Chapter 54: The Gambler
For Vergil, the world was a series of amazing adventures.
For Crocodile, it was a series of impending troubles...
...
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
More fireworks bloomed.
Night fell.
Beautiful pyrotechnics descended into the darkness, heralding another night of carnival.
Elegia was alive.
The streets were ablaze with light. Artists performed on every corner—not just locals, but talents from across the world. A fusion of notes created not chaos, but a wondrous alchemy.
Music lovers from every sea drifted through, savoring this auditory feast.
Beautiful!
Heavenly!
Even the most discerning critic could find no fault. Joy permeated the entire island.
...
"Hm-hm, hmm…" Crocodile hummed softly. Truthfully, he didn't dislike music, especially of Elegia's caliber. Even royalty from World Government nations couldn't experience such artistry without visiting.
If not for a critical goal, he wouldn't mind lingering with a glass of red wine.
"Is Nico Robin, Ohara's sole survivor, in Elegia now?" Crocodile puffed his cigar, gazing toward the distant, illuminated castles hosting concerts of every scale.
He muttered around the cigar, "This could be… troublesome."
"What's wrong?" Vergil's voice came.
Crocodile turned. Vergil now held a glass of wine, a drunkenly serene smile on his face.
Fortunately, Crocodile's mood was tolerable. He explained slowly, "Nico Robin's goal is likely Poneglyph deciphering. Now, with the Music Festival drawing a global, mixed crowd, she'll use the chaos to evade the World Government. That's trouble for me."
He shifted focus. "And for you. The Red Force has been docked over a week. The festival only just started. Meaning, the Red Hair Pirates landed here openly. Elegia doesn't just tolerate them; they're likely welcomed."
He gave Vergil a dark, knowing look. "If you pursue the Poneglyph, you'll likely clash with Elegia's royalty… and attract the Red Hairs' attention."
"…"
Hearing this, Vergil raised his glass in a toast, his smile illuminated by the lantern light. With his alcohol-loosened expression, Crocodile couldn't read his micro-expressions and gave up.
Soon, they reached the livelier city center. Streets teemed with people. Bars and performance halls operated through the night.
Crocodile quickened his pace, reaching a dim alley entrance. He turned, offering a parting wave.
"Hey, primitive!" he called. "Be careful. King was one man. The entire Red Hair crew is a different level of trouble. Don't escalate this."
He left another, sharper warning unspoken—knowing it'd be ignored anyway:
—Interfere with my hunt for Nico Robin, and I'll end you.
...
They parted. Overlapping goals made separate paths efficient. Moreover, their methods clashed violently; together, they'd only disrupt each other's rhythm.
Vergil intended to search for ancient sites first. But first, he'd indulge in the city's joy.
Swish. He pushed through a beaded curtain into a bustling tavern. A resident singer performed a famous barcarolle—"Binks's Sake."
"Truly good…" Vergil savored the melody, settling at the bar.
After a few glasses of fruit wine, his spirits lifted. He prepared to leave.
Then, a commotion erupted from a nearby round table.
"Ha ha ha ha! This old-timer's something else!"
Vergil glanced over. A group of young locals sat on one side, a small bowl and dice on the table. Opposite them sat a middle-aged man of striking appearance.
He was tall, wearing a lavender kimono secured by a black-purple obi, a wooden pole resting beside him. Short black hair, a trimmed beard around his mouth. His eyes were closed.
Most arresting was the deep, "X"-shaped scar across his forehead, extending over his eyes.
Vergil: "…"
He drifted closer, observing.
Whispers surrounded him.
"What happened?"
"Heard a blind old-timer challenged the bartender to dice. Lost his drinking money!"
"Blind?"
"Probably came for the music. No wine now! Ha!"
"…"
The chatter held no malice—only regret the old man would go dry tonight.
...
"Uncle, you might want to… ease up on the gambling," the bartender opposite said gently, spreading his hands. "Your eyes… aren't the best. Good thing it was me today."
He smiled. "Since I won a little, dinner's on me tonight, uncle!"
"Ohhh!" The old man's "eyes"—pure white orbs—snapped open, touched. "In that case, thank you kindly."
He shifted tone, adopting an innocent, pleading expression. "But gambling… it's my one little vice. Don't deny an old man his pleasure!"
"Uncle, you're a true addict!"
"Ha ha ha ha!"
"…"
Laughter rippled around the table. Music bred freedom. Elegia's people, while refined, cherished ease and liberty. This eccentric old man was beloved.
A bystander patted Vergil's shoulder, chuckling. "The festival brings all sorts, eh?"
"Truly." Vergil smiled, lost in brief thought.
Suddenly, he felt a gaze lock onto him—from the blind uncle.
"Ha!" Vergil grinned. Things were getting interesting.
He strode over, gestured for the bartender to yield, and sat opposite the old man.
"Ohhh…" The uncle's white eyes seemed to smile. "Fortune smiles. Another willing to dice with an old blind man?"
"Someone treated me," Vergil said, picking up a wine bottle from the table and draining it. He offered a gentler, more serene smile. "It'd be rude not to reciprocate. How many rounds shall we play?"
...
The blind, gambling-addicted uncle before him was, in fact, a future Marine Admiral—[Fujitora] Issho.
(End of Chapter 54)
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