Chapter 7: Primitives
After his skirmish with the creature "Alvin Vergil," Crocodile understood one thing.
Was Vergil's most dangerous trait his combat ability?
No.
The man had learned to walk mere hours ago. Even with a Mythical Zoan's advantage, how formidable could he truly be?
What was truly troublesome—even frightening—about Vergil was his staggering capacity to learn.
Or, to put it in terms befitting a "creature"… his evolutionary speed.
Crocodile couldn't quite pin down the feeling. It was as if the man's potential was a bottomless well, his upper limit impossible to gauge.
"Ahahahaha!"
Vergil laughed freely.
Irritated, Crocodile closed his eyes to rest, running the fight over in his mind.
If they'd been on land, with no risk of drowning, and had continued their battle… what would the outcome have been?
Could his relentless assault have crushed Vergil outright?
Or would Vergil's terrifying "evolution" have unraveled his techniques faster?
Both seemed possible.
But Crocodile wasn't curious about the result. He was no green rookie fresh off the docks. Years ago, he'd fought Douglas Bullet to a standstill, been defeated by Whitebeard, and finally been recruited by the World Government as a Warlord. That journey had tempered him. He preferred to stack the deck before acting.
For now, at least, Alvin Vergil wasn't hostile. There was no need to gamble on Vergil "evolving" further in a fight to the death.
That was his call.
"…"
Crocodile checked the chart, confirmed their heading, then picked up an oar and began to row.
Vergil watched with keen interest, clearly itching to try.
"Tch. It's just an oar, primitive. Don't cause trouble."
Crocodile certainly wasn't thrilled to be rowing for Vergil, but he also didn't want the man breaking their only oar and forcing two Devil Fruit users to paddle with their hands.
"Anyway, we're heading back to 'Paradise'—the first half of the Grand Line."
Crocodile explained, then remembered the "primitive" likely knew nothing of the world's structure. He added offhandedly, "The sea we're in is the Grand Line. Specifically, the 'New World'—the latter half. The first half is called 'Paradise.' Besides the Grand Line, the world is divided into four seas by the Red Line…"
And so on.
He gave Vergil a rough overview: the Great Pirate Age, the Grand Line, the Red Line, the Four Blues, the Calm Belts…
Vergil, of course, knew all this. But it was rare to have someone actually speaking to him, so he listened, reviewing the information.
Crocodile, naturally, wasn't being charitable. His lesson had a purpose.
While describing the world, he focused intently on its topography.
Rumors on the seas suggested the two Calm Belts flanking the Grand Line might be the handiwork of the Ancient Weapons.
If Alvin Vergil truly held knowledge of those weapons, he would surely react to mentions of the world's geographical oddities.
Crocodile watched Vergil's expression closely.
When he said, "The Calm Belts are the nesting grounds of Sea Kings," Vergil's head gave a slight jolt.
There!
Crocodile's eyes sharpened. He was about to press further when he saw Vergil slump against the lifeboat's edge and begin to snore softly.
Crocodile: "…"
A vein throbbed on his temple.
Of course. A personality perfectly crafted to infuriate him.
If not for the lingering hope of extracting information from this primitive, he'd have gladly tossed him overboard.
Crocodile rowed through the night.
By dawn, the towering wall of the Red Line finally appeared on the horizon.
Along its base, further along, sprawled a massive, official-looking port. Established by the World Government, it served as the sole sanctioned passage between the two halves of the Grand Line. It was a transit hub, not a town, all function and no soul.
Crocodile eyed the docks and sighed, a low, discontented sound.
"Finally."
"Tough work."
"Mm…"
He noticed Vergil stirring, finally awake after sleeping the entire journey. Crocodile's eye twitched, but he swallowed his irritation.
This was World Government territory. His Warlord status granted passage, but drawing attention was unwise.
The Dock.
They disembarked.
Crocodile then used his power, dissolving the lifeboat into a heap of sand that swiftly sank, leaving minimal trace.
"Study that."
Seeing Vergil's slightly puzzled look, a sliver of satisfaction finally cut through Crocodile's annoyance. They needed a new ship anyway; keeping the old one was a risk. He couldn't be bothered to explain.
"Figure it out yourself."
"Okay! I get it!"
Vergil nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.
Crocodile's eye twitched again. He spoke slowly, "To travel between the halves of the Grand Line, you generally have two choices."
"Change ships and take the official route over the Red Line, or risk the underwater passage."
He lit a cigar. "The official route over the Red Line connects not just the Grand Line's halves, but also leads to the Four Blues."
"But for an unflagged pirate, the paths are few."
"So once a pirate sets foot on the Grand Line, turning back with dignity is… difficult. You either slink back disguised, or get captured by the Marines."
He paused, then added pointedly, "Of course, you could always choose suicide and try to cross the Calm Belt."
He still hoped to pry something about the Ancient Weapons from Vergil, but it was a dead end. That knowledge was elusive. For now, he'd have to play the hand he'd been dealt.
"…"
Crocodile rubbed his temples as Vergil looked around, eager to explore the port. "Let's move. The World Government runs a tight ship here. This place is for transit. The merchant convoys don't linger."
"If you want amusement, wait until we cross the Red Line and reach the Sabaody Archipelago."
Sabaody Archipelago.
Hearing the familiar name, Vergil's mood lifted noticeably. Punk Hazard and this sterile port were bleak. A tourist hub like Sabaody was far more promising.
They fell in with a line of travelers.
The status of a Warlord truly was special. They were pirates even the World Government struggled to handle. No one wanted trouble, so passage was smooth.
Soon, they were ascending the specially constructed passage scaling the face of the Red Line.
Vergil observed the procession silently.
Countless merchant caravans waited in line for routine World Government inspections, a screen against pirates and contraband.
As they walked, a particular "caravan" caught Vergil's attention.
They were merchants, but their wagons weren't laden with goods. They carried people—men, women, and children in chains and manacles.
Vergil knew what they were.
Slave traders.
Legal slave traders.
Crocodile noticed Vergil's gaze. A thin smile touched his lips as he took a drag.
"Hehehe… Allow me to educate you, primitive."
"In this era, it is possible for a 'person' to become a 'slave.' And a 'slave' is a type of 'legal merchandise.'"
"…"
Crocodile said this deliberately. He cared little for the slave trade itself; it only offered monetary gain. What Crocodile truly craved was military power.
Vergil gave a slight nod.
As they drew nearer, the noises from the slave caravan reached them. Bored by the long wait, the traders had begun amusing themselves with their cheapest stock.
Crack! Crack!
A whip fell repeatedly on a young slave boy, drawing bloody welts.
The boy knelt, begging for mercy, met only by the traders' derisive laughter.
"…"
Vergil watched silently, his gaze sweeping over the others.
The other slaves watched numbly, some even looking relieved it wasn't them.
The ordinary passersby from other caravans? Some were indifferent. Others watched the spectacle with casual interest, killing time.
Laughter and wailing tangled together, blurred by numb stares, mixing into a formless, ugly mire.
"…Hey."
Vergil suddenly grinned.
He patted Crocodile on the shoulder, pointing at the slave traders and the crowd around them.
"Little Croc, look at them."
He smiled, but his eyes held a different light.
"I thought I was primitive enough…"
(End of Chapter)
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