The Gelt Kingdom's troops and the Marines were a patchwork force to begin with, their command tangled and confused. They had held out this long only because their weapons gave them a fleeting edge.
When the line finally buckled and collapsed, the Marine colonel and the Gelt field captain went cold all over, faces drained of blood.
It was over.
If they could have held, reinforcements from the branches might have brought a sliver of hope. But once the line broke and Krieg's men seized the weapon cache, even a whole squadron of Marine ships would struggle to stop the tide.
Panic took the field. Marines and kingdom soldiers tossed their weapons and ran. Under Krieg's banner, pirates surged forward and seized half the town within minutes.
"Hahahahaha! In the end, they all fall into my hands… look at them."
Krieg's laughter boomed as crates were pried open one after another, revealing gleaming matchlock muskets and even small field cannons. His army had swelled past two thousand, yet for pirates, growth had hit a wall.
Poor weapons, too few guns and gunsmoke, nowhere near enough artillery to smash a fortified city or any place guarded by a Marine base. Raiding little towns and merchant lanes could not feed two thousand mouths forever. He had been forced to spread his men thin across the East Blue.
But this changed everything.
With this cache, he could expand to four thousand, five thousand. After that, no one in the East Blue would slow his stride. With those numbers and steel, he could topple a kingdom, rule a sea from shore to shore, no longer drifting like a common brigand.
"When that day comes, the Grand Line will be ready to kneel."
Weighing a musket in his hands, Krieg bared his teeth in a proud, feral smile. "For now… let's burn this island to celebrate."
He tossed the weapon to a nearby pirate and barked, "Arm up. Wipe out the Marines and those Gelt dogs."
A roar answered him as pirates snatched weapons with greedy hands and charged toward the west, where the last defenders and the refugees had fled.
The town dissolved into chaos. Civilians screamed and scattered. Some fell to blades in the streets; most fled toward the chain-dock on the western coast.
But Krieg's men had already torched the docks. The entire chain burned. A single undamaged skiff was swamped by dozens in an instant, rolled under, and broken to pieces.
Screams, sobs, and hoarse shouts wove into one long dirge.
The Marine colonel and the Gelt captain had fallen earlier in the fighting, cut down by Krieg himself. On the shore, fewer than a hundred Marines remained, scattered and leaderless. Their highest officer now was only an ensign, his hands slick with sweat where they gripped a musket.
"It's… it's finished…"
He stared toward town, where pirates poured out in ranks, brandishing fresh steel and freshly oiled guns. Despair hollowed his eyes. Even if the branch sent help now, it would be too late. He could already see years ahead, Krieg's banners sweeping the East Blue, every island bowing or burning.
A wave of a thousand men surged onto the beach, hemming the refugees in like a closing jaw.
"Despair, do you? Nowhere left to run."
Krieg held a hand cannon like a toy, a cigar pinched in his teeth. He let his gaze drift over the Marines and civilians, then settle on the last knot of Gelt soldiers. He patted the cannon and sneered. "Gelt Kingdom, my thanks. You sailed so far to deliver these arms to me."
"And Marines, you've been a nuisance long enough. Be proud of that much. Now go report to hell."
He lifted the hand cannon and leveled it at the crowd.
Some Marines bared their teeth and braced. Others sagged, eyes dead with defeat. Behind them, civilians trembled, clutching children to their chests.
The pirates drew breath to charge.
A scream sliced across the beach.
Heads snapped toward the sound. A man writhed in the sand, his body wrapped in living flame. He rolled and thrashed like a speared eel, clawing at burning clothes. The fire clung and climbed. In seconds, his movements slowed, stuttered, and stopped. When the flames died, only a black husk remained, shuddering in the heat.
"What's this?"
Krieg's brow twitched.
Eyes moved as one from the charred corpse to a figure standing off to the flank. Plain clothes. Calm eyes. A wand in his hand that shone like a bar of crystal.
"Is that…"
Among the surviving Marines, one man squinted, dredging up a bulletin from memory. "A bounty hunter…?"
The ensign's knuckles went white around his stock as recognition hit. "It's him. The bounty hunter they call the Magician. Ron."
Hope sparked where only ashes had been. The name rippled from mouth to mouth.
Magician Ron.
The hunter who had taken Iron Hammer Loff's head, a man posted at twelve million. If anyone could kill Krieg, perhaps it was him.
But the hope was thin and fragile. They looked out over nearly two thousand pirates, newly armed, hungry for blood. Ron stood alone.
Even if he could defeat Krieg one on one, what was one man against a flood. And these men, now, had guns.
"You did that, boy?"
Krieg glanced at the burnt shell in the sand, then fixed his gaze on Ron.
Ron walked forward, Elven Wand in hand, eyes scanning the shore. "Looks like I arrived at the decisive moment."
On the pirate side, someone hissed to Krieg, "Leader, that's the hunter. The one who killed Loff. The Magician."
"A hunter?"
Krieg paused, then scoffed. He had heard the name in passing days ago. So a wolf pup had learned to bite. He snorted smoke and let the sneer spread.
"Cute. But setting your sights on me was naive."
He flicked his hand, bored. "End him."
If this were another day, he might have toyed with the upstart to show the world Krieg's invincibility. Today he couldn't be bothered. He would crush Ron and the Marines together and let the beach drink deep.
The pirates shifted, muskets and blades coming up in a dark, bristling tide.
Ron lifted the wand, and the wind bent toward him like a loyal beast.
The next heartbeat would choose who lived to see another dawn.
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