Chapter 84 – The Celestial Dragon's Arrival
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The smoke of battle still lingered in the capital square, drifting like ash after a wildfire. Marines lay scattered in groaning heaps, weapons snapped in half, pride shattered. The civilians who dared peek from alleyways were speechless: an entire company of the king's soldiers had been driven back, not by a revolutionary army, nor by another kingdom's troops—by a handful of pirates.
And not just any pirates.
The name was already spreading from trembling lips. Silverhair.
Children clung to their mothers, their eyes wide as they stared at Arthur—the man who had cut bullets from the air and felled an officer without breaking a sweat. His silver hair caught the sunlight like threads of steel. The glint in his eyes was sharp, calm, terrifying. For many in Cleaica, it was the first time in their lives they saw someone stand against the Marines and win.
But Arthur wasn't smiling. His blade was sheathed, his expression grave. Because he knew better than anyone—this was just the opening act.
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"Arthur…" Lisa's voice was low, almost a growl, as she wiped her daggers clean on a Marine's coat. She kept her back to the children she had just freed, shielding them instinctively. "That was too loud. We've drawn blood in broad daylight. They'll respond fast."
Arthur nodded once. His Observation Haki had already picked up reinforcements massing at the edges of the square, watching but hesitating to advance. "Yes. They'll wait now. For someone stronger."
Leo leaned heavily on his axe, chest heaving. His hands shook, though he tried to hide it by clenching them tighter. "I… I didn't freeze. Not this time." He looked at Arthur, desperation flickering behind his eyes. "But… I wasn't good enough. You saw it—I was sloppy, I—"
Arthur cut him off gently. "You stood. That's what matters." He met Leo's eyes with steady conviction. "You'll sharpen in time. The first step was choosing not to bow. Today, you did."
Leo's lips trembled, and for a moment his father's voice echoed in his memory again. Sing louder, Leo. Even if your voice shakes.
Rio dropped from his rooftop perch, rifle slung casually. He smirked, but his voice was unusually serious. "Not gonna lie, rookie. For a first scrap, you didn't die. Which is more than I can say for most fresh pirates. That's worth a drink later."
The tension broke slightly, the younger children giggling faintly at Rio's exaggerated shrug. Leo managed the smallest smile, but it faded as quickly as it came. His gaze shifted to the cages—the children still trembling, too frightened even after being freed. Their fear wasn't just of Marines. It was something older, deeper.
And that was when the sound began.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
Horses. Dozens of them.
The ground seemed to vibrate as the procession advanced from the boulevard leading toward the palace. At first, citizens dared hope it was reinforcements for their rescue. But when they saw the banners—white with the World Government insignia—and the armored carriages glinting in the sun, their hope died instantly.
Faces paled. Mothers yanked their children away. Men dropped to their knees, hands trembling. Whispers spread like fire.
"A Celestial Dragon…"
"Why here? Why now?"
"No… not in our city…"
The Silverhair crew stiffened.
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The first carriage rolled into the square, pulled by grotesque beasts—a hybrid cross between horses and lizards, their eyes covered in blinders. Chains rattled as slaves trudged alongside, necks locked in iron collars, bodies bruised and broken. They carried the carriage's platform on their shoulders, trembling under the weight.
And atop the platform, seated as though the world belonged to him, was a man.
A bubble helmet covered his head, glistening in the sun. His robes shimmered with gold thread, far too gaudy for even the richest noble. Rings glittered on every finger, and in his hands he held not a weapon, but a jeweled leash attached to the collars of two sobbing women being dragged behind the carriage.
The crowd dropped flat to the ground, pressing their foreheads to the dirt. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the jingling of chains.
Arthur's jaw tightened. He had seen this before—through books, whispers, even Robin's stories in the future. But seeing it with his own eyes, twenty years earlier, twisted his stomach into cold steel.
"Disgusting," Lisa hissed under her breath.
Surv's hands crackled faintly with static. "If I fry him now, will the heavens collapse? Or will it just smell better around here?"
Arthur didn't answer immediately. His crew's fury was dangerous—it was righteous, but reckless. He needed them sharp, not blinded by rage. His voice came calm, but carried weight. "Don't move. Not yet."
The Celestial Dragon stood slowly, as if gracing the peasants with his attention was a divine gift. His voice, distorted faintly by the bubble helmet, rang across the square.
"WORMS! Dogs of Cleaica! Behold your blessing! I, Saint Bartholomew Jarl, have come to witness the tribute owed to the Heavenly Dragons!"
He raised a gloved hand lazily, pointing at the unconscious Marines strewn across the plaza. "And yet… what do I find? My guards… defeated. By pirates."
His voice dripped mockery, but his tone was bored, as though the sight of his men beaten meant less than dirt beneath his shoes.
Arthur said nothing, watching him with unreadable eyes.
Saint Jarl's gaze fell on the Silverhair crew. "So. You are the ones. Silver hair, yes… the pirate who dares touch the world's property. You should be grateful I see you at all." He snapped his fingers. "Citizens of Cleaica! Hear me! Whoever brings me this pirate's head… shall be rewarded with wealth, land, and the rank of nobility. Rise from the mud, peasants—earn your freedom!"
The square fell into chaos.
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For a moment, Arthur thought no one would move. But desperation is a crueler chain than fear. A man in rags staggered forward with a rusted blade, eyes hollow with hunger. Another grabbed a fallen Marine's pistol, hands shaking violently. Soon, a small crowd of citizens shuffled toward the crew, trembling but driven by survival.
Leo's stomach twisted. "They're… they're really going to—"
Arthur stepped forward, shielding his crew, his voice like iron. "Stay back."
He didn't raise his sword. He didn't need to. His eyes alone, glowing faintly with Conqueror's Haki, froze the desperate mob mid-step. They gasped for breath, some collapsing to their knees. He spoke not in anger, but in a voice that carried to every ear.
"You are not my enemies. You are prisoners. Shackled not by chains, but by fear. Don't let that monster make you his weapons."
The citizens trembled. Some dropped their weapons, tears streaming. Others scrambled back, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.
From his platform, Saint Jarl laughed mockingly. "How amusing! You would deny me my entertainment? You think yourself righteous? You are nothing but ants, pirate! Marines!"
His jeweled hand snapped again. From behind the carriage, new squads of uniformed men emerged—sleek black suits, masks covering their faces. CP9.
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Arthur's eyes narrowed. So it begins.
The agent at the front cracked his neck. His voice was cold, professional. "By order of the World Government, the Silverhair Pirates are to be captured. Any resistance… kill the civilians first."
The citizens gasped in horror. Mothers screamed, clutching their children.
Arthur's crew tensed, fury boiling.
Lisa whispered, daggers ready. "Arthur. Orders."
Arthur's silver hair glinted in the sunlight, his gaze locked on the bubble-helmeted tyrant laughing atop his slaves. His voice came quiet, deadly steady.
"We cut the leash."
The square held its breath. The storm was about to break.