Chapter 35: The Splintered Carriage amp; Water 7

The Grand Line didn’t care about my plans, and it certainly didn’t care about my carriage.

One second, Gammamon and I were relaxing in the heavily reinforced oak cabin, comfortably pulled above the clouds by the Sky-Rift Roc as we left Jasmine’s island.

The sky was a pristine, crystal blue.

The next second, the sky turned the color of a bruised plum, the ambient temperature plummeted by forty degrees, and gravity decided to take a lunch break.

“Victor!” Gammamon yelped, tumbling across the velvet cushions as the carriage violently pitched sideways.

“I’ve got you!” I grabbed the little white dinosaur out of mid-air, bracing my boots against the floorboards.

Outside the window, a localized super-storm had manifested out of thin air.

It was a terrifying,

swirling micro-cyclone laced with jagged purple lightning.

The Sky-Rift Roc shrieked, its massive jade wings easily cutting through the gale-force winds.

The mythical bird was perfectly fine.

The carriage it was carrying, however, was not.

CRACK.

A terrifying splintering sound echoed through the cabin.

The intense atmospheric pressure and the sheer, violent G-force of the storm were tearing the heavy oak apart.

The reinforced glass of the

windows shattered inward, showering the floor with shards as the howling wind rushed in.

I slammed both of my hands flat against the splintering oak walls.

I tapped into my Fa-Jin, opening

the floodgates.

I poured massive, surging waves of pure kinetic energy directly into the physical structure of the carriage to violently force the atoms of the wood to hold together.

“Roc!

Dive!” I commanded through our telepathic link.

“Get us out of the clouds, now!”

The Roc folded its wings and plummeted like a jade meteor, dragging the screeching, barely-heldtogether

carriage down through the swirling purple vortex.

We punched through the bottom of the storm clouds, bursting out into clear skies over a vast, sparkling blue ocean.

I exhaled a sharp breath, dropping my hands.

The kinetic binding faded.

The carriage gave a final, exhausted groan, the roof sagged, and the rear left wheel completely sheared off, plunging into the ocean below.

Up ahead, rising out of the ocean like a massive, multi-tiered fountain, was a breathtaking island city.

Water cascaded down its circular levels, forming a pristine, towering metropolis of canals and aqueducts.

Water 7.

The City of Water.

“Set us down on the coast, Roc,” I instructed.

The giant jade bird gently deposited the ruined, splintering carriage onto a rocky outcrop just outside the city’s main docks.

I stepped out, helped Gammamon down, and dismissed the Roc.

I looked back at the shattered oak box.

If we were going to house a crew and survive the New World, a regular wooden carriage wasn’t going to cut it.

We needed a true, indestructible mobile fortress.

“Come on, Gammamon,” I said, dusting off my coat.

“Let’s go shopping.”

“Victor, look!” Gammamon gasped, his yellow eyes wide as he pointed a stubby claw.

“They’re riding the fish!”

“Yagara Bulls,” I smiled, walking up to a rental station on the edge of the canal.

I flipped a gold coin to the attendant and helped Gammamon onto the back of a large, friendly-looking blue Yagara.

As we navigated the city, Gammamon was absolutely captivated.

He hung over the side of the saddle, watching the water rush by, and let out a delighted cheer when our Yagara Bull swam into a specialized canal that used water pressure to shoot us straight up into the next tier of the city.

“It’s a water slide that goes up!” Gammamon cheered, waving his arms.

Despite the chaotic crash landing, I couldn’t help but relax.

The atmosphere here was vibrant, industrious.

and alive.

But I wasn’t here to play tourist.

“Take us to Dock 1,” I told our Yagara.

The Bull gave a happy grunt and paddled us toward the massive, towering shipyards that dominated the city’s upper levels.

Galley-La Company.

The greatest shipwrights on the planet.

I stepped off the Yagara and walked into the main administrative building.

Sitting at the front reception desk was a beautiful blonde woman in a sharp suit, meticulously organizing a stack of paperwork.

“Excuse me,” I said, leaning casually against the counter.

“I need to speak with Mayor Iceburg.

I have a custom commission.”

The secretary paused.

She slowly pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the lenses catching the light.

“Staring at a secretary while demanding an audience with the Mayor without an appointment is sexual harassment,” Kalifa stated smoothly, her tone perfectly flat.

I blinked, fighting back a smirk.

“I was just looking at the sign behind your head, but noted.

Can you let him know Victor D.

Costa is here?”

Kalifa’s fingers froze on her paperwork for a fraction of a second.

It was an incredibly subtle reaction,

but my Observation Haki caught the sudden spike in her heart rate.

She quickly recovered, standing up and opening the heavy oak doors behind her.

“Right this way,” Kalifa said, gesturing me inside.

Sitting behind a massive wooden desk covered in blueprints was a man with purple hair and a pinstripe suit.

Iceburg looked up, an annoyed expression forming on his face.

Beside him, a small white mouse squeaked from his breast pocket.

“I don’t recall taking an appointment today,” Iceburg said flatly, setting his pen down.

Then his eyes narrowed as he recognized me.

“Wait.

Victor D.

Costa.

The Beastmaster.

I read about you in Morgan’s, paper.

You’re the rookie who atomized a man-made ice continent and fought Vice Admiral Garp to a standstill.

I build ships, kid.

I don’t build weapons for pirates or terrorists.”

“I’m a bounty hunter,” I corrected mildly, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

“And I don’t want a weapon.

I want a mobile carrier.”

Iceburg raised an eyebrow.

“I want it to be as big as a Marine battleship,” I explained, leaning forward.

“It needs multiple rooms to comfortably house a large group of people.

Highly aerodynamic, insulated against extreme weather, and structurally sound enough to survive intense gravitational shifts.

I have the means to make it fly, so it doesn’t need sails.

But it needs to be made entirely out of Treasure Tree Adam, and it needs the capacity to be heavily armed if required.”

Iceburg stared at me, all traces of annoyance vanishing, replaced by the sharp, analytical gaze of a master craftsman.

“Adam Wood is the strongest timber in the world,” Iceburg said slowly.

“It’s also the rarest.

Building a flying fortress of that magnitude…

the cost would be astronomical.”

“Can you do it or not?” I asked.

Iceburg looked down at his desk.

I could see the shipwright’s pride burning in his eyes.

It was a ridiculous, impossible request, which meant he desperately wanted to build it.

“Two billion Berries,” Iceburg stated, crossing his arms.

“And I’ll need an initial deposit of one billion within a few weeks so I can actually source the timber before my men start working on it.”

“I will transfer the one billion to your accounts within the given time,” I agreed smoothly.

“But I want to see a blueprint before I leave the city to collect the money.”

“I’ll have the blueprint ready in a week,” Iceburg nodded, reaching across the desk to shake my hand.

Gammamon and I walked out of the Galley-La main office, the afternoon sun warming the stone walkways of Dock 1.

“We could buy a lot of meat with two billion, Victor,” Gammamon muttered, doing the math on his claws.

“Don’t worry, Gammamon.

I know a guy who has a massive vault just collecting dust,” I grinned.

As we walked through the bustling shipyard, we passed a group of Galley-La workers carrying a massive stack of heavy timber.

Among the normal, sweating foremen were two men I recognized instantly, a tall man with a strange, square nose, and a silent, muscular man with a white pigeon resting on his shoulder.

Kaku and Rob Lucci.

There were dozens of common citizens and shipyard workers milling around us.

I stopped walking right as we crossed paths with the group.

“Excuse me,” I asked politely, projecting the image of a friendly, lost tourist.

“Do either of you know the fastest way to the commercial district?

I’m looking for a good inn.” The normal foremen kept walking, but Kaku stopped, offering a polite, completely fabricated smile.

“Ah, of course, sir.

You just want to follow the main canal down to the second tier…” As Kaku gave directions, I stepped slightly closer.

I raised my right hand and casually extended a finger to pet the white pigeon on Lucci’s shoulder.

I didn’t let my Haki explode.

Instead, I exercised absolute, pinpoint control.

I directed a condensed, terrifying wave of Advanced Armament Haki strictly into the space occupied by Kaku and Lucci.

The normal foremen and citizens around us didn’t feel a thing.

They just saw a tourist petting a bird.

But Lucci and Kaku completely froze.

Their instincts flared in sheer, primal alarm as the invisible, suffocating pressure of a monster wrapped around their throats.

They knew, in that exact second, that if I closed my hand, I could rip Lucci’s head off his shoulders before he could even blink.

But they couldn’t react.

They were undercover.

I offered Lucci a bright, cheerful smile.

“Cute pigeon,” I said quietly, my voice completely relaxed.

“Make sure you take good care of him.

It must be absolutely exhausting, working in the shadows all day for a nepotistic bondage lover.”

Lucci didn’t breathe.

His pupils contracted into microscopic pinpricks.

Kaku’s jaw locked tight.

I patted Lucci’s shoulder, the heavy pressure of my Haki vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

“Thanks for the directions,” I chimed, walking right past them, Gammamon happily trotting after me.

Deep within the labyrinth of Water 7’s back alleys, far away from the prying eyes of the Galley-La workers, Rob Lucci stood in the shadows.

He held a small, specialized baby Den Den Mushi in his gloved hand.

The snail’s eyes narrowed, mimicking the grotesque, leather-masked face of their commander, Spandam.

“What do you mean he’s there?!” Spandam’s voice shrieked through the receiver, echoing off the damp brick walls.

“Are you absolutely sure it’s him?!”

“Positive,” Lucci replied, his voice cold and steady, though a lingering tension remained in his shoulders.

“Victor D.

Costa is in Water 7.

And he knows exactly who we are, and who you are.”

“The Beastmaster?!” Spandam screamed, the snail practically vibrating with sheer, absolute panic.

“The maniac who fought Garp and leveled an entire continent?!

What is he doing there?!”

“Unknown,” Lucci stated.

“He requested a custom ship from Iceburg.

But he made it clear he knows our identities.”

“Listen to me very carefully, Lucci!” Spandam stammered frantically.

“Do whatever you want with Iceburg, but DO NOT interfere with Victor Costa!

If you provoke him and he blows up Water 7, our mission is ruined, and my promotion goes up in smoke!

Stay completely out of his way until he leaves!”

Lucci’s eyes narrowed dangerously in the gloom of the alley.

He hated being told to stand down by a coward.

But he had felt the Haki radiating off the Beastmaster.

“Understood,” Lucci said quietly.

Click.

Word Count: 1868

———————————————————————————————————

For more chapters

This month’s adventures wouldn’t be possible without the generous support of my patrons:

Greylocke33, Jordan D’souza, Big_Bro_Byakko, Doglore63, Curtis Branscum, Rudell Vincent Samson

thank you for believing in the story!