Logue Town.
The letters spelling "LOGUE TOWN" were weathered and faded by the sea breeze. Under the wooden porches lining the street, vendors carrying shoulder poles collided with sailors hauling cargo. The ensuing curses were immediately drowned out by the even louder blare of ship horns.
Ryan stood beneath the town archway, an unlit cigar held between his fingers. Watching the bustling scene before him, a careless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Compared to the deathly stillness of Cocoyasi Village and the quiet of Syrup Village, this place is truly lively."
How to put it? It was probably the difference between a rural dirt path and the cobblestone streets of a city center.
Just as Ryan lifted his foot to step into the town, a piercing shriek erupted behind him. The crowd scattered like a school of startled fish, instantly clearing the previously packed cobblestone street and revealing the chaotic scene behind.
Several pirates were overturning a vendor's stall. Further away, someone was dragging a woman by her hair towards a ship. The sharp snap of her hair ornament breaking mixed with her cries, grating painfully on the eardrums.
Ryan paused, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly as he looked back.
Chaos, disorder, and a beast-like predatory nature—this was what pirates were supposed to be like. Not like that Straw Hat Kid's noisy, adventure-game-playing antics that resembled a child's game of house.
"Stay put, all of you!" A tall, lanky man in a tattered leather jacket jumped onto a cargo crate, his boot soles crushing the scattered silk fabrics beneath. The curved blade in his hand glinted coldly in the sunlight.
"Listen up!" The man had a Moonfang-shaped scar on his left cheek and habitually touched it when he spoke. "I'm 'Moonfang' Bench, a great pirate with a 25 million Belly bounty!"
He swung his blade, splitting a nearby wine barrel open. Amber liquid spilled across the ground, instantly filling the air with the strong scent of alcohol. "Hand over your treasures if you know what's good for you."
Bench grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, and pointed his blade at the trembling crowd. "Consider it an offering for my future as the Pirate King! When I become the Pirate King, maybe I'll even remember your contribution!"
The surrounding people were too terrified to make a sound, and a few of the more timid ones had already started placing money pouches at the pirates' feet.
"Pfft—"
A soft chuckle suddenly rang out, starkly clear in the oppressive atmosphere.
Bench's head snapped up, his fierce gaze locking onto Ryan at the edge of the crowd. "What the hell are you laughing at?"
Ryan withdrew his gaze, twirling the unlit cigar between his fingers, a trace of a smile still on his lips. "Twenty-five million Belly makes you a great pirate?"
He shook his head, his tone dripping with undisguised mockery. "What a perfect example of a frog in a well."
Then again, a 25 million bounty was indeed considered top-tier in the East Blue. Only in a place like Logue Town, near the entrance to the Grand Line, could you encounter such "self-proclaimed powerhouses."
Bench's face instantly flushed a purplish-red, the Moonfang scar seeming to come alive, twisting even more grotesquely.
He hated nothing more than people looking down on his bounty, especially when mocked by someone who appeared to be an idle loafer.
"You're asking for death!" Bench leaped down from the cargo crate, charging at Ryan with his blade raised. The sword cut through the air with a whooshing sound. "Dare to look down on me? Today, I'll show you exactly how I earned that 25 million Belly bounty!"
Ryan stood in place without moving, not even lifting an eyelid, allowing the polished curved blade to strike his shoulder.
Clang!
A sharp metallic clang rang out, sparks flying like scattered stars across Bench's face. A tremendous force reverberated through the blade, tearing the flesh of his palm instantly. Blood trickled down the hilt as the curved blade clattered to the ground.
"Wh-what's going on?"
Bench clutched his wrist and stumbled back two steps, his eyes wide as saucers, his voice trembling as he stared at Ryan's completely unscathed shoulder. "That's impossible… I definitely hit you. Are you wearing steel armor or something?"
Ryan slowly raised his eyes, brushing off nonexistent dust from his shoulder, his tone dripping with even more sarcasm. "A pirate worth twenty-five million Belly, and this is all the strength you've got?"
Bench felt a chill run down his spine under that gaze, but he blustered, "Shoot! Shoot him dead, damn it!"
The remaining pirates hurriedly drew their flintlock pistols, aiming the dark muzzles at Ryan. Several gunshots rang out, deafening to the ears.
But the bullets striking Ryan only produced sharp crackling sounds, as if hitting steel plates, and they bounced off one after another, not even leaving a scratch.
Ryan even had the leisure to raise a finger, a small orange-red flame igniting at its tip. He brought it to his lips to light his cigar, exhaling smoke slowly as he glanced down at the bullet casings by his feet, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
"M-monster…" Bench's legs went weak, nearly collapsing to the ground, his lips quivering. "What… what are you?"
Ryan didn't answer, merely taking two slow steps toward him.
Bench shuddered under that gaze and turned to flee, but Ryan's hand shot out like lightning, grabbing him by the collar.
"Trying to leave?" Ryan's voice was as casual as if discussing the weather, but his wrist abruptly tightened.
Crack!
A crisp sound of breaking bone cut sharply through the noisy dock. Bench's body stiffened abruptly, his eyes bulging, his tongue lolling halfway out, unable to utter even a whisper.
Ryan tossed him aside casually, and the body hit the ground like a ragged sack, the neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
The remaining pirates, witnessing this, were scared out of their wits. Some dropped their guns and tried to flee, while others still attempted to charge recklessly.
Ryan's figure blurred, moving like a ghost among them. He didn't draw his sword or use his Devil Fruit ability, relying solely on his bare hands—twisting necks, shattering windpipes—each movement clean and efficient.
In the blink of an eye, the ground was littered with the corpses of pirates, not a single one still breathing. The scent of blood mixed with gunpowder and alcohol filled the air, interwoven with the gasps and sobs of the onlookers.
Ryan stood amidst the bodies, the cigar at his fingertips glowing with a crimson ember, his expression calm amid the swirling smoke.
He was a swordsman, true, but he wasn't limited to just swordsmanship. Those two years on the Floating Island, Golden Lion had taught him more than just sword skills. Starving Black Bears, Poison Pythons lurking in the mist, Pterosaurs capable of tearing through steel—every one of those battles had been fought with his bare hands.
Ignoring the gasping crowd around him, Ryan strode toward the town, the cigar smoke trailing faintly behind him, as if the slaughter had been nothing more than casually crushing a few insects in his path.
After a while, Smoker arrived at the dock with several Marines. As soon as his gaze swept over the pirate corpses on the ground—each bearing different fatal injuries—his brow furrowed sharply.
He crouched down, his black-gloved fingers lightly touching Bench's twisted neck. Through his fingertips, he could feel the distinct traces of fractured bones—swift and ruthless, clearly the work of a trained fighter.
"Tch." Smoker clicked his tongue, the two cigars in his mouth shifting slightly as his eyes darkened instantly. "Such a clean killing method."
"Where's Tashigi?" He stood up, his silver-gray hair rustling as his gaze swept the empty street entrance, his frown deepening. "Where did she run off to at a time like this?"
"Reporting, Captain." The Marine looked troubled, scratching his head. "Lieutenant Tashigi was inspecting merchant safety in town earlier. When the message came, she was handling a merchant dispute. She should... should be here soon."
"Hmph." Smoker let out a cold snort through his nose, tugging at the goggles around his neck. "Clean this area up. Don't let it disrupt the dock operations."
With that, he turned and headed toward the Marine base, the chains of his jutte dragging a long shadow behind him. Cigar smoke dispersed in the morning light, carrying an unmistakable air of irritation.
When did such a dangerous figure arrive in Loguetown... Let's hope they don't cause major trouble.