Chapter 703

Logue Town, East Blue

The largest weapon shop in all of Loguetown stood proudly near the heart of the bustling harbor district, its towering three-story structure casting a long shadow across the crowded streets below.

In recent years, the establishment had become something of a landmark itself. Only the execution scaffold of the Pirate King drew more attention from visitors arriving on the island.

From dawn until late into the night, the massive shop remained crowded with customers from every walk of life imaginable. Merchants searched for protection during dangerous voyages. Fishermen bargained loudly over harpoons and sea knives. Bounty hunters inspected rifles and blades with practiced eyes. Even pirates openly walked through its doors.

And yet, no one ever caused trouble inside the Arms Shop. Because everyone in Loguetown understood one unspoken rule: the moment violence erupted within these walls, the owner himself didn’t need to act; the other patrons themselves would personally throw the offender into the harbor.

The interior smelled of steel, oil, gunpowder, and polished wood. Rows upon rows of weapons lined the walls beneath hanging lanterns. Rifles from North Blue kingdoms, curved sabers from Arabasta, refurbished marine blades, customized pistols, harpoons, chain weapons, and even salvaged cannons occupied nearly every inch of space. The upper floors displayed rarer collections meant for wealthy clients and veteran fighters.

Workers hammered steel somewhere in the rear forge, the rhythmic clang echoing throughout the massive building. Amidst the sea of customers moved a rather peculiar group. The Cook Pirates.

Unlike the rough-looking pirate crews wandering Loguetown’s taverns, these men carried themselves differently. Most wore aprons tied over practical combat attire, while others inspected cookware alongside weapon racks as though both held equal importance.

After all, for them, cooking itself was a battle. Several crew members carefully browsed through refurbished blades and old flintlocks while arguing over prices, but their captain stood elsewhere entirely. Zeff remained motionless before a massive framed wanted poster hanging prominently upon the central wall.

Not displayed as a warning. But as pride. A symbol. The paper itself was slightly faded with age now, yet the face printed upon it remained unmistakable. Donquixote Rosinante. The only pirate in history to possess a bounty exceeding six billion berries.

Even among countless rare weapons displayed throughout the store, that single poster dominated the room more than anything else. Zeff’s eyes lingered on the young man’s face silently. Recognition came instantly. How could it not?

After all, it was because of that very same man that Zeff had abandoned the seas for nearly three entire years. Three years of brutal haki training. Three years spent rebuilding both himself and his crew after reality had nearly crushed them in the Grand Line.

“Captain…” one of the cook pirates approached while carrying a refurbished cutlass over his shoulder. “Is all this really necessary? We’re pirates, remember? We can always loot weapons from our enemies.”

The man chuckled casually before following Zeff’s gaze toward the wall. Then he froze. His jaw slowly dropped. The color drained from his face almost instantly. Because that face…that face was carved into the nightmares of every single member of the Cook Pirates. Memories surged through him vividly. The Calm Belt.

The suffocating pressure. The overwhelming despair they had felt after realizing the Grand Line was far beyond anything they could handle back then. And then—that young man. Back then they hadn’t truly understood who Donquixote Rosinante was. To them he had simply been an absurdly powerful pirate whose mere presence felt monstrous beyond comprehension.

But the brutal “training” that followed…none of them could forget it. Some still woke sweating from nightmares of haki-infused strikes and impossible drills that pushed their bodies beyond collapse. Rosinante had shattered their arrogance completely before forcing them to confront the reality of the seas.

Yet strangely, he had not abandoned them afterward. Instead, he had stayed behind. He taught them haki. Taught them discipline. Taught them how truly vast and merciless the world beyond the Blues really was. At the time they never understood why someone standing at the apex of the world would bother helping insignificant rookies like them.

But now? Now they understood. The Cook Pirates were no longer ignorant nobodies hiding within East Blue waters. Over the last three years they had crossed paths with countless pirates, marines, bounty hunters, and the so-called monsters of the East Blue Sea. And through those journeys they had finally grasped one undeniable truth: the man they met by sheer fate years ago…was not simply a pirate. He was one of the monsters who ruled the era itself.

The crewman swallowed hard while staring at the wanted poster. “…Damn,” he muttered quietly. “We really met someone insane back then, didn’t we Captain?”

Zeff crossed his arms and snorted. His expression remained stern, but deep down even he couldn’t deny it. Back then, they had stood before a man capable of shaking the world itself. And somehow that monster had decided they were worth tempering instead of crushing.

“Ah… hello there. I couldn’t help but overhear… did you say you were pirates?” The voice that called out was warm, almost cheerful, carrying none of the fear or hostility most civilians showed toward men of the sea. Emerging from behind a polished rack of spears was a young man in his twenties with sharp eyes and neatly tied black hair.

He wore a simple dark kimono beneath a leather apron stained faintly with oil and steel dust. Though young, there was an unmistakable confidence in the way he carried himself—the confidence of someone who stood atop one of the most influential businesses in all of East Blue. This was Ipponmatsu.

Ever since the passing of his grandfather, he had inherited ownership of the massive three-story arms shop that had become one of Loguetown’s greatest landmarks. In recent years, the store had evolved into something far beyond a mere weapon shop. It was a symbol. A monument to steel, craftsmanship, and power. And behind that prosperity stood silent backing from one of the most terrifying forces on the seas—the Donquixote Family.

Because of that connection alone, even Marines and notorious bounty hunters thought twice before causing trouble within these walls. Zeff slowly turned toward the young proprietor, one hand resting against his cutlass. Though he had been away from the Grand Line for almost three years, the pirate captain still carried himself like a predator of the seas. His sharp gaze briefly swept over the young man before settling.

“My apologies,” Zeff replied calmly. “Are pirates not welcome here?” Behind him, a few members of the Cook Pirates subtly stiffened. None of them wanted unnecessary trouble here of all places. The reputation of this establishment was no joke. Weapons from this shop found their way into the hands of bounty hunters, Marine officers, mercenaries, and even New World captains. A business connected to an Emperor’s influence was never simple.

But instead of anger, Ipponmatsu’s eyes widened in alarm. “Ah—no, no, sir, you misunderstand!” he said quickly, waving both hands. “All customers are welcome here so long as they respect the store rules. And from what I’ve seen, your crew has done nothing wrong.”

His tone then shifted slightly, curiosity surfacing beneath his politeness. “I was simply interested because… you mentioned our benefactor.” He gestured toward the massive framed wanted poster mounted proudly on the central wall. The poster dominated the entire floor like a king overlooking his domain.

The image itself radiated menace. Black coat swaying behind him. Crimson eyes, cold as death. One hand rested upon the hilt of his meito, while dark flames seemed to crawl around the blade like living nightmares. Most shops would have hidden such a poster in fear. Here, it was displayed like sacred art.

“Our benefactor,” Ipponmatsu continued with unmistakable admiration in his voice. “Anyone acquainted with Donquixote-sama is considered an honored guest in this establishment.”

Several customers nearby quietly glanced over after hearing the name spoken aloud. Even now, merely mentioning Rosinante carried weight heavy enough to suffocate rooms. Zeff remained silent for a moment. Beside him, one of his crewmates swallowed nervously while staring at the poster.

The memories still haunted them. The calm belt. The monstrous sea kings. The endless training. The suffocating pressure of haki. Back then they had been ignorant fools who believed that the mere act of venturing into the first half of the Grand Line made them seasoned pirates. Then fate had thrown them before Donquixote Rosinante—and within hours every illusion they carried about strength had been shattered.

Some of the crew still woke up sweating from nightmares of that training. And yet…without that brutal guidance, none of them would have survived the past three years, let alone find the courage to once again venture into the Grand Line once more in pursuit of All Blue.

The young man back then had taught them one cruel truth over and over again: the world beyond the Blues belonged to monsters. And Rosinante stood at the very apex of those monsters.

Ipponmatsu smiled politely, completely unaware of the storm of memories raging through the pirates before him.

“If you truly know Donquixote-sama,” he continued carefully, “then I would be honored to show you our private collection. Certain weapons and blades are reserved only for… selected customers.”

The young shopkeeper’s business instincts were razor-sharp. Anyone even remotely connected to the Donquixote family was someone worth treating carefully. And false claims were rare—because pretending ties to an Emperor crew was equivalent to digging one’s own grave. Zeff finally let out a rough chuckle.

“Sorry to disappoint you… but we are not acquainted with the man. I was simply curious, that is all.” Zeff answered calmly, his tone carrying neither arrogance nor false modesty. He understood exactly what kind of name Donquixote Rosinante carried across the seas now. Men started wars over lesser associations. He had no intention of shamelessly parading around a fleeting encounter from years ago as though they shared some deep bond.

To Rosinante, that month aboard their ship might have been nothing more than a passing whim. A momentary act of pity. A brief stop in a life far too large for people like them. Around the shop, several customers who had subtly paused to listen visibly relaxed. Some returned to examining rifles and sabers while others quietly resumed haggling with the attendants. The tension in the air loosened almost instantly.

After all, claiming ties to an Emperor’s right hand was not something ordinary people took lightly. “Captain…” one of the Cook Pirates crewmen whispered from beside Zeff, utterly bewildered. “How can you say we don’t know him? He practically beat us to death every day for nearly a month in the name of ‘training.'”

The pirate shuddered as old trauma resurfaced. “If we go by that alone,” he continued shamelessly, “we’re basically his students!” Several nearby crewmen nodded vigorously in agreement. Their expressions looked less like proud disciples and more like survivors of a natural disaster.

Zeff slowly turned his head and shot the man a glare sharp enough to fillet sea kings. The crewman instantly stiffened.

“Tsk… it’s not like I’m lying,” he muttered under his breath while folding his arms. “I thought we could get some special discounts using his name… maybe even those fancy kitchen knife sets. You did promise you’d help me buy one before we came here…”

The man’s shoulders slumped dramatically as he turned away in disappointment, looking like a child denied candy. Unfortunately for Zeff, Ipponmatsu possessed ears as sharp as any seasoned merchant. And more importantly—he possessed instincts.

By now, the young proprietor had already pieced together the truth. These men definitely knew Rosinante. Maybe not personally. Maybe not deeply. But enough for the infamous Donquixote Rosinante to personally train them for an entire month? That alone was absurd beyond measure. Men at the top of the world did not waste time on nobodies.

Still, Ipponmatsu was clever enough not to expose them publicly. Perhaps they were intentionally trying to remain low-key. Or perhaps, judging by the captain’s demeanor, they simply didn’t wish to exploit whatever small kindness had once been shown to them.

That alone earned a bit of respect in Ipponmatsu’s eyes. A warm smile spread across the young shop owner’s face.

“Well, sir,” he said politely, “even if you are not acquainted with Young Master Rosinante… how about allowing me to show you around personally?” Before Zeff could refuse, Ipponmatsu continued smoothly.

“Is there anything specific you are searching for? We recently acquired several high-quality kitchen knife sets on the second floor. Some are forged using imported steel from the Grand Line itself.”

At the mention of kitchen knives, several members of the Cook Pirates visibly perked up. Ipponmatsu gestured toward the polished staircase leading upward.

“Please,” he said courteously. “Follow me.”

“Oi—wait a damn second—” Zeff started, already sensing where this was going. But the enthusiastic shop owner had practically grabbed Zeff by the sleeve and begun escorting him toward the higher floors before he could properly protest. The second floor was entirely different from the bustling chaos below.

The moment they ascended the staircase, the atmosphere shifted. The noise faded. The air smelled faintly of polished wood, steel oil, and expensive incense. Elegant weapon displays lined the walls beneath warm lantern light. Unlike the refurbished arms downstairs, the weapons here gleamed with deadly craftsmanship. Curved sabers from the West Blue. Marine-grade rifles. Grand Line forged harpoons. Rare chef knives polished to mirror sheen.

Several locked glass cases even contained graded blades. The Cook Pirates collectively froze. Then, like a flock of starving gulls spotting food, they rushed forward with sparkling eyes.

“CAPTAIN LOOK AT THIS ONE!”

“THE HANDLE IS MADE FROM SEA KING BONE!”

“THIS CLEAVER COSTS MORE THAN OUR SHIP!”

“DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING, YOU IDIOTS!” Zeff barked immediately. Too late. The crew had already transformed into excited children.

Zeff’s sharp eyes swept across the second floor displays, and for perhaps the first time in years, even the seasoned pirate captain felt genuine disbelief creeping onto his face. The weapons displayed here were absurd.

One polished saber forged from Grand Line steel carried a price tag large enough to buy an entire fishing farm back at his home. A rifle decorated with silver engravings cost more than the Cook Pirates’ current ship. Even the kitchen knife sets—mere cooking utensils—were displayed inside velvet-lined glass cases like royal treasures.

One of Zeff’s crewmates picked up a gleaming chef knife with trembling hands. “Captain…” the man whispered emotionally, staring at the blade reflecting in his watery eyes. “This knife alone costs more than my life…”

Another crew member nearby nearly fainted after spotting the price of a butcher cleaver. “WHAT KIND OF KNIFE COSTS EIGHT MILLION BERRIES?!” he screamed internally.

Meanwhile, another idiot had already started hugging a premium frying pan like he’d discovered true love. “I can hear the eggs cooking already…” he muttered dreamily.

Zeff felt a headache forming. The pirate captain rubbed his forehead before finally turning toward Ipponmatsu. “I truly appreciate the offer,” Zeff said honestly, “but I’m afraid we can’t afford items like these.” He gestured vaguely around the luxurious floor. “It’s probably better if we head back downstairs and choose something more… reasonable.”

The moment the word money left Zeff’s mouth—Ipponmatsu practically jumped like he’d just heard the greatest insult of his life. “Money?!” the young shopkeeper repeated in sheer horror. Several attendants nearby visibly froze. One poor employee even dropped the tray he was carrying.

“Sir!” Ipponmatsu exclaimed dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded. “How could you possibly speak of money at a time like this?!”

Zeff blinked. “Huh?”

The young owner looked genuinely offended now. “These weapons are merely objects! Mere merchandise!” he declared passionately while spreading his arms wide toward the displays. “But honored guests connected to Young Master Rosinante are priceless!”

“WE SAID WE AREN’T CONNECTED!” Zeff barked instantly. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to believe him anymore. Several employees were already nodding among themselves with knowing expressions.

“Such humility…”

“Amazing…”

“They’re definitely important figures…”

Zeff’s eyebrow twitched violently. Meanwhile, the Cook Pirates had begun shamelessly browsing even harder now that the atmosphere had shifted.

“Captain! Since he insists, I think rejecting would actually be rude!”

“Yeah! We can’t disrespect the man’s hospitality!”

“Look at this premium spice grinder!”

“THIS PAN HAS GOLD TRIMMING!”

“WHY DOES A PAN NEED GOLD?!” Zeff roared.

Ipponmatsu quickly stepped forward before the pirate captain exploded from stress. “Please, sir,” he said sincerely. “Most of these items only reach East Blue because of the Donquixote Family’s influence in trade routes and their protection. Without them, there is no way a shop here in the East Blue could acquire Grand Line quality steel consistently.”

His tone became quieter. “To us, those associated with Young Master Rosinante are people worthy of respect. That is simply how things are.”

Zeff paused slightly at those words. There was no fanaticism in Ipponmatsu’s voice. Only genuine gratitude. The Cook Pirates slowly quieted as well. After all, they understood that feeling better than most. Rosinante had changed their lives completely. Without that month of brutal haki training, most of them would likely already be dead somewhere in the Calm Belt.

Still…Zeff sighed heavily. “You lot…” he muttered while glaring at his crew. “Don’t you dare touch anything we can’t pay for.”

“YES CAPTAIN!” The response came instantly.

Then—”OI, DON’T LICK THE KNIFE, YOU IDIOT!”

“BUT CAPTAIN, THE BALANCE IS PERFECT!”

“PUT IT DOWN BEFORE YOU OWE THIS STORE YOUR ORGANS!”

The second floor once again descended into chaos as the Cook Pirates scattered like excited children through the VIP section while a vein bulged prominently on Zeff’s forehead. Watching the disaster unfold, Ipponmatsu couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Please, do not concern yourself with the prices, sir! We offer very special discounts to our esteemed guests.” Ipponmatsu spoke with such sincerity that one would think Zeff had just insulted his ancestors by attempting to pay full price.

The young shop owner could already tell what the pirate captain was thinking. Zeff clearly disliked the feeling of taking advantage of others, especially over a connection he himself barely acknowledged. But to Ipponmatsu, the matter was entirely different. As long as the Donquixote Family’s banner stood over Loguetown’s trade routes, losses like these meant absolutely nothing.

A single favor earned from people connected to Rosinante was worth infinitely more than a few expensive blades. Still, seeing the discomfort lingering on Zeff’s face, Ipponmatsu wisely decided not to press the issue further. Instead, he smoothly shifted the conversation while the Cook Pirates continued causing chaos among the displays.

“It seems,” Ipponmatsu said casually, “that you and your crew are preparing to venture into the Grand Line?”

“Oh?” Zeff raised an eyebrow, momentarily forgetting the matter of money altogether. “You can tell?”

“Ah, yes.” Ipponmatsu smiled knowingly as he began walking deeper into the second floor. “You’d be surprised how many crews pass through Loguetown chasing dreams of conquering Reverse Mountain.” His tone carried experience rather than mockery.

“Some seek glory. Some wealth. Some simply wish to test themselves against the unknown. Most never truly understand what awaits them beyond the mountain.” Several nearby attendants quietly lowered their gazes at those words. The Grand Line.

To East Blue citizens, it was less a sea and more a mythological graveyard. “But,” Ipponmatsu continued, his smile returning, “for those truly determined to challenge it, preparation is everything.”

He stopped before a polished mahogany double door at the far end of the floor and slid it open. Zeff’s eyes widened slightly. The room beyond looked less like part of a weapon shop and more like the command center of an expedition fleet. Rows upon rows of navigational equipment filled the chamber.

Marine-grade compasses. Weather instruments. Stacks of meticulously preserved charts. Dozens of transponder snails resting inside velvet-lined compartments. Log Poses of various designs arranged beneath glass displays. Even several Eternal Poses rested separately within locked cases like priceless treasures.

“Would you care to browse our navigational collections, sir?” Ipponmatsu asked proudly. “We carry charts for many routes across the first half of the Grand Line. We also stock Log Poses, communication snails, weather manuals, sea current records, and even a limited selection of Eternal Poses.”

One attendant immediately rushed forward and began carefully arranging the latest inventory atop a long polished table. Another employee brought out rolled-up sea charts secured with red ribbons. Meanwhile, one poor Cook Pirate crewman had already attached his face directly to a display case.

“CAPTAIN…” he whispered reverently. “They even have those fancy Log Poses with three needles…”

Another crew member nearby looked moments away from tears. “There’s… there’s even waterproof ocean chart containers for ocean voyages…” Zeff ignored the idiots behind him and slowly stepped deeper into the room.

“Oh… so you even stock Log Poses and navigation charts from the Grand Line?” he muttered honestly. “I thought this was merely a weapon shop.” His gaze swept across the room again. “It seems I severely underestimated this place.”

And he meant it. For an East Blue establishment to possess this level of inventory was absurd. This wasn’t simply a store. It was a gateway. A place capable of equipping crews for the madness of the Grand Line itself, and he was confident no other place in East Blue had such capability.

Ipponmatsu chuckled softly at Zeff’s reaction. “Loguetown is the final island before entering the Grand Line,” he explained. “Naturally, countless people arrive here seeking supplies before chasing their ambitions.” There was unmistakable pride in his voice now. “With proper preparation, even East Blue crews can significantly improve their survival chances.”

At those words, Zeff’s expression subtly changed. Because unlike foolish rookies drunk on dreams, Zeff had already experienced the horrors of the Grand Line firsthand once before. He knew exactly how many men died simply because they lacked proper information. How many crews vanished because they entered those waters unprepared.

His eyes drifted toward a stack of weather pattern journals. Then toward the Eternal Poses. Then finally toward a black steel case containing premium-grade kitchen knives forged specifically for ship cooks. One of his crew members immediately noticed.

“CAPTAIN’S WAVERING!”

“I AM NOT WAVERING!”

“HE LOOKED AT THE FANCY KNIVES FOR THREE WHOLE SECONDS!”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTHS BEFORE I TEST THEM ON YOU!”

The room instantly exploded into laughter again while Ipponmatsu watched the scene with amusement dancing in his eyes. For all their roughness…the Cook Pirates felt strangely alive.

And somehow, that chaotic energy made the room feel far warmer than the countless wealthy merchants and bounty hunters who visited this floor every week.