The sky hung low and gray, choked with clouds like ash smeared across the heavens. Heavy snow cascaded from above in sheets, blanketing the sea and distant coastline in ghostly white.
The world felt pale and muffled—as if sound itself had been buried beneath the frost.
Near the island's shoreline, five pirate ships loomed through the snowfall, their sails fluttering, each bearing the jolly roger of the World Pirates. On their decks stood swarms of rough-cut men, faces twisted with ambition and malice.
"Boss World! After this deal, we'll finally restock our arms and weapons, right?!"
"Hahahaha! Of course! That Doflamingo brat wouldn't dare defy the boss!"
"I heard the Donquixote Family controls the entire North Blue's black market weapons trade... this batch should be the good stuff!"
"Shi-hahaha! When we're done, the Marines and the World Government'll be nothing but ash under our firepower!"
Laughter and manic cheers rippled across the decks.
All eyes turned toward the towering man at the lead ship's prow—arms folded, frame broad as a fortress.
Their captain. Their war god.
The man feared by the Marines and the World Government alike. A pirate whose name stood shoulder to shoulder with legends like Whitebeard and Gol D. Roger.
"Barorororo! That's right! I'm Byrnndi World! Everything in my path—gets destroyed!"
World cackled with mad pride, glancing at the hunched, frail man perched on his shoulder.
"You agree, don't you, Brother?"
Byojack, his brother and right hand, nodded slowly. His face was drawn and pallid, an IV drip slung over one arm, the lines of illness etched into his skin.
"Yes... little brother," he said, voice soft.
World burst into another wave of laughter. Snow gathered like powdered sugar on the horns of his metal helmet.
He scanned the faces of his men—feral, eager, full of hunger for chaos—and his grin only widened. Something uncontainable simmered in his chest.
He still didn't know why the Marines had doubled his bounty from 200 million to 400 million Berries. Perhaps the Saint Shaldes incident? It didn't matter.
A higher bounty meant a louder legend. The more infamous he became, the more like-minded pirates flocked to his banner.
In just half a month in the North Blue, his crew had ballooned from a few hundred to several thousand.
He now commanded five ships.
And this was only the beginning.
Once he returned to the Grand Line—better yet, the New World—dozens more pirate crews would surely pledge themselves to him.
His ambitions stretched far. He didn't just admire the floating fleet of the Golden Lion—he wanted to surpass it.
"This is a good era..." he murmured, eyes locked on the white-blanketed island ahead.
"Prepare to make landfall."
The order cut through the wind. Snow twisted through the air like feathers.
The island ahead looked like a ghost town molded from sugar—its outline soft and silent under the snow.
The place for the arms deal.
The pirates sprang to action, giddy with anticipation.
Since joining the World Pirates, they'd struggled with limited firepower. This trade could change everything.
Sails were pulled tight, rudders spun. The five ships veered together toward the snowy island, their hulls parting the water like blades.
The raspy voice of Byojack sounded from World's shoulder.
His sickly eyes narrowed as he examined the cove they were about to enter.
The coastline ahead curled like a pouch—tight, enclosed. Five ships packed in together would leave little room to maneuver.
Byojack trembled as the wind sliced through his tattered coat. His body shook.
A coughing fit seized him. His face flushed red as he hacked into his sleeve.
"Cough... cough... World... for safety's sake, I don't think we should have all ships dock together."
"This inlet is too narrow. If the Marines ambush us here... we'll have no escape."
World turned his head, gaze unreadable.
His brother had become increasingly cautious ever since his bounty increased. Almost paranoid.
He'd banned docking unless necessary, confiscated all Den Den Mushi aboard their ships, and enforced strict curfews.
It was almost unlike the man he remembered—his once-bold elder now wilted by sickness and worry.
World thought of his childhood, of the hands that had carried him, protected him, scolded him. Byojack's body was failing, but his mind... his loyalty...
"Since it's your advice, Brother—"
He pointed to one of the ships.
"You lot. Stay offshore. Patrol the perimeter. Wait for my signal."
He tossed a Den Den Mushi to the nearest pirate aboard the designated ship.
The crew on that vessel groaned in disappointment. Faces fell.
There was no discipline in this lot. They weren't in it for dreams or freedom—this wasn't the age of the Pirate King.
They were pirates for loot. For power. For blood.
Even among the same crew, infighting over spoils was common. World didn't care—he welcomed it. Weaklings had no place by his side.
The pirates knew that whoever landed first would get first pick of the goods.
And those left offshore? They'd get the scraps.
Inferior weapons, if any.
Byrnndi World's word was law. So they grumbled, muttered curses under their breath—and obeyed.