Loguetown, East Blue.
Known as the "Town of Beginnings and Ends," today, it existed only for the "End." The sky was gloomy, and thick clouds hung low as if even the heavens were mourning the king about to fall. The air was stagnant. There was no wind, only a muggy atmosphere created by the countless people gathered in the central plaza, a mixture of sweat, cheap liquor, and palpable tension.
The execution platform stood tall in the center of it all. Below, the square was filled to capacity, a sea of people packed shoulder to shoulder. A careless step would get a foot trampled, but no one seemed to mind; all eyes were fixed on the empty platform. They had come from every corner of the sea, just to witness the end of a legend with their own eyes.
A buzzing murmur of thousands of voices converged into a single sound.
"Is that where the Pirate King is going to be executed?" a young man who had just squeezed into the crowd asked, craning his neck with curious eyes.
A burly merchant beside him spat on the ground. "What Pirate King? He's just the leader of a bunch of thugs! Three of my cargo ships were lost on the Grand Line; it was probably his crew who did it!"
"Ah, you can't say that," an old fisherman in a straw hat began slowly. "I've heard from men who've sailed the Grand Line that the Pirate King always paid for his drinks and never harmed civilians. They said he was a straightforward man."
"Straightforward? Of course, money you get from robbing people feels straightforward to spend!" the merchant shot back, ready to argue.
"Everyone, quiet down!" a short drunkard yelled impatiently. "You're blocking my bet! I've got money saying he'll die with a smile on his face. Anyone want in?"
The surrounding people cast scornful glances his way, but a few others grew interested.
"I bet he'll cry and beg for mercy! One gold coin!"
"I bet he'll curse the Marines!"
"Hey, what do you all think he did with the treasure he never spent?"
Discussions, curses, and sighs intertwined, forming an elegy for the end of an era.
At the top of a clock tower directly opposite the execution platform, a figure stood silently in the shadows. Iron Kyle wore an ordinary black trench coat with the hood pulled low, covering most of his face. He didn't deliberately hide his aura; he simply blended into the shadows of the building, as if he were a natural part of the darkness. He looked down from above, his golden eyes sweeping indifferently over the surging crowd.
His Observation Haki wasn't fully extended, but some auras were as distinct as bonfires in a dark forest—impossible to ignore.
At the edge of the plaza, a white-haired young man glared at the surrounding pirates, an expression of extreme displeasure on his face. It was the future Marine powerhouse, "White Chase" Smoker. Not far away, a tall, thin young man with a chin as sharp as a knife was letting out a strange "Kishishishi" laugh. The future Warlord, Gekko Moriah, still looked sharp and ambitious, not yet the bitter, bloated shadow he would become after his defeat by Kaido.
Kyle's gaze shifted slightly, falling on the most inconspicuous corner. A man stood alone, completely shrouded in a dark green cloak, exuding an aura as calm and dangerous as the eve of a storm. Monkey D. Dragon, Kyle thought. The revolution has not yet succeeded; the comrades still have much work to do.
His gaze continued to wander. He saw a young swordsman in a flamboyant shirt with eyes as sharp as an eagle's, a huge black blade on his back, nonchalantly polishing the small cross-shaped knife he wore as a necklace. He spotted a ridiculously large pink feather coat in the crowd. The blond young man beneath it wore sunglasses and a crazed, playful smile, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Then there was a man with slicked-back hair and sinister eyes, staring coldly at the execution platform like a crocodile waiting for its prey to die. Your ambition is showing, Crocodile, Kyle mused.
His gaze finally fell to the very front of the crowd. There, the red-haired boy and the red-nosed boy were squeezed together, talking about something. Kyle withdrew his gaze, sighing silently. He had a sudden, absurd thought. The plaza today held future Emperors, Warlords, and the leader of the Revolutionary Army. It was a true gathering of legends. If a few Buster Calls were to wipe this place clean, sweeping away all these future monsters in one go, the Grand Line would probably be peaceful for at least a hundred years. No, he thought, a Buster Call probably wouldn't be enough to kill them all…
Just then, Kyle's expression turned strange. In the dusty attic directly beneath him, a man in a suit and sunglasses was kneeling. He held a Den Den Mushi to his ear with one hand and gripped the gun at his waist with the other, his voice low and serious.
"Yes, the target information has been confirmed. Gekko Moriah, Donquixote Doflamingo… a host of pirates with bounties over 100 million are in the plaza. However, the 'Wave Guiding King' Iron Kyle, whom you specifically instructed us to find, has not been located…" The man's words carried a hint of relief. Tracking a few up-and-coming pirates was a completely different mission than hunting the monster who had torn Marineford apart.
Before he could finish, the wooden ceiling above him suddenly rippled like water. It was as if something was "squeezing" its way out of the solid planks. The man in the suit snapped his head up.
An inverted face, one he had seen countless times on wanted posters, was slowly emerging from the ceiling. Beneath the edge of the black hood, a pair of golden pupils watched him with playful amusement, like a man looking at a mouse that had stumbled into a trap. Half of Kyle's body had passed through the floor, and he was now hanging upside down in mid-air.
"Hello," Kyle's voice was soft, but it exploded like thunder in the agent's ear.
The agent's pupils constricted to pinpricks, and the blood in his veins seemed to freeze. He wanted to scream, to draw his gun, to run, but a boundless fear choked his throat, paralyzed his nerves, and left his mind completely blank.
"Good night."
As the words fell, Kyle swung out a casual hand chop. With a soft thud, the agent's eyes rolled back, and he fell to the floor, raising a small cloud of dust. Silence returned to the attic. The abandoned Den Den Mushi remained connected, its snail-like features mimicking the agent's terrified expression, its mouth wide open as if it had seen something incredible.
Kyle's figure completely "dripped" down from the ceiling, his feet landing silently on the floor. He didn't even glance at the unconscious CP agent as he bent down and picked up the Den Den Mushi.
"Moshi moshi?" he spoke into the receiver in a relaxed tone, as if greeting an old friend. "Is this one of the Five Elders I'm speaking to in Mary Geoise?"
The other end of the Den Den Mushi fell into a deathly silence.
----------------
You can read advanced chapters here: patreon.com/GregariousLion