Sea Calendar 1460
The deck of a large, weather-beaten ship groaned under the weight of time, its sails patched and its wood scarred by countless battles.
"Kid, why do you want to join my crew?"
An old man with a mane of white hair and a matching beard took a long swig from a wine gourd. He fixed his bloodshot, drunken eyes on the boy standing defiantly before him.
"Because I'm going to conquer these seas!" the boy declared, his voice ringing with passion. His messy black hair whipped across his face in the sea breeze, but his eyes blazed with an unshakeable spirit. "I'm going to change this rotten world and give everyone true freedom! And for that, I need power!"
"Pfft-hahahahaha!"
The naive declaration sent the old man into a fit of laughter, so hard that tears welled in his eyes. The kid reminded him so much of his younger self it was almost painful.
He'd started with grand ambitions, just like this boy. Then, worn down by the world, his journey had become one of simply going with the flow. And now? Now, he was just preparing to retire.
The world had hardly changed since he'd first arrived, and it would likely remain the same long after he was gone.
Anyone watching would have pegged the fiery boy as the story's protagonist. Hell, Silas himself no longer believed he fit the role. He was old. Seventy years had passed since he'd been unceremoniously dropped into this world, a transmigrator with no system, no cheat, no "Golden Finger" to speak of.
Relying on nothing more than a hazy, incomplete knowledge of the future, Silas had clawed his way out of the North Blue, broken into the Grand Line, and survived the New World.
The problem was, he'd arrived too early.
Just as Gol D. Roger would one day reach Laugh Tale only to find he was twenty years ahead of his time, Silas had been a full century too early.
This era was a quiet one. There were no Four Emperors carving up the New World, no Seven Warlords sanctioned by the government. There were only the Marines and the World Government, their shadowy tentacles wrapped around the entire globe. Pirates existed, plenty of them, but there wasn't a single figurehead who could rally the masses, no one who could truly stand against the titans of the world.
The world was a stagnant pool of water, and even though "White Wolf" Silas was a great pirate known far and wide, a thorn in the side of the Marines, he was just one man against an unmovable order.
He was tired.
"Get lost," Silas said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm not setting sail again. Scram while I'm still feeling generous."
He'd disbanded his crew a week ago, ready to find a quiet island, sink his ship, and live out his days on what little treasure he had left. He never expected a brat to have snuck aboard during his last port call.
Dammit, Silas thought. Has my Observation Haki degraded so much with age?
The thought only strengthened his resolve to retire. He had no desire to be ignominiously captured by some no-name Marine grunt in a few years, becoming a cautionary tale for washed-up pirates.
"No!"
To his surprise, the boy didn't budge. If anything, his words made the wild-haired youth more desperate. "You have to take me in!"
"Or what?" Silas raised a single, bushy eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"Or I'll challenge you!" the boy roared, his gaze resolute.
His declaration only made Silas laugh again. "Pfft-hahahahaha~"
A little pre-retirement entertainment wasn't so bad, Silas mused. He might be old, but he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't use basic Haki—not yet, anyway. He wasn't like Whitebeard in his final years. Beating one little brat who knew nothing? He could handle a hundred, even a thousand of them without breaking a sweat.
But just as he was about to needle the boy a little more, something unexpected happened.
Ding!
A soft chime echoed in his mind, and a translucent panel materialized before his very eyes.
At eighteen years old, after eighteen years in this world, you finally master one of the Six Powers through relentless training: Shave!
Deeply feeling that true strength could only be forged in combat, you set sail and officially became a pirate.
Silas, mid-swig, nearly choked on his wine. Eighteen? he sputtered internally. I'll be eighty in ten years!
His Golden Finger. The cheat ability he'd dreamed of for decades had finally arrived. Not a moment sooner, not a moment later, but now. When he was seventy. Why not just wait until I'm in my grave? he thought wryly.
The text on the panel continued to scroll.
Sea Calendar 1480, March 31st. Your first day as a pirate.
Unfortunately, you have immediately encountered the era's hegemon: Rocks D. Xebec.
Your task: Survive his assault!
Silas's mind went blank. Who? And Sea Calendar 1480? The current year was 1460. Did I time-travel again?
The alcohol haze vanished instantly. This wasn't some senile delusion. Until a week ago, he was "White Wolf" Silas, a name that had taken him fifty long years to carve into the annals of piracy. He sobered up completely.
His eyes narrowed. "Hey, kid. What's your name?"
The boy, who had been ready to strike, froze. He'd pegged the old man as a drunkard past his prime, a perfect target to defeat so he could claim this magnificent ship for himself. But in the span of a single breath, the man's entire aura shifted. The decrepit geezer vanished, replaced by a ferocious wolf—a wolf that commanded the pack.
"Rocks!" the boy snarled, refusing to back down even under the immense pressure. He gritted his teeth and bellowed, "My name is Rocks D. Xebec! Unlike a washed-up old geezer like you who's just waiting to die, I am the man destined to become the ruler of these seas!"
"Pfft-hahahahahaha!"
An explosive, uproarious laugh erupted from Silas, echoing across the deck. Just as Rocks tensed, expecting an attack, the old man's suffocating presence vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"Alright!" Silas slapped his thigh, a wide grin splitting his face. "You want to join my crew? Wish granted! Get over here."
"W-What for?"
Silas's abrupt change in attitude left Rocks completely bewildered. He watched the old man warily, his right hand drifting subconsciously toward the small knife tucked into his belt.
"Don't bother with that little trick," Silas waved a dismissive hand. "If I wanted you dead, you'd never even get the chance to draw it."
Remembering the immense pressure from moments before, Rocks reluctantly shuffled closer, his unwilling expression almost making Silas chuckle.
"Come on, come on."
The moment Rocks was within arm's reach, Silas's hand shot out.
Thwack!
A sharp, precise chop to the neck. The boy's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the deck in a heap, motionless.
At the same time, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.
Ding!Congratulations on defeating the ruler of the seas, Rocks D. Xebec!
Staring at the glowing text, Silas's entire body trembled, not from age, but from a dizzying, world-altering realization.
It's real. It's all real.
[Chapter Complete]
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