One Piece: The Legendary Pirate

Darvy's home island was a summer island.

Hot and humid—it was a perfect environment for a numerous germs to thrive. Coupled with his weak physical constitution, he was often sick.

However, the summer island had perks as well. That same heat and humidity—it allowed Darvy to live without a proper clothing.

As the result, Darvy grew up not knowing what a cold environment felt like. Because so, the first thing Darvy did when he regained his consciousness was to shiver in response to the striking coldness.

Then, a stench entered his nose, one so strongly vile that it hurt.

'Where am I?'

Feeling an urge to groan, Darvy slowly opened his eyes. The scene was blurry, but he could see that there was a ceiling of some sort above him, dripping water.

As a water droplet splashed over the floor, Darvy flinched upon feeling how cold it was. As his vision began to clear, he, ignoring the immense thirst and hunger that rendered him dizzy, inspected his state.

'How... am I alive?'

There was an evident sign on his body that he was treated and healed by someone. Parts of his skins had a patch mark as if a piece of clothing was sewed—something that he's never seen before.

Then, this 'room' which he's been in shook unstably. 

'This is...'

Ship. He was in a ship. 

'Why?'

He recalled the last thing he could remember. The event in the island which he miraculously arrived after a pseudo-suicidal sail... the event in which he thought he died in.

The muscular man holding that heavy-looking axe, single-handedly. One who cleaved the arm of the devil fruit user who had the ability to transform into ice.

Such was the outside world that he experienced. And it seemed that... based on a chain strapped to his left ankle, what he experienced over the span of a month was just a tip of the iceberg.

With great difficulty, Darvy managed to lift his body and lean his back against a wall behind, such that he had gone from a lying to a sitting position. This was only possible thanks to his arms and right ankle being unstrapped, unlike his left ankle and neck.

"Finally awake?"

Someone spoke from the darkness, earning Darvy's attention. The deepness of the voice indicated that it was a man who spoke. The slight accent in his speech told Darvy that it was someone whom he doesn't know.

"Hehhehheh... I wonder what kind of feat you did to make them put you in this cell."

"...Cell?"

Though hoarse, his neck was still functional, able to produce sound.

'Celestial Dragon... loss... healed...'

Putting the information together, Darvy frowned.

"...Slavery."

"And a special one at that, heh..."

From a small crack at the ceiling above, a ray of moonlight entered. For a brief moment, Darvy managed to see the appearance of the man.

Hat of a pirate captain. Equally fancy garments. An eye patch over his right eye. Long, unkempt, and brown-colored beard and matching hair. Huge in size. At least 40s in terms of age. Unlike Darvy, however, he had a neck and both ankles strapped by chains, and arms cuffed together.

"...You're a slave as well, I suppose."

Slowly, Darvy spoke after having finished thinking.

"One who caught us... is probably that person called 'Saint Brysus'. A Celestial Dragon. Wealthy and powerful. You said that I'm a special one, or in other words, a special slave. Being stuck in the same cell means you too are a special one. If I were to think of why I'm special..."

Really, the only thing that Darvy could think of was that last moment before his loss of consciousness—the death of that muscular man.

Darvy's hand sled against the cool wooden floor. Then, as the sheer cold struck him again, Darvy instinctively shivered. Raising his arms and bringing them close to his body, he realized how cold his body was.

Seeing him, the man with the pirate hat laughed lightly, though in a silent manner. Then, his facial expression turned gloomy, and simultaneously, the ray of moonlight faded from the crack above, returning the cell into a state of darkness.

"Yes... special, though I have no idea if it's going to be good or bad."

The man said in a low tone, containing sadness and despair.

"Slaves have many uses. Most commonly, they are to be sold as products for wealth, used as house workers, servants, ways to vent stress, and... heh, many more."

Darvy didn't speak back. Nonetheless, the man continued to talk or whisper more like. As he did so, his tone sounded dreamy almost.

"And I was the captain of the pirate fleet just a month ago. I was drinking the finest wine and listening to the finest music. To think one instance of loss will bring me to this..."

Then, the man entered silence.

A period of time passed. Enduring the cold, Darvy felt as if the time was passing very slowly, though he had no idea what time it was.

Nonetheless, he persisted. Watching as the fog formed every time he breathed, he saw that gradually, the light began to shine through the crack. 

Then, the door slammed open, revealing two soldiers.

"At last."

Clearly annoyed, one soldier spat on Darvy's face.

"Took forever for you to wake up, weak-ass."

Unstrapping the chain on his left ankle's cuff, the soldiers then harshly lifted Darvy into a standing position.

Darvy swayed from this forced stand-up, feeling dizzy due to the blood rushing out of his head. Then, he was punched on the cheek by one soldier. His face was turned sideways, and losing balance, he was about to fall—only to be yanked by the chain on the neck. 

The one holding onto said chain then kicked Darvy on the back, causing him to propel forward this time. Holding his cuffed neck with his hands and coughing, Darvy supported his weight with his trembling legs and spat out the blood without the grunt.

Then, he gazed at the soldier who punched him with a blank expression.

"...What?"

The soldier, feeling uneasy as Darvy stared at him, growled. Darvy, though with the corner of his lips bleeding, then chuckled,

"Is that it?"

"Why you little—"

The soldier raised his fist again as if about to punch for the second time but was stopped by the soldier holding Darvy's chain.

"Hey, stop it there. Saint Brysus doesn't want these slaves in a poor condition. And look at this little pulp's state. He's going to die at any rate."

"...Fuck!"

Harshly yanking, they then brought Darvy out of the cell, to a long hallway lit by artificial light in glass that he found fascinating.

They then walked. Contrary to Darvy's expectation, the wooden floor didn't creak, to which he deduced that this ship was either relatively new or used some incredibly sturdy and resistant wood to construct.

The cold air began to get warm, and Darvy noticed that they were headed to a place of heat.

That heat, emanating from ahead, was dry and unpleasantly hot. Darvy looked at the two soldiers on his left and right and saw that they were making twisted smiles.

Eventually, they entered a lit room. Inside, Darvy saw that same obese man who wore the glass sphere over his head, Saint Brysus. 

"...At last, you're here, honhonhon."

He was holding onto a heated metal that perfectly replicated the 'Hoof of the Soaring Dragon'.

"You cost me dearly, making me lose one of my most prized slaves."

'Slaves? That muscular guy too was a slave...?'

Though Darvy didn't express it on the outside, he found himself quite shocked.

"He was supposed to be one of the highlights in the upcoming entertainment! You ruined the fun that I was anticipating it for..."

Saint Brysus then grinned viciously as two soldiers slammed him down on the floor, pushing his shoulders down with their feet.

Saint Brysus approached Darvy and raised the hot metal that was scorching red in color.

"Well, what's gone is gone. Still, I needed a solution. Someone else to be placed in that slave's place."

One soldier, leaning down, raised Darvy's dirty shirt up and revealed his bare back.

"That'll be you, pretty little bug."

The hot metal was then pressed straight onto Darvy's skin. A sizzling noise resounded along with the smell of burned meat.

Darvy's body trembled uncontrollably from the immense pain that entered his nerves. The electricity flashed in front of his eyes as they saw white. He instinctively screamed, to which the Celestial Dragon laughed at as if entertained.

The Hoof of the Soaring Dragon. Darvy now understood; that it was a symbol representing a Celestial Dragon's property.

"Huff... huff..."

"Oh? This one didn't faint. Or defecate."

Saint Brysus commented. His grin widened.

"You do have a potential... though I doubt you'll survive for long."

Darvy was unable to move. In this state, the two soldiers dragged him out of the room and across the hallway.

They then laughed. They mocked Darvy, saying that he'll forever be bound as a slave and that whatever dream he had, he won't be able to achieve.

Then, there was the pain in his back, the wound that hurt so much that hunger and thirst were no longer of importance. He came to learn that this was the reason why they healed him beforehand. If he were to have received this without being at a nigh optimal state, he may have died.

However, in the midst of all these, Darvy felt something as he was being dragged.

He was brought back into the cell, and the cuffs on his ankle and neck were chained back to the wall.

The door was then slammed shut, and as Darvy huffed in exhaustion while lying face-down, the pirate sitting across, having noticed his return, spoke,

"You got branded, eh?"

"...Yeah."

Darvy frowned as he slowly sat up with his body yet trembling from lack of strength. The pain persisted and he huffed, but that wasn't what was important at the current moment.

"...I noticed some time ago that we are on a ship."

Darvy spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Then, just before... I felt that this ship was afloat. Tell me... where are we headed? What is the destination of this ship?"

The pirate grimaced from beyond the darkness. He then muttered in a shaky voice,

"...Mary Geoise. The land of gods."