Benimaru's POV
As the three continued with their hunts, deep in the forests of the island, Benimaru stood atop the deck of the Nautilus, his gaze fixed on the distant treeline. Though calm on the surface, he was fully aware of the growing number of hostile presences scattered throughout the island.
He had sensed them long before they even docked.
Still, he said nothing.
This wasn't carelessness. It was intentional.
Camille, Jayce, and Viktor had grown up in a sheltered environment—raised in a tribe where everyone helped one another, where trust was a given, and where cruelty was a foreign concept. They knew the strength of beasts and the harshness of nature, but not the malice of man.
Benimaru, however, knew it well.
He had seen what humans were capable of when driven by greed, pride, or sheer cruelty. He had witnessed nobles who believed themselves gods simply because they were born into a prestigious bloodline. He had watched men justify atrocity under banners of power and family name. He had learned—painfully—that true danger rarely came from claws and fangs.
It came from smiles and lies.
And so, he let the hunt unfold. This was their trial—not of strength, but of understanding. Of what it truly meant to live in a world that wasn't always kind. They had to learn that not all enemies roar before they strike.
Only then would they be ready for what was to come.
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"Here comes trouble," Benimaru thought, standing calmly on the deck of the Nautilus. His senses picked up the growing number of hostile presences encircling the shore—pirates, clearly preparing to steal the ship. He wasn't concerned. If anything, he welcomed the distraction. He could wipe them out without breaking a sweat.
But he was curious.
Curious to see who he was dealing with. Perhaps a pirate with multiple armadas? Maybe someone with a bounty worth claiming. Or better yet—someone carrying something valuable enough to fund his future experiments.
As the figures emerged from the trees, Benimaru heard one of them laughing.
"Hehehehehe... How dumb are they to leave their ship unattended? No matter—their loss, our gain."
A group of over a hundred pirates advanced boldly toward the Nautilus, laughing, shouting, and readying their weapons. That laughter quickly faded when they noticed Benimaru standing alone on the deck, a long rifle cradled casually in his arms.
"Surrender the ship, and we'll let you live!" one of them shouted confidently, unaware of the absurdity of their threat.
Benimaru said nothing. His golden eyes narrowed slightly as he lifted the weapon.
Another man stepped forward, trying to be more intimidating.
"You don't know who you're messing with, do you? We're members of the Flying Pirates! Refuse, and you die."
At the mention of their name, Benimaru's smile slowly widened.
Flying Pirates, huh? Only two crews come to mind with that title... Golden Lion Shiki's or Vander Decken's.
He glanced at them and realized that they were not fishmen. That narrows it down.
'Shiki's crew. Hehehe… How lucky. If I can find Shiki and kill him… I might even get the Float-Float Fruit. With my luck? Entirely possible.'
As Benimaru daydreamed of obtaining one of the most powerful Paramecia fruits, the pirates mistook his silence for hesitation. Nearly thirty of them raised their rifles in unison and opened fire.
Benimaru didn't even flinch.
The bullets struck his body, then bounced off harmlessly, as though they'd hit stone. The pirates stared in disbelief, trying to rationalize the impossible.
"Maybe… maybe our bullets hit each other?" one muttered.
But fear began to settle into their bones.
"Swords! Cut him down!" someone screamed, and a wave of pirates charged the ship with blades drawn, their boots splashing through the shallow surf.
Benimaru sighed.
"So they want to play dirty," he murmured.
He raised the rifle—a weapon of his own creation, far beyond the understanding of these simple raiders. He aimed at the closest pirate leading the charge and pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out.
The bullet struck the man's chest, and immediately, his body twisted into a bloom of vines and petals. A rose plant erupted from his torso in a grotesque bloom of biology and chemistry, then detonated in a thunderous boom.
The explosion scattered blood and pollen through the air. The spores infected those nearby, triggering a rapid chain reaction. One by one, they turned—flowers sprouting from their flesh, vines crawling from their eyes and mouths—before exploding in a crimson garden of death.
In mere seconds, over half of the force was gone.
The survivors screamed in panic, stumbling back. Swords and guns clattered onto the ground as they raised their hands in surrender.
Then, from the forest edge, three figures came sprinting toward the beach.
Camille, Jayce, and Viktor had heard the explosions during their hunts and rushed back, assuming Benimaru was under siege.
What greeted them was a scene of carnage.
The shoreline was painted in gore. Petals and broken limbs littered the sand. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of burning plants and blood. And there stood Benimaru, calm as ever, with a smile on his face and a rifle slung over one shoulder, like an artist admiring his masterpiece.
The three froze.
"Massacre…" they thought in unison.
They had seen Benimaru laugh. They had seen him build. But they had never seen this—the extent of what he could do. In that moment, they understood something with terrifying clarity:
Had their tribe tried to hurt him... they would have all been erased.
And for the first time since meeting him, they were not just grateful to be his allies.
They were relieved.