Chapter 9: The Sword and the Sea
Ever since Charlotte wiped out the Bear Pirates, the once-fearful town had begun to change.
Where terror had once loomed in the air, now there was hope.
A new kind of whisper passed through the streets—not of dread, but of admiration.
Their protector had a name now: Charlotte.
"Would you like an orange, Mister Charlotte?"
An old woman offered him a basket of fruit as he walked by the marketplace. Around her, townsfolk paused their shopping to offer waves, bows, and heartfelt thanks.
Charlotte raised both hands in embarrassment. "No, no, really—it's fine."
He quickened his pace to avoid attracting more attention. It wasn't that he disliked the gratitude—but having the entire town treat him like a saint made his skin crawl. He was many things, but a saint wasn't one of them.
Behind him, Ivan hurried to catch up, clipboard in hand.
"Boss!" he called, breathless. "We collected protection fees across the whole district today. Not a single refuser! Even the big merchants handed it over without a word!"
Charlotte raised a brow. "Voluntarily?"
Ivan grinned. "Absolutely! Ever since you took out the Bear Pirates and saved the town, everyone wants to pay to keep your protection. You've got a reputation now!"
Charlotte allowed himself a smile. So this is what respect feels like, he thought. Not bad.
The five girls—Martha, Janney, Alice, Nell, and Gillian—trailed behind him in their newly tailored maid uniforms. Their previous kingdom had been a backwater isle without even a working port. Compared to that, this bustling harbor town felt like the capital of the world.
Wide-eyed, they followed Charlotte, fascinated by every merchant stall and fishing boat.
"Mr. Charlotte!"
"Good morning, sir!"
As Charlotte approached the port, dockworkers and shipwrights greeted him with deep bows and bright smiles. Even the guards stiffened into formal salutes.
Charlotte nodded in return. Though he didn't say much, his eyes swept the dock until they landed on three beat-up pirate ships moored nearby—spoils from the last battle.
Their masts were cracked. The sails were frayed. But they still floated.
The pirate flags had already been torn down.
Charlotte studied them in silence.
"Ivan," he said, hands in his pockets, "do we have a shipwright in town?"
Ivan nodded quickly. "Yeah, Boss! Our port mostly services merchant ships, so we've got a few repair crews. Not top-tier shipwrights—can't build anything fancy—but they're decent for basic vessels. Small boats, moderate repairs, that sort of thing."
Charlotte rubbed his chin, lost in thought.
He didn't want just a small boat. His dream wasn't to drift around like some half-baked pirate in a wine barrel.
He wanted a ship. Something worthy of the New World.
"How much money do we have right now? And what's the going rate for a proper ship?"
Ivan flipped open a notebook.
"Depends on size and materials," he said. "A 50-meter vessel runs between 6 to 50 million Beli depending on the hull quality and whether it's combat-ready. Bigger ships—say, over 80 meters—can go upwards of 200 million, especially if you're using Sea Prism Stone or rare timber."
Charlotte frowned. "What's our monthly income look like from protection fees?"
"Right now? About 300 million Beli per month," Ivan said. "But after expenses, we're left with around 200 million."
Charlotte's brow furrowed. "Expenses? What the hell is costing us a hundred million?"
Ivan chuckled nervously. "Uh, Boss… most of it is your food budget."
Charlotte's jaw dropped. "What?!"
"You eat sea kings, boss. Or mountain beasts. Hunters risk their necks to bring that stuff in, and nobody's doing it for free. You've got the appetite of a monster and the diet of a warlord."
Charlotte fell silent. It made sense, he supposed. Still, nearly a million a day just to stay fed?
"That's ridiculous," he muttered. "From now on, I'll handle food myself. I'll go hunt the sea kings personally."
Ivan blinked. "You sure, Boss? That's dangerous work."
"I'm dangerous too," Charlotte said dryly. "Besides, I'll get some training out of it."
"Got it! I'll cancel all the meat orders. Oh—and what should we do with those three pirate ships?"
Charlotte glanced back at the ships.
"Refit them," he said. "They'll be my fishing boats now. Hunting sea kings isn't just survival—it's practice."
Ivan bowed. "Yes, Boss!"
With that settled, Charlotte turned and left the port behind. He had training to do.
The beach was empty, the sun high in the sky. The ocean rolled in, wave after wave, endless and uncaring.
Charlotte stood ankle-deep in the water, long sword in hand. He stared out at the horizon and exhaled.
Then he raised his blade—and slashed.
Water sprayed.
Again.
And again.
And again.
He wasn't fighting an opponent today. He was fighting something far more stubborn: the wall inside himself.
He swung for hours without rest, his feet sinking deeper into the wet sand. Salt stung his eyes. His arms screamed. But he didn't stop.
He trained like this for days.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
Three months passed.
And in those months, the town watched as Charlotte transformed.
He didn't leave the beach. He didn't bark orders. He didn't lord over the people. He just trained.
The five maids brought him food, wiped his sweat, washed his clothes. They never disturbed him, but watched from a distance—awed, humbled, reverent.
Then, one morning, something changed.
Charlotte stepped forward, planted his feet, and slashed.
The air split.
A crescent-shaped blade of energy roared across the beach, carving a ten-meter trench in the sand.
Charlotte stared.
His hands trembled—not from fatigue, but from something deeper. Joy. Vindication.
"I did it," he whispered.
He had awakened the true art of the sword: the Flying Slash.
His heart soared.
For a year and a half, he'd practiced his swings—mindlessly, mechanically, endlessly. All of it had led to this moment.
Charlotte threw his head back and laughed like a madman, his voice echoing across the beach.
"Wahahaha! I finally did it!"
He kept slashing, carving wave after wave into the shoreline. The beach became a battlefield of air-blades and broken dunes.
At the top of the dunes, the five maids stood in silence, gazing down at their master.
Their eyes shimmered—not with fear, but admiration.
Charlotte sheathed his sword and walked up the beach, panting.
"Master!"
Gillian stepped forward first with a towel. The others followed, offering water, sandals, and a fresh shirt.
He took the towel and wiped his sweat. "Let's go home."
"Yes, young master!" the five answered in unison, smiling brightly.
That night, back at the villa, Ivan met him at the gate.
"Boss," he said. "We're almost out of sea king meat. You've cleared out most of the creatures near the island. We'll need a deeper hunt soon."
Charlotte nodded. "Understood. I'll go further out tomorrow."
He looked toward the sea.
For three months, he had trained, fought, and hunted. His body had changed. His sword had grown stronger. His senses, sharper. The Observation Haki that once merely sensed danger could now stretch for kilometers. Sometimes it even let him glimpse seconds into the future—or hear thoughts.
His Conqueror's Haki had only awakened once, that day on the pirate ship. Since then, it hadn't surfaced again.
But he wasn't discouraged.
It was his.
And sooner or later, he'd learn to control it.
He had gained power, but he wasn't done.
Not even close.
If he wanted to reach the New World… if he wanted to sail through the Grand Line without being crushed—he would need more.
More strength.
More knowledge.
More will.
But for tonight, he had earned his rest.
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