The abrasive brush scraped against the stubborn grime on the deck, its familiar rhythm a dull counterpoint to the ceaseless cries of the gulls overhead. For five years, I, Lazarus, had been the chore boy under Marine Captain Darius here at G-3, this staunch Marine base planted firmly in the unpredictable soil of the Grand Line. My world was a landscape of scrubbed floors, polished brass, and the endless, often thankless, tasks that kept this vital cog in the Marine machine turning.
"Lazarus!" Captain Darius's voice, a gravelly rumble that could cut through the strongest sea squall, echoed from the upper deck. My spine straightened instinctively.
"Aye, Captain!" I called back, dropping the brush and wiping my calloused hands on my worn trousers. My heart gave a familiar little thump of anticipation, a mixture of apprehension and a strange, burgeoning hope.
He stood at the railing, his silhouette framed against the vast expanse of the Grand Line's shimmering surface. "Report to my quarters. Now."
My mind raced. What could it be this time? Another stack of reports? Polishing boots? I hurried below deck, the familiar scent of salt and engine oil filling my nostrils. His quarters were spartan but neat. He stood by the window, gazing at the horizon.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" I asked.
He turned, his flinty eyes assessing me. "Five years, Lazarus."
"Yes, Captain."
"For five years you've served under my command. You've cleaned, you've carried, you've… tidied."
A wry smile almost escaped me. "I've done my best, Captain."
"Diligence is a virtue. The pirates… they're bolder. We set sail at dawn."
My stomach clenched. Another hunt. I'll be scrubbing while they fight. "Aye, Captain. I'll ensure everything is in order."
He turned back, his gaze direct. "No, Lazarus. You're coming with us."
My breath hitched. "Me, Captain?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Is your hearing failing? You're coming. Prepare yourself." He picked up a Flintlock Pistol, checked it, and handed it to me. "For your defense. Keep it loaded." He turned back to the window.
I stood there, the pistol's weight comforting. Me? On a pirate hunt, armed? This is… unexpected.
What is he thinking? Five years of chores, now this? Maybe he trusts me a little? I'd trained in secret, but I was weaker than the others. This felt like a chance.
The next morning, the Ironclad Resolve cut through the waves. I clutched the pistol. Sergeant Major Gigby chuckled beside me. "Lost, Lazarus?"
"No, Sergeant Major. Just… the view."
He eyed the pistol. "That's new."
I shrugged.
He probably thinks it's a joke.
My duties were the same, but harder on the rolling ship. Messages, meals, cleaning. But now, the pistol was there.
During a long watch, Captain Darius stood near me. "You're observant, Lazarus."
I froze. "Sir?"
"I've watched you. Persistent. You finish what you start."
He's been watching? He's seen my weakness… and yet…
"Thank you, Captain."
"Out here, everyone has a role. A clean ship is disciplined, and discipline keeps us alive. Have you practiced with that?"
"A little, Captain."
"Be ready."
Days passed. We encountered a few pirate vessels, swift, menacing shadows on the horizon. I witnessed the controlled chaos of a naval engagement firsthand – the roar of the cannons, the sharp cracks of rifles, the shouted orders, the grim determination on the faces of the marines. I wasn't in the thick of the fighting, but I was there, a part of the larger effort, carrying ammunition, tending to minor injuries, my heart pounding in my chest with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. And the Flintlock Pistol remained tucked in my belt, a tangible symbol of the Captain's unexpected trust.
Then, the unexpected happened. A young Marine, his face pale and sweat-drenched, sprinted towards Captain Darius, his boots thudding urgently on the deck.
"Captain! Captain!" the Marine gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
Captain Darius turned sharply, his hand instinctively moving towards the saber at his hip. "What is it, Private?"
"Sir! We've sighted a pirate ship bearing down on us fast!" The private pointed towards the horizon, his arm trembling. "From the logo… Captain… it's the Bloodsucker's ship!"
A collective murmur of unease rippled through the nearby Marines. Even Sergeant Major Graves's usual gruff demeanor seemed to tighten.
"Bloodsucker?" Captain Darius's voice was low, dangerous.
"Yes, sir! The skull with the crossed fangs… unmistakable! His bounty is fifty million berries, Captain! They say his crew is ruthless!" The private's eyes were wide with fear. "Sir, with all due respect, we should retreat! Request backup from G-3!"
Captain Darius's gaze narrowed, his jaw clenching. He stared in the direction the private had indicated, his expression unreadable.
Bloodsucker… fifty million berries… that's a monstrous bounty, I thought, my own heart pounding in my chest. Even the seasoned marines look worried. Should we really try to fight him? The private is right; we should turn back, get help.
Captain Darius remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The wind whipped his coat around him, adding to his imposing figure. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm but firm, though I could sense a steel edge beneath it. "Retreat? Request backup?" He let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Private, look around you. Do you have any idea how far we are from G-3? By the time a message even reaches them, and by the time any reinforcements could possibly arrive… well, let's just say the Bloodsucker would be long gone, likely after painting these very decks with our blood."
He turned to Sergeant Major Graves, his earlier contemplation replaced by a decisive glint in his eyes. "Prepare the cannons! Sound the alert! All hands to battle stations! We will not run. We will stand and fight!"
"Aye, Captain!" Sergeant Major Graves barked, his earlier unease replaced by a grim determination. He bellowed orders, his voice echoing across the deck.
The ship sprang to life, the earlier calm shattered by the urgent shouts of commands and the hurried footsteps of the Marines preparing for battle. The air crackled with tension.
Captain Darius turned to me, his gaze sharp. "Lazarus!"
"Captain?" I replied, my own fear rising with the adrenaline pumping through the ship.
"You are not a combatant," he stated, his voice firm but not unkind. "Your strength lies elsewhere. When the fighting begins… I want you to hide. Find a safe place below deck. Stay out of sight until it's over. That is your order."
"But Captain…" I started, a protest forming on my lips. I wanted to help, to prove my worth, especially now.
He cut me off with a stern look. "That pistol is for your last resort, Lazarus, should you be discovered. Your priority is to survive. Understand?"
Hide? He wants me to hide? After all this? A wave of disappointment washed over me, quickly followed by a stark understanding. He was right. I would be more of a liability in a direct fight against pirates of the Bloodsucker's caliber. My training, my strength… it wouldn't be enough.
"Understood, Captain," I said, my voice low.
"Good. Now go. And stay safe." He turned his attention back to the rapidly approaching pirate ship, his face a mask of grim determination.
I tucked the Flintlock Pistol securely into my belt and moved quickly towards the hatch leading below deck, the sounds of the Marines preparing for battle echoing around me. Hide. Survive. That's my role in this fight. The thought was bitter, but I knew Captain Darius was giving me the only order he could, the one that would hopefully keep me alive in the face of the terrifying storm that was about to break.