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"Alright, then—" Roger, no longer pressing the issue, grinned, raising his mug. "Drink!"
The atmosphere on the Oro Jackson grew even more festive. Shanks and Buggy, thoroughly drunk now, engaged in a mock duel, their antics drawing laughter from the crew, until Gaban, with a well-placed headbutt, sent them sprawling, tears welling in their eyes.
Arthur, sipping his sake, watched the scene unfold, a flicker of longing in his eyes. He admired their camaraderie—but he didn't belong here.
"This… softens a man's fighting spirit."
"That's not true, Arthur. True strength comes from within. It can't be shaken, no matter the temptation. Rayleigh-san taught us that—" Shanks said, his voice slightly slurred, his straw hat perched jauntily on his head, his Red Hair peeking out from beneath the brim.
"Everyone gets lost sometimes," Shanks continued, his voice taking on a philosophical tone.
Arthur chuckled, unimpressed by Shanks's attempt at wisdom. "And who are you to lecture me, Shanks? Did Rayleigh teach you how to be condescending, too?"
"But it's true!" Shanks insisted, suddenly drawing his dagger and pointing it at Arthur.
"When a man draws his weapon on you, he means business! I challenge you to a duel, Arthur!"
The sound of steel leaving its sheath silenced the revelry. The crew watched with interest, but no one intervened. They knew Arthur wouldn't bother fighting someone so weak.
Arthur's assessment of Shanks's strength was accurate.
Shanks, like Katakuri—another young pirate he'd encountered recently—possessed immense potential, a future powerhouse Arthur looked forward to facing one day.
"A duel, Shanks?" Arthur stood, towering over the redhead, his shadow falling across him.
Shanks, despite the palpable pressure of Arthur's aura, didn't flinch, a hint of his future, indomitable spirit already evident.
"It's too early for this, Shanks. You're too weak to even be a warm-up." Arthur's voice was cold, his disdain evident.
"I'll give you fifteen years. Fifteen years from now, if I'm still alive—I'll accept your challenge. But if you're still this weak—what will be the point, Shanks? You, Roger's chosen successor, the inheritor of his will?"
"Fifteen years? I can wait." Shanks's voice was firm, his hand adjusting his straw hat.
"Fifteen years from now, on this very island, on this very spot where you fought Captain Roger—I will defeat you." He wasn't discouraged by Arthur's words or his own current weakness.
That unwavering resolve—that refusal to back down—was likely what Roger had seen in him, what had prompted him to give Shanks his precious straw hat.
Arthur, having eaten and rested, his strength renewed, his mind clear, was ready to leave.
The Oro Jackson approached a small, golden island, its fields ripe with wheat. The ship slowly docked.
"Arthur, if you're not coming to Laugh Tale with us—this is your stop," Roger said, issuing a polite dismissal.
Arthur nodded, leaping onto the shore. Without looking back, he walked away, his blue greatcoat billowing in the wind, his voice echoing behind him.
"Roger, I was going to kill one of your crew for trespassing on my territory. But three days of hospitality and a good fight settles the score. Next time we meet—I won't be so lenient. I won't show your crew any mercy."
"Wahahaha! You and your big talk, kid! You'd better worry about Whitebeard. He's not called the Strongest Man in the World for nothing. He earned that title—through blood and conquest. You've been warned."
Arthur, though walking away, heard Roger's words clearly.
News of his killing Squard, spread by Big Mom, had made him even more infamous. Countless pirates mocked his arrogance, his recklessness—They called him a fool, predicting his imminent demise.
The world wasn't ruled by mockers and naysayers.
It belonged to those who persevered—who kept moving forward, despite the criticism, the doubts.
"I aim for the summit. Let the dogs bark." He wouldn't waste his breath arguing with them. Those who laughed, who mocked, those who criticized without offering solutions—they were losers.
True strength spoke for itself.
Actions, not words... that was what mattered.
Did the Emperors waste their time on petty squabbles?
They either ignored the insignificant—or crushed them.
Even Luffy said, "If you don't risk your life, you can't create a future."
Pirates flocked to the New World, their dreams often buried with their bones in that unforgiving sea. The cowards fled, hiding in Paradise, too afraid to face the monsters they'd encountered. Those who remained either died—or reached the pinnacle of power.
Arthur had often questioned his own fear of death. He'd gambled his life on the Knock Up Stream. He'd killed Whitebeard's son. He'd defied Big Mom. He wasn't afraid of a fight—but he valued his life. He wouldn't die meaninglessly.
Arthur, exploring the wheat-covered island, was intrigued.
In a world where the sea provided most sustenance, where seafood was the staple diet, supplemented by wild game and fruit—crops like wheat were a luxury, a delicacy enjoyed only by the wealthy.
He'd heard that crops like rice and wheat, drawing their energy from the earth itself, were incredibly nutritious, providing sustained energy.
He'd seen them before—but he'd never actually tasted them.
An idea sparked within him—Why not claim this island? Whose territory was it, anyway?
He chuckled, then stopped abruptly, hearing a rustling sound from the nearby wheat field.
A group of figures, about a dozen, armed with farming tools, emerged from the wheat stalks, their eyes narrowed—their gazes filled with a desperate, almost suicidal, determination.
They were approaching him, ready to fight.
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