A thunderous roar echoed from nowhere, shaking the earth and air, felt through skin as much as ears.
Marines outside the base, armed, froze in shock, eyes darting nervously. Something terrifying loomed.
Shepard, leading men toward the underground, frowned at the sound. It came from his destination. He halted, his men's faces turning anxious.
"Lieutenant Commander Shepard… what is that?" a marine stammered.
"There were guards underground," Shepard growled.
"Yes, with a Den Den Mushi for reports."
"Then why this noise? Why no report sooner?" Shepard shouted, furious.
Another explosion rocked the base. A marine muttered, "Lieutenant Commander, another blast…"
"What's happening?! Confirm the situation! Didn't the escaped pirates flee outside from the first floor?" Shepard demanded.
"That's what we thought, but details are unclear—"
"Who reported it? Are pirates still inside? Or did someone help them? If a traitor freed them, it'd explain this," Shepard snarled, grinding his teeth.
Explosions and roars drowned out thought. The base was likely being destroyed, demanding swift action. But without accurate intel, moving recklessly could worsen the crisis. Shepard hesitated, frozen.
Then, the roars grew closer. Shepard and his men turned, stunned by the speed.
As feared, the Dead End pirates had escaped—not one, but many, their overlapping voices betraying their numbers. All were likely free. Shepard clenched his fists, realizing Jonathan foresaw this, and issued orders.
"All units, stop that noise! The pirates are loose! Capture every one!" he bellowed.
"Yes, sir!" his men replied.
"Use weapons! Kill any who resist!"
Having troops gathered was fortunate. At Shepard's command, every marine charged toward the sound.
The pirates' goal was clear: escape by ship, likely targeting the port. Or they might blindly attack the navy. Either way, they had to be stopped.
Veterans and recruits alike braced for any outcome. But seeing the enemy, they faltered.
The pirates, elated by fresh air, roared joyfully, their bloodshot eyes gleaming wickedly upon spotting marines.
Fear gripped the marines. Their resolve felt weak. Facing grinning pirates, their legs trembled.
"Thanks to Captain Buggy," one pirate said.
"Now we can rampage again," another laughed.
Their leisurely approach was terrifying. The marines unconsciously backed away.
Shepard shouted, "What are you doing? Capture them! Don't let one escape!"
"Yes, sir! All units, attack!" a squad leader yelled.
Trained reflexes kicked in. Despite hesitation, guns were raised swiftly.
The pirates didn't stay idle. Roaring, they charged unarmed, their ferocity overwhelming.
A tall man led, throwing a rope that snared multiple marines' necks, yanking hard. They screamed, silenced by constricted throats, collapsing helplessly.
Shepard recognized him. A marine shouted, dropping his weapon, "It's Hanging Bigaro! He strings up victims at ports!"
"Watch your necks! His ropes are deadly!" another warned.
Panic spread, especially among recruits, who paled at their fallen seniors, speechless, trembling at Bigaro's next throw.
Bigaro, tall, muscular, with braided hair, used ordinary ropes or chains as lethal weapons, strangling victims for pleasure. Though his bounty wasn't high, his brutality was infamous.
His ropes coiled like living things, tightening instantly. Escape was impossible—not a Devil Fruit power, but skill honed by experience. Marines fell unconscious, littering his path.
Bigaro's charge spurred other pirates to attack, unstoppable. The marines' fear contrasted sharply.
Willy, the shark fishman, barreled forward. Marines froze, guns raised, as he tackled them before they could fire. His size overwhelmed, sending men flying like paper.
Fishmen outmatched humans physically. Even on land, Willy's strength was tenfold. A tackle sent marines meters away. Grabbing one, he hurled them as weapons, doubling his impact. Allies couldn't shoot without risking friendly fire. Grinning, Willy kept throwing.
The sight of humans soaring left marines speechless. The front lines tried to flee; those behind stood stunned.
"It's Willy! He's charging!" one screamed.
"Don't get close!" another shouted.
"Use guns! Take him down first!"
The battlefield was chaos. Two pirate captains led, scattering marines, their strength overwhelming rookies and complacent veterans alike.
Shepard, watching, gnashed his teeth. He hadn't expected such a one-sided rout. Letting them escape was unacceptable. Pointing, he roared, "What are you doing? They're right there! Fight! Letting them go endangers civilians—"
"Lieutenant Commander… look…" a marine whispered, dazed.
Shepard looked, seeing a massive figure emerge from below—a giant, over ten meters tall. Bobby and Pogo, weaponless but wielding their sheer size as a weapon, exuded overwhelming presence. Their calm expressions terrified.
The giants glanced down, scratching their heads, smiling.
"Fresh air's nice," Bobby said.
"Thanks to Captain Buggy. I'd have gone mad in that cell," Pogo replied.
"I'm following him, Pogo," Bobby declared.
"Got it, Bobby. He's got a future. We'll make names for ourselves," Pogo agreed.
Their step shook the ground. Marines, fixated, ignored other pirates.
"Let's clear the enemy," Bobby said.
"Show 'em our power," Pogo added.
Raising fists casually, they slammed the ground. No marines were crushed, but the shockwave sent men flying like leaves, clearing a path for the pirates.
Their momentum surged as marines fled in terror, the escapees' morale peaking.
Shepard stood pale as marines ran past. How had it gone so wrong? Navarone, once invincible, was in chaos from a single spark. Despair clouded his vision.
Yet he faced the pirates, the only one not fleeing.
But the jubilant pirates didn't miss him. Willy's fist smashed into Shepard's cheek.
Despite ear pain from repeated blasts, Kiri lit another dynamite, tossing it into an open room. He didn't know its purpose, only confirming it was empty. The explosion shattered walls, flames consuming contents, black smoke spreading.
Moving from fourth to third, now second floor, Kiri walked an empty corridor, riding his cart, using stolen armory dynamite. Smoke clouded visibility; the base's complex anti-pirate structure was now a ruined mess.
Guiding his paper wolf to push the cart, Kiri scanned the empty hall. The chaos wasn't just his doing, leaving no enemies in sight.
He wandered aimlessly, searching for the rumored hidden vault—its existence uncertain, making the task daunting.
Checking rooms while destroying the base, he found no useful clues. Breaking floors to descend was a desperate bid for records. No results yet, but he wasn't giving up. The vault was on the first or second floor—he was sure.
Kiri had no intention of leaving without it, determined to find it.
Still, with no leads, progress stalled. Blowing up another room, he sighed, "No archive? No hidden doors either. Even leveling this place might yield nothing. Records seem unlikely too."
Boredom crept in. He needed a clue. His explosions—diversion or distraction?—continued.
Hair swaying in the blast, Kiri spotted a room ahead. "Might as well check. Nothing to lose."
Unhurried, he reached it, entering with the cart. Planning to hide, he stopped, stepped off, and closed the door. The paper wolf reverted to scattered sheets.
It was an archive—shelves of files. Finally, a lead. Smiling, Kiri scanned the room, grabbing a file to start.
"Where is it… Probably nothing direct," he muttered, skeptical.
Flipping through, he found nothing useful, discarding files or pulling paper with his ability for weapons, searching silently as the base quieted.
No record explicitly mentioned a vault. Time passed fruitlessly.
After tens of minutes, he paused, engrossed in a document, ignoring outside roars and blasts.
It detailed Navarone's terrain. The island itself was a fortress, its features weaponized. One part stood out: frequent tides altered the island's shape, with sea-facing areas used as base sections, currently abandoned.
An unused, sea-hidden space intrigued him. Smiling, Kiri dropped the file, certain. He had a destination.
"Hidden vault in a unique spot. Getting fun. Time for a souvenir," he grinned, heading out.
Opening the door, he tilted his head. Jonathan stood meters away, hands behind back, smiling cheerfully, posture straight. Marines surrounded him, guns aimed at Kiri.
He'd been cornered.
"Huh?" Kiri said.
"Hey, we meet again. Find something interesting?" Jonathan asked.
"Sort of," Kiri replied.
"Good. I found something too—the escaped pirate," Jonathan said.
"Oh, that's tough. Well, I'll get out of your way—"
"The one I'm looking for is you."
Ignoring him, Kiri closed the door. Marines stirred, but Jonathan stayed calm.
Unfazed, he approached, stroking his beard, and slashed the iron door to pieces with a swift strike.
A flood of paper surged out like an avalanche.
Jonathan swung his sword, slicing dozens of sheets, but more poured in, engulfing him and the marines, carrying them away.
"Oh, this is—" Jonathan began.
"Vice Admiral! Danger!" a marine shouted.
They screamed but couldn't act as the paper swept them off. Amid the torrent, a lit dynamite appeared. A marine's cry was futile; no time to react. An explosion erupted, scattering everything, injuring many, some silenced.
Scattered paper caught fire, turning the base into a blazing inferno.
Jonathan, hit first, avoided the blast, unharmed but surrounded by smoke and writhing men. His smile vanished, eyes sharp, gripping his sword, glaring at the archive.
Kiri stood there, smiling casually, unfazed by the wounded marines. His nonchalance felt like contempt, terrifying in hindsight. Despite his youth, he was a ruthless pirate.
Jonathan advanced, ignoring sparks and flames. This enemy demanded his personal attention. Casting aside mercy, he revealed a rare intensity.
Kiri sighed, unafraid, lighting another dynamite and dropping it as he walked deeper into the room, feigning escape.
Jonathan kicked off, chasing, eyes locked on Kiri's back. The dynamite wouldn't hit anyone at that distance.
He planned to rush in post-explosion, sensing Kiri's overconfidence. Serious now, Jonathan saw his chance.
As predicted, the dynamite exploded, flames and smoke rising. Kiri's presence lingered inside.
Jonathan leaped in, sword ready, plunging into the smoke.
A gunshot rang out. Sharp pain pierced his right shoulder, loosening his grip, nearly dropping his sword.
He understood. The dynamite wasn't an attack or intimidation—it blinded, deafened, and baited overconfidence. His unscathed state, unlike his men, was deliberate—to enrage him.
Shock halted him. He clutched his shoulder, frozen. The room burned, papers alight, another fire spreading.
Kiri sat on the windowsill, facing outward, legs dangling. Smiling at Jonathan, he waved, papers linking into a roaring, fiery serpent.
He'd been lured. Grinning, Kiri said, "Well, see ya."
Waving, the serpent lunged. Jonathan calmly slashed, severing it into burning chunks.
Then, he saw dynamite spinning toward him—tossed as Kiri jumped. Jonathan leaped back, blasted away by the explosion, rolling into the fiery corridor.
He scrambled to a flame-free spot. Marines helped each other, screams echoing. Breathing heavily, Jonathan lost focus.
His injuries were minor—no burns, thanks to his quick escape. But the base was crippled. Kiri's attacks wounded many, broke morale, and left the fortress in ruins. Fires raged, pirates rioted outside, and Kiri escaped again.
Too many problems overwhelmed even Jonathan, the calm strategist. He recognized his complacency caused this defeat.
Yet, he smiled faintly. The crushing loss felt refreshing. The pirates shattered Navarone's complacency, a chance for renewal.
Undefeated in spirit, he stood tall, face bright. "Haha! Done in! Didn't expect this gap."
"Vice Admiral… why laugh?" a marine asked.
"Why? We got thrashed! But we're alive. We can challenge them again. Stopping here makes us mere losers."
His cheerful grin puzzled the marines, but his resolve inspired. Injured men rose shakily, moved by his charisma.
"Let's go. For Navarone's pride and our justice, we must win," Jonathan urged.
In the blazing, suffocating heat, his call wasn't mocked. Marines nodded, inspired by his voluntary spirit.
They weren't just conscripts—they chose this path. Who admired fleeing marines? They'd trained to fight for civilians, no matter the foe.
Life returned to their faces, mental wounds easing. In the flames, they raised weapons, roaring to rally themselves.
Jonathan nodded, ready to chase Kiri.
Footsteps approached. Turning, he saw Wendy, calmly waving away smoke, approaching him.
"Good work, Vice Admiral Jonathan. Busy day?" she said.
"Lucky or not, yeah. Firefighting and capturing pirates are priority. Got something for me?" he replied.
"Yes, about the audit. I need to report."
"Later? I'm swamped."
"It has to be now. Please come."
"Hm. Found something?"
"Yes."
Her determined gaze made Jonathan stroke his beard thoughtfully.
"Alright, I'll go. Others, focus on the fires," he ordered.
"Thank you. Also, could Major Drake and Lieutenant Commander Shepard join?" Wendy added.
"Drake and Shepard? So that's it."
"Just in case. You three are the base's core, right? You should know."
"Fair. We'll see this through."
His mood shifted from joy to complexity. Hearing her findings took courage, but Navarone's issues demanded it. Following Wendy, he briefly forgot Kiri, walking on.
--+--
T/N: Although I'm an inexperienced Editor, I do have a Patreon account! Although it seems like I don't have many supporters right now, my webnovel will be released in full every day, and the advanced chapters will be uploaded to Patreon.
It may not be worth it now, but who knows, it might be different in the future. Who knows!
patreon.com/Greyhounds
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