Chapter 60: It's All In The Wine
"Hehehe!"
Crocodile couldn't contain himself, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips. It wasn't joy, but the sheer, absurd hilarity of the situation unfolding before him.
"This is really getting more and more lively…"
"…"
The complications had multiplied exponentially. He had secured Nico Robin. Vergil had somehow attached himself to both a blind swordsman of terrifying caliber and a naively powerful prince. All formidable individuals in their own right.
But if Crocodile were asked which single powerhouse he least wished to encounter within Elegia's borders at this moment, the answer was unequivocal:
[Red-Haired] Shanks.
The man before them had tousled red hair, short stubble, and three iconic scars raking over his left eye. He was dressed casually in a white shirt, brown cropped pants, and sandals, a long black cloak draped over his shoulders, currently reeking of cheap ale.
"Pfft—hahahaha!"
The drunken Emperor leaned heavily, slinging a careless arm over Crocodile's shoulder. His bleary eyes scanned the group of five with amused recognition.
"No… hic… mistake. I've seen you lot…"
Shanks was profoundly intoxicated, his words slurring together.
"You're the Warlord… the 'Crocodile'!"
"Burp!"
"And this one next to you is…"
"Ni—"
He didn't get to finish. In a flash of motion, Robin's arms sprouted from Shanks's own shoulders, a pair of hands clamping firmly over his mouth.
Hana Hana no Mi!
Robin hadn't immediately placed the red-haired drunkard, but instinct screamed that she could not let her name be spoken aloud. She had taken pains to obscure her face with a scarf and had given only a partial name during introductions. How did this man recognize her? It didn't matter. For safety's sake, a quick chokehold to induce unconsciousness would suffice.
Yet, the moment she applied pressure, an unimaginable resistance met her. It was like a child trying to bend steel. Her conjured arms trembled, unable to exert the slightest influence.
"This—?!"
Robin's eyes widened in shock, her gaze locking onto the man's face. The red hair, the scars…
"Red hair…"
As his true identity crystallized in her mind, her blood ran cold.
Simultaneously, Crocodile, pinned under Shanks's arm, saw the Emperor's eyes go wide, his body tensing not in anger, but with a familiar, bodily urgency.
He's not angry… he's nauseous!
"Don't—let him go!" Crocodile barked, his own instincts flaring.
The blossomed arms vanished.
The next second—
Shanks's mouth opened wide.
"BUUURP—!!!"
A concentrated fog of alcoholic fumes blasted directly into Crocodile's face.
"…!"
Crocodile recoiled, shoving Shanks away and stumbling to the side, one hand pressed to his mouth as his stomach churned.
"Ah, haha! Sorry, sorry!" Shanks waved a hand apologetically, though his grin remained. "Drank a bit too much."
"But—!"
His tone shifted, and he promptly draped himself over Vergil's other shoulder, his mood swinging back to jubilant. "It's all 'cause my daughter's got a concert! She's the lead singer, y'know? Hehe… she sings the best…"
"Hm?"
He squinted up at Vergil's face. Reaching out, he clumsily patted and pulled at the stone-skinned cheek, his expression one of genuine puzzlement. "Have we met? Somewhere before?"
Vergil shook his head, his perpetual faint smile unchanged. "No."
"Eh? Weird…" Shanks let his arms drop, baffled. "I feel like I've seen your… eyes somewhere?"
Suddenly, it clicked.
"Oh! The eyes on the wanted poster! You're the [Demon] from Sabaody! Hahaha! I was just talking about you with the kids…"
His laughter trailed off. Shanks's gaze, still clouded with drink but sharpening by the second, fixed on Vergil's. Vergil looked placidly back down at him.
Silence descended, thick and heavy.
Click.
The clear, sharp sound of a sword being partially drawn broke the stillness. It wasn't Shanks's famed Gryphon, nor was it from Vergil.
It was Fujitora.
The blind swordsman had long since perceived the terrifying "presence" of the red-haired man through Kenbunshoku Haki—a roiling, thunderous ocean contained within a human form, threatening to break its levee at any moment.
"Who exactly are you?!"
Fujitora's voice was low, tense. He was not a man who sought conflict, but decades of honed swordsman's instinct screamed for vigilance. A bead of cold sweat traced a path down his temple.
For a moment, the air crackled with imminent violence.
Shanks's drunken demeanor faded, replaced by a weariness. He scratched the back of his head.
"Ah… since you're asking so seriously… guess there's no helping it."
His tone darkened, a flicker of formidable will igniting in his eyes.
"I suppose I'll just have to—"
"Pfft—HAHAHAHAHA!"
Inside a nearby pub.
Six individuals sat lined up at the bar. Two of them—Crocodile and Robin—sipped their drinks with a palpable gloom. The other four roared with laughter.
"Since you asked, I can only treat you all to a drink!"
Shanks had an arm around both Vergil and Fujitora, his earlier intensity dissolved in another wave of alcoholic cheer. "The folks in Elegia are great, but most of 'em can't hold their liquor! Thanks for keeping me company!"
"Ohoho…" Fujitora sighed, a reluctant smile on his lips. His Haki had confirmed it: this man, for all his world-shaking bounty and title, held no malice in this moment. Only paternal pride and a simple desire for companionship. For the wandering samurai, that was enough for now. The matter of the kidnapping pirates had been reported; they would observe the kingdom's response.
Beside him, Vergil and Shanks were exchanging tales.
"…"
"Ahahaha! So it's true! I heard it through the grapevine, but to think you really took down [Wildfire] King!" Shanks exclaimed, slapping the bar. "Hey, you're seriously strong! I'm only a little better than him!"
"…"
Vergil merely smiled, offering no correction or boast.
It was all in the wine.
After several more tankards, Shanks's intoxication surged back with a vengeance. He slumped over the bar, poking a finger at Vergil's stony cheek.
"Hah… your face doesn't even flush! Does it get stiff when you drink? What an interesting body!"
"…"
"Oof, drank too much… Uta's gonna be mad…"
"…"
Soon, soft snores came from the Emperor of the Red Hair Pirates, passed out on the wooden counter.
The others, also feeling the weight of the drink, made to gather him up and find his crew to return him. But at that moment, a sound—faint, deliberately suppressed—pierced through the tavern wall from the alley outside.
Swish.
In an instant, five of the six occupants snapped to alertness. Only Robin, her senses less supernaturally acute, looked on in confusion. Their expressions were a study in contrasts:
Zorian's was pure, unadulterated fury.
Shanks's, even in sleep, turned cold and hard.
Vergil and Fujitora wore looks of focused curiosity tinged with anger.
Crocodile's was a mixture of puzzlement and wry amusement.
"…?" Robin glanced between them. "What is it?"
"Consider it a front-row seat to a performance," Crocodile muttered, nodding toward the wall.
A heartbeat later—
Shanks's eyes flew open. He surged to his feet, calling over his shoulder to the flustered bartender. "Sorry, miss! I'll have someone settle the tab later!"
Shing!
Gryphon left its sheath. In one fluid motion, Shanks slashed at the tavern wall.
Swish!
A perfectly cut "door" appeared in the solid stone, its edges clean as a surgeon's incision. Zorian was the first through, kicking the cut segment inward and bursting into the alley.
The scene was a repeat of earlier: another band of pirates, this time caught mid-act, trying to spirit away a group of terrified Elegian children. Seeing their operation compromised, the pirates drew blades with snarls.
Suddenly, their weapons became impossibly heavy, yanking their arms to the cobblestones with crushing force.
Fujitora's cane-sword was a finger's breadth out of its sheath.
Beside him, Vergil simply clapped his hands together. The alley's stone pavement rippled like liquid, swallowing the pirates' bodies up to their necks in an instant, trapping them utterly.
Zorian's greatsword and Shanks's Gryphon came to rest simultaneously, their points meeting at the throat of the pirate captain.
Finally, Crocodile sauntered forward, the last to arrive. He leaned down, his shadow falling over the terrified, trapped man.
"Take some advice, friend," Crocodile drawled, a dark smile playing on his lips. "The sheer caliber of individuals you've annoyed tonight is something you could boast about for the rest of your miserable life."
He willed sand to coalesce into a sharp, curved scimitar, its edge resting against the man's jugular.
"Now, to ensure you have a 'rest of your life' to do that boasting…"
The smile vanished, replaced by icy menace.
"Simple pirates lack the spine to raid a World Government affiliate during a festival. So. Who. Is. Backing. You?"
(End of Chapter)
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