The scorching heat baked the treeless grassland, and every member of the Foxy Pirates was dripping with sweat. Their earlier excitement after leaving the makeshift carnival market had long since vanished.
"So far…"
"Are we there yet?"
"We should've just made that crew come to us instead of walking all this way!"
Grumbling broke out among the men as they all turned toward their captain, Foxy, who had made the decision.
Even Foxy had taken out a little handkerchief to dab the sweat from his forehead. In contrast, the black-haired woman walking ahead of them seemed completely unaffected by the oppressive heat.
Had anyone been paying close attention, they would have noticed that every bead of sweat on her flawless face slid smoothly down to her feet and disappeared into the grass below, never once clinging to her skin.
They had been following this woman for nearly half an hour now, and impatience was rising in every heart.
"Hey, woman!" Foxy finally called out irritably to Alvida, who was leading the way. "How much farther to your ship? You're not playing me for a fool, are you?"
"Be patient. We're almost there." Alvida stretched out her right hand from beneath her violet cloak and pointed ahead. Her nails, painted a glossy red, glimmered as her lips curled into a smile. "Our ship is just up ahead."
Foxy didn't like that smile. It was either the smile of a fool who knew nothing… or of someone completely confident in what was to come.
Her earlier slip of the tongue about Arabasta and the Seven Warlords of the Sea still nagged at him as well.
But the record of over nine hundred consecutive victories in the Davy Back Fight was enough to suppress his unease—for now.
"I'll give you fifteen minutes. If I don't see your ship by then, I'll take it you've been mocking me. And the price for that…" He smirked. "Think about it carefully."
"Of course, of course," Alvida replied carelessly, the smile never leaving her crimson lips. "Relax. I have no intention of tricking you."
Foxy had no choice but to motion for Hamburg and Porche to calm down the grumbling crew behind them.
The procession that followed was not only packed with fighters but also the hosts and judges of the Davy Back Fight.
Though the game's "core rules" numbered only three, centuries of play had spawned countless bylaws and sub-rules interpreting them.
And it was the duty of the hosts and judges to decide whether any given action fit within those rules.
As Porche reassured the men, she also shot a look at the host, Itomimizu.
Itomimizu, wearing his striped hood, squeezed his legs, and the massive bird beneath him descended slowly until it landed beside Porche.
"Itomimizu," Porche said, wrinkling her sharp little nose, "go dig through the latest bounty posters. I want to know who this woman really is. With that arrogant attitude, she might be a Grand Line native."
It was true: pirates born in the Grand Line often looked down on those who had come from the four seas.
"Right, right!" Itomimizu grinned, showing rows of large teeth. "Perfect timing too—newspapers and fresh wanted posters just came in today. I haven't shown them to Captain Foxy yet."
"Find hers first. Show me before anyone else."
"Understood!"
As Itomimizu took to the sky again on his bird, Porche glanced over and saw Hamburg chatting with their fighters—Capote the fish-man, Pickles the human, and Big Pan, the half-fishman, half-giant.
"What do you think that woman's crew is like?" Hamburg asked.
"At the very least, a captain, a navigator like Porche, and of course a few fighters."
"Who cares what they've got? Once we win, we've got to make that black-haired woman join us! She's beautiful and has a body to match. I'll convince Captain Foxy myself!"
"I second that!"
"Me too!"
Porche stood stiffly to the side, arms crossed, glaring at them with undisguised disgust. Since that black-haired woman had appeared, Porche's status as the Foxy Pirates' number one beauty had been under dire threat.
No. Under no circumstances could she allow Foxy to pick that woman as a new crewmember.
While the Foxy Pirates busied themselves daydreaming about spoils they hadn't even won yet, Alvida, at the very head of the group, finally stopped and pointed forward.
"We're here. Look—our ship is right over there."
"Hm?"
Foxy lifted his head, squinting toward the distance. They had nearly reached the far shore of the island. And there, rising from a bank of heavy sea mist, loomed the shadow of an enormous ship.
"What pirate crew are you, anyway?" Foxy demanded. "We've come this far—you should at least tell me now."
Alvida hesitated a moment, then, confident they wouldn't dare bolt at this distance, turned and faced him.
"Captain Foxy," she said sweetly, "I am Alvida of the Davy Jones Pirates. And before you stands our ship—The Terror Ghost."
…What?!
Foxy froze, his smile stiff.
At last he realized who this woman truly was… and why she had been so insistent about the so-called "imposter" who had suddenly appeared back in the East Blue.
"Fufufufu…" Foxy forced a laugh, though it came out twisted. "So this is about defending your captain's honor. But a fake will always be a fake. Take my advice, woman—don't get too caught up in the act."
Alvida only smiled more sweetly. "Real or fake—you'll know soon enough. Come along, Captain Foxy."
She turned away without waiting for a reply, striding straight into the bank of sea mist along the shore.
There, looming just offshore, The Terror Ghost had risen from the depths to breathe. A long, creaking gangplank stretched to the sand.
Alvida set foot upon it and climbed aboard.
The deck was wrapped in silence and fog. But then, through the mist, a muttering voice echoed—followed by a grotesque clown face suddenly looming out of the haze.
"The Terror Ghost just got bigger again," Buggy complained, brow furrowed. "More corridors, more rooms—I nearly got lost! Kuro's right, the captain and this ship must be feeding off fear to keep growing… Huh? Alvida, you're back?"
"Yes. And the first thing I hear is your whining—nearly scared me with that face of yours."
"Who are you calling red-nosed and ugly?!"
"There you go again. I never said that. I only said you were whining."
"Eh…? Well, maybe it's not really whining, but you saw it yourself—outside the ship looks one size, but inside it's ten times larger…"
Then Buggy frowned. "Wait—didn't the captain send you to find food in a village? Why've you come back empty-handed?"
"I didn't come back empty-handed. In fact, I brought quite a lot." Alvida's eyes sparkled as she gestured toward the shore.
Buggy turned to look—and nearly choked when he saw the crowd of figures emerging through the fog. Dozens of pirates stood there at the water's edge, staring up uneasily at the black ship.
"Wait, wait, wait… we're not desperate enough to start eating people, are we?!" Buggy yelped.
"Idiot." Alvida planted her fists on her hips. "They're carrying food. And plenty of treasure besides. All we have to do is beat them in their so-called 'Davy Back Fight'—and everything will be ours."
The word treasure instantly lit up Buggy's eyes. But at the mention of the "Davy Back Fight," his face scrunched with confusion.
"Wait a sec… oh yeah, I remember now. That 'Pirates' Game.' For a second I thought the captain had invented it himself… huh, well, I guess he did in a way… Or did he? Ugh, I don't get it."
"What's going on out here?"
The deep, heavy voice of Davy Jones rolled through the mist, making Buggy jump nearly out of his skin.
"Captain." Alvida bowed her head lightly and gave her report in simple words:
"I brought back a crew who claim to challenge you with the 'Pirates' Game'—a game created long ago in your name."
The thudding of heavy boots echoed across the deck as Davy Jones emerged, his face writhing with squirming tentacles.
As he strode toward the railing, the rest of the crew followed behind him.
Only Law was absent—still tending to Crocodile's wounds.
And so, in the eyes of the Foxy Pirates, what they saw was a nightmare: a row of ghostly shadows standing aboard the rotting black ship, looming through the swirling sea fog.
The sight of them, swaying like phantoms in the mist, made every man's blood run cold.
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