kings—
"Ying, ying!"
From the lofty watch deck, Falkor, just waking from a lazy nap, spotted the panicked giant bat and got annoyed. In sharp little chirps, it seemed to be scolding the eared bat like a boss dressing down a rookie.
The poor bat folded its wings over its face and nodded meekly, like a kid who'd done wrong.
Creed could guess the gist and almost laughed. He raised a hand to call the little one over and feed it—he had been shut in, honing Busoshoku lately, and had neglected it a bit.
But after two quick chirps, Falkor tugged the giant bat and shot into the fog, vanishing.
"Eh?"
Strange move.
If the giant bat had sensed something and warned Redfield, then Falkor hauling it out… was to clear the threat?
Given Falkor's top-tier SSS+ might, Creed didn't worry it would be in danger. He pitied whatever it had chosen as prey.
Sure enough, a beast's miserable scream ripped out of the mist not long after.
"Fuu."
Falkor soon returned with the giant bat, whose talons clutched some odd creature. It dropped the thing onto the deck and lifted its head, preening.
Redfield flicked its forehead. "You brought back something that ugly?"
Creed looked closer. The char-black carcass seemed like a winged monkey—stitched together crudely, seams obvious, like a sewn chimera.
"Squeak-squeak."
The monkey prostrated and kowtowed, begging for its life—clearly not stupid.
"Let it go," Creed said, as a thought clicked into place.
"Ying, ying!"
Falkor swooped into his arms and rubbed his cheek, a little aggrieved after being "neglected."
"Alright, alright—this is your compensation."
Creed fished out a vanilla cake. Falkor's grievance evaporated; it looped a paw around his neck and chirped with delight. He'd stocked a stash of these in his carry-space, because nothing coaxed the little glutton faster.
After giving quick instructions to Redfield and Robin, Creed simply waited for the "host" to call.
If the other side knew their place, great.
If not… he'd unleash Falkor.
Frankly, that guy and Crocodile could compete for the weakest among the Warlords. If it came to a scuffle, Falkor could tidy things up easily…
Night fell, and the fog thickened into clotted gray. Odd, disembodied noises flitted at the edges of hearing, painting the air with chill.
"Clack."
A faint mechanism clicked—both Creed and Redfield heard it. Their keen Kenbunshoku picked up more: the "giant maw" had finally opened to swallow their ship whole.
"Heh. Bold. Relying on your fruit's trickiness… or on that princess's power? To be fair, her ability is a bit troublesome… mm."
Creed stepped onto the balcony and gazed outward. The fog ahead had thinned just enough to reveal an island—and deeper inland, a huge, towering castle.
Grand in silhouette, opulent in style—but riddled with decay. The ruin draped it in a strange, unsettling aura. On the shore lay broken walls; farther still, tumbled ramparts and scattered skulls and bones.
The island reeked of gloom—and death.
"That mouth hauled us in. Since our anchor was set, that means the island itself can move," Redfield said, pointing to the massive jaw-like gatework behind them.
"…Flowers, please…"
"Did we drift into the Florian Triangle?" Robin frowned. "The infamous sea of disappearances—hundreds of pirate ships vanish there every year."
"Since we've been 'invited,' we should pay a return visit," Creed said.
When the ship neared the island's quay, he prepared to disembark.
"I ate the Bat-Bat Fruit, so I'm not fond of sunlight, but this gloomy place is worse. There's a smell I don't like," Redfield muttered, but he still followed. Robin came down the gangplank right after.
"Ying, ying!"
Falkor perched on Creed's shoulder, chirping orders at the skittish giant bat until it flapped after them.
Down from the mooring ledge and along a descending stair, they met their first "welcoming party."
A three-headed dog?
Not quite—one head was plainly a fox. It, too, was swaddled in bandages and crisscrossed with suture scars, just like the winged monkey.
The beast bared fangs, ready to bark and go through the motions of chasing off intruders—
—but a supreme pressure fell like thunder.
Its legs turned to water. It slammed to its knees, mind blank with terror. All around, other stitched-together monsters hit the ground in a wave, prostrating and shaking, none daring to move a muscle.
"Very courteous," Redfield chuckled. "Even the servants and house dogs kneel to greet us. Shame the master hides his head—poor manners."
Robin eyed the creatures, shocked. "Are these… corpses, sewn and animated?"
Creed nodded. "The one we're here to see is a big deal—another Warlord, like Crocodile."
Robin sighed inwardly. Crocodile, "like," had been stripped of the title after Creed flattened him…
The three—two humans and two pets—strode toward the ruined castle. Across the island, every zombie—waking or sleeping—quailed under that overwhelming aura of supremacy, hearts pounding, fear spiking, foreheads pressed to dirt. Not a single exception.
Well—almost. Inside the castle, a very few still held on.
(End of Chapter)
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