Chapter 7: Plotting Every Step
Night fell. The dormitory building of West Blue's 133rd Branch was silent.
After his promotion to Sergeant, Garon finally had his own private room.
At this moment, he sat silently by the window. Silvery moonlight spilled through the glass onto his desk, illuminating the black blade wrapped in layers of white bandages: Eight Desolations.
"One of the 12 Supreme Grade Swords..." Garon murmured. He lifted his left hand slightly, and the trembling particles in the air slowly gathered, forming an invisible shockwave.
"And on top of that, this Logia-type Sky-Tremor Fruit..." He stared at the black blade, his expression profound.
With his current status and power, he absolutely could not reveal this sword to anyone.
After all, it was Rocks's personal sword.
Until he possessed enough power, he had to act with extreme caution.
Garon understood his current situation perfectly.
No system, no cheat. Every step he took was like walking on thin ice.
Thus, his plan for the future was crystal clear.
First, fully develop the Sky-Tremor Fruit's abilities to increase his own combat strength.
Second, cleanse West Blue of pirates to accumulate military merit and build his reputation.
Third, use the passage of time to fabricate a new origin story for his fruit, to blur the truth of "obtained at God Valley" into "accidentally acquired in West Blue" and avoid unnecessary trouble.
Most importantly, the West Blue branch was currently rife with corruption. In this era, it was known as the Marines' "dumping ground."
He absolutely had to escape his marginalized position at a branch and get promoted to Marine HQ.
Only there could he get the chance to master Haki. The good impression he had already left on Zephyr would be a critical bargaining chip for his future.
"The era of Rocks is over. What comes next..." After thinking for a long time, Garon let out a deep sigh. He looked up at the night sky, the moonlight reflecting in his pupils. "It will be the legendary era of the triumvirate: Whitebeard, Roger, and Golden Lion."
No cheats, no shortcuts.
Garon retracted his gaze, his fingertips lightly caressing Eight Desolations. The power of vibration swirled in his palm.
"From now on, I must plot every single step."
...
Time flew. One year later, Sea Circle Calendar 1485.
On a certain pirate ship in the West Blue.
On deck, rum barrels were scattered about. The smell of charred meat mixed with the stench of cheap rum permeated the air.
The pirates raised their mugs, laughing raucously as they celebrated another successful plunder.
"Hahaha! What damn Marine branch? We can't even find a shadow of 'em!"
"That bunch of Marines only knows how to take bribes. Give 'em enough Beri, and they'll look the other way!"
Captain Hawke of the Gold-Saber Pirates grinned, his gold teeth glinting greasily in the firelight. "West Blue... is my damn territory!"
"That's right! Those Marine weaklings aren't even fit to shine our boots!" his men roared in agreement, draining their mugs.
And yet, just as the din reached its peak...
"Aren't you... celebrating a little too soon?"
A cold voice suddenly rang out, like a blade cutting through the raucous celebration.
The pirates froze, whipping their heads toward the source of the sound.
They saw a tall figure squatting on the cross-beam of their ship's main mast. The glaring sun silhouetted him, revealing the long, bandage-wrapped sword slung across his back.
"Who's there?!" Captain Hawke roared, the booze wearing off instantly.
A sharp-eyed pirate's eyes suddenly went wide, his voice trembling. "That... that sword... the white bandages..."
"Could you be... 'Pirate Hunter' Garon?!"
Dead silence.
The name exploded on the deck like a bomb.
The smiles of the Gold-Saber Pirates froze.
"What kind of sick joke is this..." Cold sweat beaded on Captain Hawke's forehead, but he forced a savage grin. "That Marine monster who wiped out fifteen pirate crews all by himself this past year... Why would he be here?!"
"Pirate Hunter..." Garon covered his face. This wasn't the Great Pirate Era that Roger would start; the term "pirate hunter" didn't even really exist yet. He'd never expected to be saddled with that nickname...
"Isn't it normal for a Marine to catch pirates? Why call me a hunter?"
Hearing Garon, Hawke swallowed hard. He drew his massive scimitar and roared, "Dammit! We're the infamous Gold-Saber Pirates! My bounty is 23,000,000 Beri! He's just one man! Men, all of you, get him!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
In an instant, the deck erupted in gunfire. Dozens of lead bullets tore through the air, unleashing a volley at the figure on the mast.
But Garon merely smiled, his figure blurring in the bullet storm. The bullets passed through his chest, his forehead, and his throat as if he were a phantom, leaving only transparent, vibrational ripples in the air.
"A... a Logia?!" Captain Hawke's gold teeth clicked together as he trembled. "Hey! You've got to be kidding me! How could there be a Logia user in a place like West Blue...!"
Before he could finish, Garon slowly stood up. As he extended his leg, he instantly generated a high-density track of vibration particles in the air. He stepped onto it, and using the reverse propulsion from the particles, his figure vanished in an instant.
"Quake-Step: Rail-Slide!"
VMM!
A piercing sonic boom tore through the air. The pirates on deck only saw a distorted, transparent track materialize in mid-air. Like a wave cleaved by an invisible blade, the resulting shockwave sent all the pirates in his path flying.
"Where'd he go?!" Hawke barely had time to raise his scimitar before he felt a cold presence at his back.
"Sorry, it's time to execute... 'Quake' Justice."
"Bounty: 23,000,000 Beri. 'Gold-Tooth' Hawke," Garon said flatly. "Your head is mine."
As his words fell, Garon's left foot—already pressed against the side of Hawke's head—was condensing a pure-white shockwave, like a stellar core compressed to its absolute limit.
KRAK!
The moment his leg swept out, a sickening, muffled thud of penetrating flesh and a crisp crack like shattering glass exploded simultaneously.
Hawke's pupils dilated. From his perspective... he saw the very air around him fracture into a spiderweb of cracks, as if space itself was shattering!
"Blergh!" Hawke's head twisted at an unnatural angle. He spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with visceral chunks before collapsing to his knees. Though the attack had been to his head, the shockwave had already pulverized his internal organs into a slurry.
The deck was deathly silent.
The remaining pirates froze, their weapons clattering from their hands to the deck.
"Captain Hawke, with a 23,000,000 Beri bounty... in one hit... just one hit..."
They stared in terror at the figure's back. Garon slowly retracted his raised leg, the vibration particles still shimmering around his boot.
"M-Monster..." A pirate collapsed to the deck, a foul-smelling liquid seeping from his trousers.
"Tsk. This move, developed by imitating Kizaru's light-speed kick, is still imperfect," Garon muttered to himself. "I can manage a short-range, sonic-speed dash in a straight line, but... in the end, I can't move as freely as true 'light'."
Before he'd even finished speaking, he had lifted Hawke's cooling corpse with his left hand. In his right, palm-up, a pure-white orb of vibration particles quietly condensed.
"But... this is more than enough."
He fiercely thrust the orb into the empty air above him.
"Quake-Step: Air-Tread!"
BOOM!
The hyper-compressed particles exploded the instant he "stepped" on them. The shockwave blasted outward in a ring, and Garon's body used the force to launch high into the air.
Below him, the violent shockwave rippled outward. The ship's hull, masts, and cannons—everything it touched—disintegrated into fine dust in an instant.
The pirates' screams were cut short as the entire ship, like a fragile glass sculpture, completely collapsed. The wreckage and debris were instantly swallowed by the churning, violent waves.
Garon, however, was already high in the sky. He kicked off several more explosive shockwaves beneath his feet, the air distorting and trembling with each "step" as if he were climbing an invisible staircase, carrying him far into the distance.