One Piece: Pirate Code

The weather was unpredictable due to the island's ever-changing climate. After several bouts of rain, the clouds over Kalmar City remained dense, like ink that wouldn't dissolve. At night, the city was blanketed in darkness, with only the glow of scattered lights piercing the gloom.

Sherlock and Manny sat at a bar, pretending to be ordinary drinkers. Occasionally, their eyes flicked toward Klo, seated a few tables away.

After receiving William's coded signal, Tony led a group of brave and capable men to the city. Due to the proximity of Redleaf Village to the Navia Kingdom, their journey had been quick. When they arrived, the Redbeard Pirates had not yet departed.

The pirates, relishing their rare opportunity to come ashore, weren't about to leave without enjoying themselves. Additionally, acquiring supplies—especially military-grade materials—was a significant endeavor that required time.

Amidst the revelry, Klo stood apart, consumed by his frustration.

Drink after drink, he poured alcohol down his throat. His previously well-kept attire was now wrinkled, and his neatly combed hair had turned disheveled.

Klo despised the life of a pirate. He loathed the stench of drunken crewmen, the sweaty, suffocating ship cabins, and the shared, unhygienic living spaces. He abhorred the constant company of the salty sea breeze and the overly celebratory shore leaves.

He hated everything about the pirate's life. He longed for the life of a noble like Arcadio, residing in a grand mansion surrounded by impeccably dressed servants and maids. In his ideal life, he would sip fine tea from exquisite porcelain, nibble on delicate pastries, and leisurely peruse newspapers.

He dreamed of conversing with polished elites at sophisticated banquets rather than drunkenly slurring alongside foul-mouthed brutes.

But all his dreams had been shattered by the harsh reality of his situation. The vicious beating he endured from Hayreddin not only left marks on his face but also carved deep wounds into his pride.

Despite believing himself better educated and smarter than the average pirate, Hayreddin's assault had driven home an uncomfortable truth—Klo's self-proclaimed superiority meant nothing aboard a pirate ship.

What stung even more was Arcadio's indifference. Klo had realized that in the grand scheme of things, he was just a minor player, insignificant in the eyes of those with real power.

These thoughts gnawed at Klo, leaving him drowning his sorrows in drink.

A few barmaids approached, drawn by his relatively fine clothes and generous payment for drinks. However, Klo irritably waved them off.

"Get lost!" he snapped.

The barmaids, offended, made mocking gestures before leaving. Manny chuckled at the scene and asked Sherlock, "When do you think he'll leave?"

"Soon. William said he's scheduled to guard the ship tomorrow, so he must return tonight," Sherlock replied, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes glinted with focus. "Stay sharp. We can't lose him."

"With how drunk he is, that won't be a problem," Manny quipped, though he still straightened up, keeping an eye on Klo.

Elsewhere, Hayreddin stomped through a dimly lit alley, cursing under his breath. The uneven, water-filled streets of the slum were like a minefield, each step requiring caution to avoid stepping into a puddle. Such alleys were everywhere in the impoverished district.

Due to his irritable nature, Hayreddin often found himself alone—other pirates kept their distance, and he didn't bother to recruit followers. He preferred it that way.

In a shadowy corner of the alley, he spotted a figure sprawled near a puddle. The figure appeared to be a drunkard, muttering incoherently.

Hayreddin sneered, drawing a dagger from his boot. He crouched by the drunkard, grabbed a fistful of hair, and exposed the person's filthy neck. With deliberate cruelty, he dragged the blade across the man's throat.

Blood gushed forth, and the drunkard clutched his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Hayreddin's eyes lit up with a twisted thrill as he watched the life drain from his victim.

When the drunkard finally stilled, Hayreddin sighed in satisfaction and stood. Turning toward the mouth of the alley, he froze.

A man stood silently at the alley's entrance. The dim light revealed his red hair and the gleam of a blade in his hand.

Hayreddin turned back, only to find his retreat blocked by another man, also wielding a blade.

The two men were none other than Edmond and Aramis.

Hayreddin wiped the blood from his dagger onto his shirt, his mind racing. Suddenly, he charged toward Edmond, the closer of the two.

Edmond grinned savagely, raising his blade and meeting Hayreddin head-on. Meanwhile, Aramis silently closed in from the other side, effectively sealing Hayreddin's fate.

Their mission was clear: Hayreddin would not leave the alley alive.

The clash of boots on wet cobblestones shattered the night's silence. Hayreddin roared and swung his scimitar at Edmond.

Edmond intercepted the blade with his katana, but Hayreddin revealed a hidden dagger in his other hand, stabbing swiftly.

With a subtle shift of his body, Edmond avoided the attack, grabbing Hayreddin's wrist. Using his katana, Edmond deflected the scimitar and delivered a sharp elbow strike to Hayreddin's chest.

Hayreddin staggered back, only to hear rapid footsteps behind him. A sudden shout echoed:

"On your knees!"

Aramis, now directly behind him, struck the back of Hayreddin's knee with the sheath of his katana. A sickening crack followed, forcing Hayreddin to collapse.

Before he could recover, Edmond stomped on Hayreddin's hand, shattering his fingers and causing him to drop his scimitar.

Howling in pain, Hayreddin flailed with his dagger, but Aramis grabbed his arm and forced it straight. Edmond then delivered a brutal knee strike to the joint, leaving Hayreddin's arm limp and useless.

The dagger clattered to the ground as Hayreddin's cries echoed through the alley.

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