The rhythmic creaking of the Red Force and the constant rush of wind against the sails became the new soundtrack to Regulus's days. The island where he had spent the last five years receded into a hazy memory on the horizon, replaced by the vast, beckoning expanse of the East Blue. A sense of exhilaration coursed through him, a feeling of finally moving forward, of embarking on the true adventure he had always envisioned. Yet, beneath the surface of his excitement, a familiar frustration lingered. Despite the incredible progress he had made in the past week under the tutelage of Shanks and his crew, the gap between his power and that of his captain remained a stark reminder of how far he still had to go.
He spent hours on deck, honing his skills, pushing his body to its limits. He practiced his swordplay with the "Fang of Fenrir," the dark blade singing through the air as he perfected the techniques Shanks had shown him. He worked on his Devil Fruit control, shifting between his human and hybrid forms with increasing speed and precision, experimenting with the nuances of the Fenrir's power. And he focused intently on his Haki, visualizing it as an invisible armor, a sixth sense that could perceive and react to threats before they even materialized.
One afternoon, as Regulus was meticulously cleaning the "Fang of Fenrir," Benn Beckman approached him, his ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, kid," Benn said, his voice low and gravelly. "And you're improving fast. But don't let the frustration eat at you. Shanks is… well, Shanks. He's in a league of his own."
Regulus nodded, acknowledging the truth in Benn's words. "I know. But I want to reach that level. I need to."
Benn took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly. "Power isn't just about raw strength or flashy Devil Fruits, kid. It's about understanding yourself, your limits, and how to push beyond them. It's about experience, about facing real danger and learning from it. And it's about patience. You've only been with us for a week. You've got time."
He paused, his gaze sharp and insightful. "That Fenrir fruit of yours… it's a wild power. Don't just try to control it; understand it. Feel its instincts, its urges. Learn to channel them, not just suppress them. And your Observation Haki… that's going to be your greatest asset. Hone it, sharpen it. It'll save your life more times than brute strength ever will."
Regulus listened intently, absorbing Benn's wisdom. The first mate's words resonated with him, offering a different perspective on his training. He had been so focused on physical strength and Devil Fruit control that he had perhaps overlooked the importance of truly understanding the core of his abilities.
Several days later, the Red Force arrived at a bustling harbor town, the air thick with the smells of salt, fish, and exotic spices. Colorful banners flapped in the breeze, and the sounds of merchants hawking their wares and sailors calling out to each other filled the air. It was a vibrant, chaotic scene, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of the deserted island.
Shanks gathered the crew on deck, a wide grin on his face. "Alright, everyone! We're going to make a brief stop here to resupply and maybe have a little fun. But before we do," he turned his gaze towards Regulus, his expression becoming more serious, "I've got a little test for our newest recruit."
A murmur went through the crew. Regulus felt a knot of anticipation tighten in his stomach. He had a feeling this was coming.
"Regulus," Shanks continued, his eyes locking with the young pirate's, "I want you to go into town alone. There's a small group of pirates causing trouble in one of the back alleys. They've been harassing the locals and generally making a nuisance of themselves. I want you to deal with them."
Shanks's words were simple, but their implications were clear. This wasn't a sparring match; this was a real-world test, a chance for Regulus to put his training into practice against actual opponents.
"There are about ten of them," Shanks elaborated. "They're not particularly strong, mostly just thugs with rusty swords and a bit of bravado. But they're armed and they won't hesitate to fight. Your objective is simple: neutralize the threat without causing unnecessary harm to the townspeople. You can use whatever methods you deem necessary."
Regulus nodded, his initial nervousness giving way to a surge of determination. This was his chance to prove his worth to the crew, to show Shanks that his faith in him was not misplaced.
"You won't have any backup," Shanks added, his gaze unwavering. "This is your hunt, Regulus. Show me what you've learned."
Regulus took a deep breath, his mind already racing. Ten armed pirates. Not a significant threat individually, but a potential challenge when working together. He considered his options. He could transform into his Hybrid or Full Beast Form and overwhelm them with brute force, but that might cause unnecessary damage to the surroundings. He wanted to complete this test cleanly, efficiently.
He decided to rely on his speed, his Observation Haki, and his growing proficiency with the "Fang of Fenrir." But then, a different idea sparked in his mind. He had been practicing his marksmanship with Yasopp's spare pistols. Perhaps this was an opportunity to test his skills in a real-world scenario.
"Captain," Regulus said, his voice steady, "I'll handle it. But I'd like to use a pair of pistols for this."
Shanks raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Pistols, huh? Interesting choice. Alright then. Yasopp, toss him a couple of your spares."
Yasopp grinned, reaching into his bag and tossing Regulus two well-maintained flintlock pistols. Regulus caught them with practiced ease, the weight of the weapons feeling familiar in his hands.
"Remember what I taught you, kid," Yasopp called out with a wink. "Aim true!"
Regulus nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. He tucked the pistols into his belt, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the "Fang of Fenrir." He knew that the sword would be his primary weapon if things got too chaotic, but he wanted to test his control and precision with the firearms.
With a final nod to Shanks, Regulus stepped off the ship and onto the bustling docks. The sounds and smells of the harbor washed over him, but his focus remained solely on the task at hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, extending his Observation Haki, reaching out into the town, searching for the telltale signs of trouble. He could sense them – a group of rough-looking individuals gathered in a narrow alleyway a few streets over, their energy radiating a sense of menace and unease.
His eyes snapped open, his gaze now sharp and determined. The lion's hunt had begun anew, not on a deserted island, but within the heart of a bustling port town. And Regulus was ready to prove that he was more than just a survivor; he was a hunter.