After sailing alone for a full day and night, Teach finally spotted land. His little boat cut through the waves until it nudged against the docks of a modest port.
Dozens of ships were moored there, most of them flying pirate colors, though a handful of merchant vessels were mixed in.
Teach studied the town beyond the harbor.
It was orderly but not free of scuffles, though, far better managed than the chaotic free-for-alls of lawless islands. Clearly, someone held sway here.
Someone with the strength to enforce rules.
That caught Teach's interest. Order meant profit. Chaos devoured wealth like a black hole, but order let riches flow. Two lives had taught him that simple truth.
As he stepped off his boat, heads turned. A lone man surviving the New World in such a pitiful craft? Most dismissed him. But the sharper eyes glittered with wariness. Only a dangerous man could manage such a feat.
"Five hundred Berries to dock," a guard called out, stepping forward.
His tone was polite, remarkably so, for a pirate lackey. Teach's grin widened. Whoever ruled this place knew how to train men. He reached into his coat and flipped the guard a coin pouch.
"Hm? Don't I need to pay protection fees for the boat?" Teach asked lightly, jerking his thumb at his pathetic craft bobbing in the harbor.
The guard's mouth twitched. "No one's going to steal that… But don't worry. The White Bird Pirates keep the port secure. No ship here will be touched."
The man couldn't say why, but something in Teach's presence pressed down on him, an obscure weight heavier even than his captain's.
Teach chuckled and dropped another pouch into his hand. "Then take this too. Call it protection money for my boat. Zehahaha!" He brushed past and strolled into town.
A flag fluttered overhead; a skull marked with a silver sword, a white bird perched above the brow.
The streets were clean, lined with taverns and shops for pirates. Ordinary residents clearly lived elsewhere. Blood still stained the cobbles in places, but the mess was fresh, fights were tolerated, though cleaned away each morning.
Teach's Observation Haki swept the area. Every detail slipped into place in his mind. Sometimes he felt like a detective, or worse, like a machine with an endless capacity to analyze.
He pushed open the door of a tavern. Only a few patrons lingered inside. He dropped into a seat at the counter.
"One bottle of rum. Three plates of fried rice. Two of braised meat."
"Right away," said the barman, a broad-shouldered man who looked more warrior than merchant. He slid the rum across, and Teach tipped the bottle back with one hand.
The liquor burned, sweet aftertaste lingering. Teach's eyes lit up. "Hah! That's damn good. Brewed in-house, isn't it?"
The man chuckled, his scarred face creasing. "That's right."
Teach noted the missing fingers on his left hand, the scar that split his face in two. A man with a history. In the New World, they were everywhere, hidden blades waiting in the crowd.
"Another bottle. And two more to go when I leave," Teach ordered.
The kitchen window banged open. A short, curly-haired girl with green locks shoved out a tray. "Fried rice. Braised meat." Her tone was sharp, her glance sharper.
Teach smiled at her.
"Hmph." She turned away, slamming the window shut.
The barman chuckled. "That's my niece, Loya. Bad temper, but her parents were killed by pirates. Can't blame her for despising them. Still, she's got a kind heart."
Teach scooped a steaming spoonful into his mouth. His eyes lit up. "Delicious! A real chef's hand!"
The man laughed. "All her. She's better than me already, and the town knows it."
Teach slammed down the spoon. "The day I form a crew, I'll have her as my head chef!"
"Hahaha! No objections here. But you'll have to convince her yourself. The girl grow up stubborn."
The chopping in the kitchen grew louder.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk!
Loya's face flushed with irritation as she listened. That man's voice was too loud, and too smug. She wanted to punch it right out of him.
Teach and Doyle roared with laughter. "Still a little girl!"
But Doyle felt something else as well. Teach was different. Not like the other pirates. There was a weight in him, a threat that stirred old instincts.
Meanwhile, at the headquarters of the White Bird Pirates, the air was filled with the clang of steel.
"White Bird Style: Sky Slash!"
A gleaming arc tore through the arena, sharp as an eagle's wing. Two brothers, Hadena and Hademan, crossed their massive blades, Haki flaring.
"Together!" Hadena barked.
Their swords slammed down, the ground trembling under the weight. Their technique, Armament Earth-Split Slash, met the silver slash head-on.
The clash shook the courtyard. When the dust cleared, both brothers were down, panting, their bodies marked by thin, bleeding cuts.
Their captain stepped forward, silver-haired and tall, eyes like blades themselves. Rings gleamed on his fingers, a white cape snapping behind him.
The silver sword in his hand hummed with restrained power.
This was Mostima, captain of the White Bird Pirates. A swordsman of talent, cunning, and patience, the kind who survived in the New World not by luck, but by design.
"Hahaha! Captain's stronger again," Hademan laughed through his wounds.
Mostima only shook his head. "Stronger or not, don't forget the battle between Golden Lion and Roger."
His voice hardened, memories flashing, storms tearing seas apart, lightning raging for seven endless days, an island erased from the map. He had been seventeen then, just a boy, but he had witnessed monsters at play. That memory had defined him.
He turned back to his men. "We wait. When a true monster of a generation appears, we'll follow him. Until then, we stay low, or we die."
The brothers swallowed hard, their bravado cooling. They remembered the truth of the sea, some men were simply untouchable.
Mostima's gaze lifted to the horizon.
Calm. Patient. Waiting.