Half a day earlier, after watching ship after ship drift by, Rojen finally reached his limit. The urge he had been suppressing gnawed at him until he could no longer hold back.
When he spotted a crew about to disgrace and humiliate a defenseless village woman they had bound and sneeringly mocked, his fury erupted. Without hesitation, he struck. By the time the echoes of his attack faded, not a single one of them was left standing.
But in a place like this, violence wasn't just violence, it was a spark tossed into a powder keg.
The waters here held special weight. Just ahead lay the most critical juncture of the Grand Line. Beyond these seas, through Fish-Man Island, would be the New World, where the mightiest forces of the age clashed for dominion.
Because of this, every pirate crew that had made it this far, whether by silent agreement or mutual understanding, restrained themselves. This was a no-conflict zone. To waste strength here, at the very finish line of the first half of the Grand Line, meant only one thing: handing your advantage to the Marines waiting to pounce.
And yet, half a day ago, Rojen shattered that delicate, unwritten truce.
A pirate crew worth over 100 million in combined bounties had been obliterated by him in the span of a few short minutes. Crushed so thoroughly it sent a ripple of panic through the gathering of pirate ships in the area.
That kind of display left every other crew with a looming dread, they had all reached the same destination, yes, but now Rojen was the one standing with bloodied hands, and his mere presence ignited their unease like wildfire.
"How dare you strike here? Do you have any idea what this means?! Do you intend to make enemies of every crew on these seas?!"
A ship had already broken formation, circling in close to intercept him. The speaker was a scarred man in a weathered captain's hat, his scowl twisted into something venomous.
Rojen's cold stare met his.
"What's it to you?" he replied, his voice devoid of anything resembling fear, or care.
The sheer indifference in his tone was like kindling tossed onto the scarred man's rage.
Whispers broke out among the surrounding ships. Someone finally shouted above the murmurs: "That's the Cross Pirates! Their combined bounty tops 250 million! That scarred bastard is Lombard, 'Cross Lombard', he's worth a clean 100 million by himself!"
The mention sent a wave of recognition through the gathered crews. By now, every face in these waters was notorious; these weren't nameless rookies.
But when eyes turned toward Rojen's ship, suspicion lingered.
"And what about that kid's lot?" one pirate sneered.
"I don't recognize their flag. Never seen their faces either…" another muttered after scanning their Jolly Roger. "…Looks like newcomers."
That word froze the air for a moment. Newcomers, here? At the gates of the New World?
Already, disbelief started to twist into mockery.
"Newcomers? Don't tell me green rookies actually challenged the Cross Pirates?"
"They just wiped out the Rakuten Pirates…"
"The audacity! To draw blades here, of all places… are they insane?"
"We're practically at Sabaody Archipelago! Everyone else holds their hands in check, yet they, rookies of all people, dare to break the peace?!"
The voices grew sharp, edgy, edged with hostility. A storm of animosity brewed around Rojen's crew, countless eyes narrowing in cold judgment as the weight of their offense settled into the air like thunderclouds rolling in.
One by one, ships converged on the scene until thirteen pirate vessels surrounded them, their sails blotting out the horizon.
The air brimmed with tension. Murmurs, curses, and wary speculation circled among the surrounding crews, filling the silence like a low growl.
Then, a voice from Rojen's deck cut through all of it.
"Out of the way. Don't block our course. Otherwise… we'll blast you to pieces."
It was Trens, his rifle resting casually against his shoulder as though he were commenting on the weather. His expression never shifted, but the invisible pressure of his will spread outward. Haki.
"Arrogant little brat!" voices spat from all sides. The hostility rose like a tide, and the Cross Pirates surged forward, fury plain on their faces.
A towering, golden-haired brute with a scarred chest bared his teeth and stepped to the front. His fists cracked like boulders grinding together as he flexed.
"You think you're something special, kid? I'll tear you apart myself!"
Recognition shot through the crowd.
"That's Alec! His bounty's 50 million! Rumor says he's eaten a Devil Fruit!"
Gasps, mutters, the rustle of panic. Yet before the voices had even died down, Trens moved. A flick of the wrist, a squeeze of the trigger,
"One shot. Instant kill."
The sharp bang followed his words like punctuation.
Alec staggered, his eyes bulging in shock as a perfect hole drilled through his forehead. He crashed to the deck without ever getting the chance to lift a hand.
"Hhhsss, !"
Every pirate nearby sucked in cold breath. A man worth 50 million, erased instantly. No tricks, no second chances. Just a single… casual… bullet.
"This is a bad joke, right?" someone muttered, throat tight.
"Who the hell is this guy?" another demanded.
"Find out who they are, fast!"
The tension skyrocketed. Alec had been treated like a dangerous beast in these waters, and he'd been put down like an animal.
Trens didn't so much as blink. Balancing the rifle on his shoulder, he asked quietly, almost bored, "Should I just blow them all away?"
On the Logan's deck, Crocodile exhaled a thin stream of smoke, his scarred face wreathed in a sinister half-smile. "They're trash. The New World is what matters. If any of them dare lift a finger, kill them on the spot."
Their crew's ambitions weren't tied to petty fights with scavenger pirates. Their gaze was fixed higher: the Celestial Dragons, the sick heart of the world itself.
Trens nodded once. That was all. His rifle tilted and leveled its sights again.
A chill ran straight down Lombard's spine the instant the barrel pointed his way. "N-no, wait--!"
Too late.
Bang!
The bullet punched straight through his skull, and the infamous "Cross Lombard," worth 100 million, dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Blood splattered across the deck, his body collapsing in a graceless heap.
Every surrounding pirate jerked, hearts pounding like war drums.
"M-my god… Lombard? He just, he just killed Lombard with one shot…"
Silent horror fell. If even Lombard, one of the strongest captains here, was swatted aside so effortlessly, then the rest of them weren't even ants on the deck.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Six more reports split the air, the sound echoing across the gap between ships. By the time the gunfire quieted, corpses littered Lombard's deck, his crew wiped out as if they had never mattered at all.
Around the Logan, every other pirate ship went still. Mouths dry. Throats struggling to swallow.
No one dared to move.
They'd come ready for blood and steel. What they found instead was absolute despair.
"Can't afford to mess with them…"
That single thought echoed through every mind as all eyes locked on Rojen's crew.
Too terrifying. Too overwhelming. One man, just one, with a rifle had erased an entire pirate crew and silenced even the boldest tongues.
Who in their right mind would dare provoke such monsters?
From the deck of the Logan, a cold, merciless voice rang out:
"Anyone who wants to die, step forward. Anyone who doesn't, get lost."
The challenge hung sharp in the air, too sharp for anyone to grasp. In less than ten seconds, the thirteen ships scattered like frightened birds, fleeing across the churning waters without daring to look back.
And just like that, a name, Rojen, and the terrifying crew aboard the Logan, spread across the seas like wildfire. Whispers carried it from ship to ship, tavern to tavern, island to island. This single, shocking display of dominance turned them from a faceless, unknown band into a storm on the horizon.
But such fame came at a price. The sea was never still, and strength attracted strength.
Only half a day later, the waves trembled again. A massive pirate fleet emerged, its combined force equal to three full crews. Heavy flags, snarling figureheads, cannons locked into place, the sea itself seemed to recoil at their coming.
The sky darkened as storm clouds gathered, thunder growling overhead. Lightning cracked across the horizon, illuminating the Logan and those aboard it.
Rojen's crew rose to their feet, every face set like carved stone, killing intent rolling off them like a suffocating wave. Each carried their own kind of otherworldly weight, men and women whose lives, whose very techniques, whispered of origins beyond this world.
Standing at the bow, Rojen let the storm wash over him, eyes gleaming coldly in the flashes of lightning. His voice sliced through the chaos of thunder and crashing seas.
"Kill."
(End of Chapter)
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