Wave Rider.
On the deck, water splashed in the midship's temperature-controlled pool. Mikita floated in a lemon-patterned swim ring, her bright red bikini swaying in the water as she deliberately splashed Porche. "Come play with me~"
"You're so annoying~" Porche, wearing a lavender bikini, shot Mikita a playful glare before reaching to tickle her waist. Her blue-tipped hair clung to her neck, adding a touch of alluring charm to her feisty demeanor. "I'll pop your swim ring!"
The two tussled in the water, creating ripples that shimmered under the sunlight, their laughter painting a vivid scene of youthful energy.
On the white sofa by the poolside, Zala lounged with an indigo headscarf, her light gray casual shirt loosely buttoned at the collar, paired with matching linen shorts. Her slender fingers flipped through a newspaper as she adjusted her thin-framed glasses. Kalifa sat on the opposite end of the sofa.
Near the aft section, at the solid wood table, Jabura perched with one foot on the chair's crossbar, gripping a hand of cards with a deep frown. "Kaku, that move was downright cheating!"
"The rules never said it wasn't allowed," Kaku replied, tipping his hat with a faint smirk.
Beside them, Kumadori clasped his hands together, murmuring "Namu Amida Butsu" before slowly laying down a card. "Victory and defeat are common in battle, Brother Jabura. No need for haste."
The trio's banter and the clatter of cards formed another lively backdrop on the deck.
BABE yawned at the helm, tears still clinging to his lashes, while Rasu panted on a nearby footrest. Daz Bonez sat silently in a corner, leaning against the railing, his calm gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if the surrounding commotion didn't exist.
Rob Lucci dozed in the shade beneath the crow's nest, while Fukurou scanned the seas from above.
The Elephant Sword Funkfreed had transformed into its massive pachyderm form, standing docilely on one side of the deck. Despite its size, it moved with surprising grace, occasionally swinging its trunk to splash water from a nearby bucket onto itself. The droplets evaporated quickly under the sun.
Ryan reclined on a lounge chair, clad only in black shorts, shielding his eyes from the sunlight as he watched Mikita and Porche's antics in the pool. His gaze flicked to Blueno, busy behind the bar, before calling out, "Mix me an iced rum."
Blueno nodded and soon placed a frothy drink on a tray.
Kalifa rose from the sofa, her tailored white pantsuit accentuating her tall, elegant frame. Her golden hair was tied into a neat ponytail, with a few loose strands framing her forehead, adding to her professional aura. She picked up the tray and strode toward Ryan, her heels clicking crisply against the teak deck, her curves outlined by the sunlight.
"Captain, your drink," she said, maintaining a perfect distance as she handed him the glass, her tone calm and businesslike.
Ryan took a sip, the icy liquor burning pleasantly down his throat. Surveying the relaxed scene on deck, he thought, This is what sailing should be like.
But the peace didn't last. A sharp "Brrr Brrr" interrupted the tranquility. Zala pulled out a Den Den Mushi from her pocket, its shell adorned with golden patterns, her expression turning serious.
"Captain, it's the Warlord-exclusive line," she said, walking over to place the snail on the coffee table, her voice low with tension.
The deck fell silent instantly: Lucci's half-lidded eyes snapped open; Daz Bonez paused mid-sword polish, his gaze heavy; Kalifa adjusted her glasses, her eyes sharpening behind the lenses.
Everyone knew this call wasn't just a casual check-in.
Ryan set down his glass and pressed the answer button under their collective stare. A voice, aged yet commanding, emerged from the Den Den Mushi: "This is Wanderer Ryan, correct?"
"Who's asking?" Ryan's brow arched slightly. The authority in that voice far exceeded any ordinary government official—this was no minor figure.
"Jaygarcia Saturn of the World Government." The Den Den Mushi's breathing was audible before the voice continued, dripping with unquestionable authority. "The Five Elders."
"The F-Five Elders?!" Mikita gasped from the pool, her shock mirrored across the deck.
Especially among former government agents like Lucci, who understood the weight of that title—the pinnacle of the World Government's power.
"Didn't expect Lord Saturn himself to call," Ryan mused after a beat, pulling a cigar from his pocket and lighting it. His tone regained its usual nonchalance, edged with sarcasm. "What an honor."
Regardless of their stance, the Five Elders were the public face of the World Government's leadership.
"Your previous failure to capture the Straw Hat Pirates was overlooked," the voice continued, laced with subtle pressure. "Now, we're giving you a chance to prove your allegiance."
"And what might that be?" Ryan asked, intrigued.
"The government has confirmed that Gecko Moria is abusing his Shadow-Shadow Fruit powers in Thriller Bark, creating a zombie army. Multiple civilian fleets have been attacked recently, with over a hundred missing—disrupting order in the first half of the Grand Line."
The Den Den Mushi cut straight to the point: "Your mission is to eliminate Moria and dismantle his operations in Thriller Bark. This is both a task and your duty as a Warlord of the Sea to uphold the World Government's order."
"Eliminate Moria?" Ryan's lips curled. "So, taking him out wipes my slate clean for 'disobeying orders'?"
Though the Warlords operated independently, they were still the government's pawns. Directly ordering one Warlord to kill another was unprecedented. The Five Elders' personal involvement signaled this was no routine assignment—yet targeting Moria was unexpected.
"Consider it so," the voice replied evenly. "But understand—this isn't a negotiation. It's an order. Fail or defy again, and your Warlord title will be revoked. You'll be branded a World Government fugitive."
The air thickened. Kalifa paled; Lucci's pupils contracted.
Losing Warlord status meant becoming the government's enemy—exactly what CP9 had aimed to avoid by using the title as cover. Without it, they'd face direct pursuit, upending all their plans.
"Threatening me?" Ryan exhaled a smoke ring, his voice cooling. "Then revoke it."
A convenient tool, nothing more. Losing it changed little.
The crew froze. Kalifa opened her mouth to protest, but Lucci's sharp glance silenced her. Daz Bonez's blade hovered mid-motion, his silence heavy.
"Since becoming a Warlord, the government has erased your 30-million-Belly bounty, permitted free navigation in non-Marine waters, even turned a blind eye to your plundering in Water 7. You've enjoyed every privilege."
The Den Den Mushi remained impassive. "Yet you've fulfilled no Warlord duties—no pirate suppression, no 30% tribute from loot, no compliance with arrest orders. The Warlords and World Government are partners, not your personal shield. You've breached this agreement repeatedly."
Ryan's smirk faded, his fingers pausing on his sword hilt.
"Privileges demand reciprocation," the voice pressed. "The government needs your commitment. Eliminating Moria is your final chance to prove your worth."
Ryan stayed silent. He'd relished the Warlord perks but never intended to serve the government. Yet the World Government wasn't known for charity.
Exploiting benefits without returns was, admittedly, poor form.
"If you want me to kill a fellow Warlord, tell me why Moria's suddenly expendable," Ryan finally said, his gaze steady. "Spare me the 'disrupting order' nonsense. I want the truth."
He was genuinely curious—why target Moria now?
"Classified details can't be disclosed," the Den Den Mushi replied after a pause. "All I can say is Moria's no longer useful. A replacement is ready."
Ryan's eyes narrowed. The Warlords were one of the world's three great powers—the government wouldn't discard one lightly. After Crocodile's death, Ryan's immediate recruitment proved that.
Post-Marineford, the balance had destabilized, leaving the Warlords in flux.
Now, Moria was deemed worthless with a ready successor? Ryan's mind raced. This timing aligned with Marshall D. Teach capturing Portgas D. Ace, the Whitebeard Pirates' third division commander, and offering him as leverage for a Warlord seat.
Ah. The pieces clicked. No grand "order disruption" pretext—just cold calculation.
Teach, after years of hiding in Whitebeard's shadow, sought the Warlord title to advance his ambitions. Ace was his bargaining chip.
Originally, Teach would've filled Crocodile's vacancy. But Ryan had taken that spot, leaving all seven seats occupied.
The government couldn't refuse Ace—a hostage against Whitebeard—nor break the Warlord quota. Thus, Moria, holed up in Thriller Bark with his ragtag forces, became the easiest sacrifice.
As for assigning Ryan the hit? The motive was transparent.
Pitting Warlords against each other kept the government's hands clean—removing the "excess" Moria without backlash. It also tested Ryan's combat value. Succeed, and past defiance might be tolerated. Fail, and revocation justified Blackbeard's takeover.
A win-win for the government.
Clever, Ryan mused. Power dictates everything.
"Interesting." Ryan tapped the Seven Star Sword's scabbard, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "I'll take the job."
Why not stir the pot? He did enjoy those Warlord privileges.
"You have seven days. Intelligence will coordinate afterward." The Den Den Mushi fell silent before disconnecting with a click, its antennae drooping.
The deck's tension lingered. Lucci retracted his hand, gaze still razor-sharp; Daz Bonez relaxed slightly but kept watching the snail.
Kalifa adjusted her glasses. "The Five Elders' direct order... This mission can't fail."
"All hands, prepare to set sail!" Ryan downed his rum and stood, addressing the crew. "Destination—Thriller Bark!"
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