Barron and Kane stood at the bow of the ship, eyes fixed on the slowly emerging island ahead.
Thick forests wrapped tightly around the coastline, and at its center, a cluster of low buildings could be vaguely seen.
The harbor held a dozen or so worn merchant vessels, their rusted anchors hanging like relics, silently testifying to the erosion of time.
"This is the safe haven?" Barron asked in a low voice, his sharp gaze scanning the unfamiliar shore.
Kane gave a slight nod, lowering his voice as he replied, "This is Grayscale Island, under the control of the Grayscale Gang. They survive on smuggling and harboring pirates. It's a backwater force, but not to be underestimated."
Barron's eyes lingered on the bustling figures at the harbor—some hauling cargo, others murmuring in hushed conversations.
The air was thick with the mixed scent of alcohol and sea salt.
He noted that although the guards near the dock were dressed casually, the blades and guns at their hips radiated menace—clearly, these were not men to be trifled with.
"We won't stay long. Once I get the chance, I'll use a transponder snail to contact the remnants of my family's pirate crew," he said, his tone cold and resolute.
Kane frowned and whispered, "You sure they're still out there? The Blackfin Alliance struck your fleet hard and even took over your territory afterward."
Barron's eyes were sharp as blades. His voice dropped lower, heavier.
"They won't be wiped out so easily. There were contingency plans for emergencies. Some of them must've survived."
Kane didn't argue. He gave a silent nod, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. He clearly had doubts about Barron's plan—but knew better than to speak them aloud just yet.
As the boat drifted closer to shore, a few of the Grayscale guards stepped up to the dock, watching the small vessel with wary eyes.
"What's your business? This isn't a place where just anyone can dock," one of them barked, leveling his spear at the ship.
Kane stood up slowly, raising both hands to show he meant no harm.
"We're here to trade. Got something good with us," he said, pulling a few shiny Beri coins from his coat—snatched earlier from a supply island—and tossing them toward the guards.
The guard caught the coins, bit one for authenticity, then grinned greedily.
"You can come ashore. Just don't start trouble." He waved them in.
Barron said nothing. He leapt from the boat with practiced ease and strode straight toward the market. His steps were steady, firm, leaving Kane to hastily catch up.
The Grayscale marketplace radiated chaos—illicit trades were happening openly in alleys and corners.
Slave auctions, black-market weapon deals, scantily clad women waving at passersby... The air reeked of cheap rum and the cloying sweetness of rotting fruit. It was enough to make one gag.
Pushing through the crowd, Barron stopped in front of a run-down tavern tucked into a narrow alley. Its sign was barely hanging on, and shadows in the corners hinted at eyes watching from the dark.
"We'll buy a transponder snail here and make contact," Barron murmured as he pushed the door open.
Inside, the tavern was thick with smoke and dimly lit. A few burly men sat silently in the corners, drinking.
When the door creaked open, their cold stares followed Barron and Kane—but no one spoke. Barron scanned the room and found a quiet corner. He motioned for Kane to sit.
"Someone might be watching, but as long as we don't do anything strange, they'll leave us be," Kane whispered.
Barron gave a brief nod, then pulled a small transponder snail from his coat, dialing the number with a few precise clicks. The snail blinked to life.
"Buru buru buru... buru buru buru..."
After a short pause, a young but firm voice answered with caution, "This is Eric… Who is this?"
"It's me. Barron." His reply was curt and sharp.
Eric—the son of his father's most trusted steward—had grown up alongside him.
The line went silent for a moment before Eric's shocked voice burst out.
"Lord Barron! You're alive?!"
"Alive," Barron replied, devoid of emotion.
Eric sounded stunned, then quickly recovered. "My lord! Where are you? We've been waiting for your return!"
"I'm on Grayscale Island. But this isn't the time for reminiscing. What's your status?"
Eric sighed heavily.
"There was a betrayal. We were scattered. Some escaped to nearby islands. Some are still being hunted by the Blackfin Alliance… and others… others surrendered.
Your father… before he died, he entrusted me with the remaining wealth—and the Captain's Chest. We've been in hiding ever since."
Barron was silent for a moment before asking coldly, "Who betrayed us?"
Eric's voice turned grim. "It was Black. He used to be your father's right hand.
But after the Great Route campaign failed, his ambitions grew. He secretly allied with the Blackfin Alliance, led their fleet, and personally killed your father."
Barron's eyes darkened.
His fingers tapped rhythmically on the wooden table. He had already suspected as much from fragmented memories—but hearing it confirmed ignited a fire within him.
"Listen carefully. Bring anyone still loyal and all the supplies you can carry. Come find me. Time's running out. We need to plan… and take our revenge."
There was a moment of hesitation before Eric answered with conviction, "Understood. I'll be there as soon as I can."
The transponder snail slowly closed its eyes and went still.
Far away, on another deck, Eric stood with the wind whipping through his ash-gray hair. His stubble-lined face was weathered, skin tanned by sun and sea.
The long blue coat on his shoulders was faded, stained with time—and at the collar, a patch of dried blood told stories of loss.
Back in the tavern, Barron tucked the snail away and leaned back, eyes closed in thought. Visions of Black's cold face and his father's final moments burned behind his eyelids.
Kane watched Barron quietly. After a while, he finally asked, "You think they'll come?"
Barron opened his eyes, voice as cold as ever. "If they still believe in me, they'll come. If not, they're not worth depending on."
Kane was silent, then nodded slowly.
"In the meantime," he said in a hushed voice, "we should learn more about Grayscale Island. The gang here might be small, but if we don't know the rules, we'll get caught up in something ugly."
Barron nodded. "Go gather information. I'll stay here. If anyone gets too close, don't hold back."
Kane took a deep breath and melted into the crowd.
Barron remained, keeping a silent vigil from the tavern's shadowed doorway. He observed each figure that came and went, noting a few burly men who lingered nearby—eyes scanning the interior like predators on the hunt.
Meanwhile, Kane made his way through the marketplace, posing as a common sailor, chatting with drunks and smugglers, gradually piecing together the island's power structure.
An hour later, he returned to the tavern. He sat close and spoke in a low tone.
"Rugo—leader of the Grayscale Gang—has a bounty of fourteen million Beri. He's clever and runs all trade on the island.
Recently, there've been whispers of him dealing with the Blackfin Alliance. Probably trying to protect his position. But not everyone's happy with it."
Barron's eyes gleamed. "Unhappy people?"
Kane nodded. "Some smaller smuggling crews are fed up with the protection fees.
Some merchants are angry about their goods being seized or bought at forced low prices. If we play it right, they might become our leverage."
Barron thought for a moment, then smirked.
"Good. Then let's give them a reason to rise."