The sun rose slowly over Brackmor Island, its pale light filtering through the heavy shutters of Rabocse Olbap's quarters in Krakenport, casting faint golden streaks across the wooden floor. Only a day had passed since the brutal forest ambush that claimed Rabocse Kael and Rabocse Toro, a loss that struck the Rabocse Family like a storm surge.
For Olbap, the weight was unbearable. His mind, a blade sharpened since his past life, had failed him. He had sent his brothers to eliminate Rane, but his miscalculation—overlooking Rane's poisoned weapons—cost two lives. The victory was hollow, the blood of Kael and Toro staining his hands. As he stood in the dim room, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and lingering tobacco, guilt gnawed at him, a relentless tide eroding his usual confidence.
Olbap had abandoned his signature white suit, a symbol of his calculated bravado. Today, he wore a black suit, its dark fabric swallowing the dawn's light, paired with a crisp white shirt and his violet pocket square, a nod to his identity amid grief.
The somber attire mirrored the heaviness in his chest, a rare crack in the facade of a man who no longer viewed the world as a chessboard. Before arriving in the South Blue, he had learned a brutal lesson: treating subordinates as mere pawns was a path to ruin. Those pieces, dismissed as expendable, could elevate or topple a leader.
When he formed his crew, he swore never to sacrifice his people for profit. His intellect, sharper than any cutlass, could carve other paths to power. Yet Kael and Toro, men who had nothing before he gave them purpose, died because he hadn't prepared enough. They had glimpsed a better life through him, and he had dreamed of conquering the Red Tide with them by his side. Their absence was a wound deeper than any blade, a failure that burned in his amethyst eyes.
Outside, the morning air was crisp, carrying the salty tang of the sea and the earthy musk of Brackmor's dense forests. Olbap led a small caravan, his crew dressed in matching black suits, a silent tribute to their fallen brothers. Popeye, his towering frame subdued, wore a red pocket square. Anna and Vanessa, their crimson hair stark against their dark attire, walked with quiet resolve, their eyes reflecting shared sorrow.
Liro, his face etched with grief, his eyes still red from tears, followed closely, his cutlass sheathed but his hands twitching with restless energy. Odoho, informed of the tragedy, was absent, deep in a covert mission spying on Marlon, Vex, and Graves at Olbap's orders, too far to join them.
The caravan moved through the forest, not toward the blood-soaked clearing of the ambush, but to a serene spot near a river, where a humble cabin stood by the water's edge.
The river flowed gently, its surface shimmering like scattered diamonds under the morning sun, its soft murmur blending with the rustle of wildflowers and tall grasses swaying in the breeze. The cabin, weathered but sturdy, was surrounded by vibrant blooms—pinks, yellows, and purples—against the lush green, exuding an aura of peace untouched by the previous day's violence.
Liro, still haunted by Kael and Toro's final moments, managed a faint smile, the tranquility easing the ache in his heart, if only slightly. The caravan halted, horses snorting softly, their hooves crunching on the gravel path. Olbap dismounted first, his boots sinking into the soft earth, the scent of damp soil and river water filling his lungs. The others followed, their movements slow, weighed down by the purpose of their visit.
Olbap approached the cabin's door, his knuckles rapping gently against the worn wood, the sound echoing softly in the quiet morning. A warm, gentle voice called from within, and the door creaked open to reveal Aria, a woman with emerald green and amber eyes that gleamed like polished stone. Her face softened into a brief smile, but it faded quickly to a serious expression, her instincts sensing the gravity of their visit. "How can I help you?" she asked, her tone neutral but guarded, her hands clasped tightly before her.
"Apologies for coming so early," Olbap said, his voice steady but softened by respect, meeting her amber gaze. "You may recognize my name. I'm Rabocse Olbap. You must be Aria. May we come in to talk?"
Aria's eyes flickered with recognition, her lips tightening as memories of Kael's words surfaced. "Olbap. Yes, Kael spoke of you often. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, all of you, come in." Her tone remained cautious, her gaze unwavering as she stepped aside, holding the door open.
They entered the cabin, its interior warm and unassuming, with wooden beams overhead and a faint scent of lavender from dried bundles hanging on the walls. The floorboards creaked softly under their weight, and a small hearth glowed with embers, casting a gentle warmth. They sat in the main room, Olbap and his crew on one side of a sturdy oak table, Aria alone on the other, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her posture rigid. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant ripple of the river outside and the occasional chirp of birds in the surrounding forest.
"Your daughter must be sleeping, yes? Elin, isn't it?" Olbap began, his voice gentle, his amethyst eyes searching Aria's face. "I need to tell you something about what happened, and to show you my respect."
Aria's amber eyes glistened, tears welling as she sensed the truth in Olbap's tone, her intuition sharpened by years of living in Brackmor's shadow. Her hands trembled, and small tears traced her cheeks, catching the light. She knew Kael was not among them.
Olbap took a deep breath, his voice steady but laced with guilt that clawed at his heart. "Two days ago, I sent Kael, Popeye, Liro, and Toro on a mission. I take full responsibility for not gathering enough information. They faced a brutal fight against an enemy who used poisoned weapons. Kael gave his life to save Liro, but we had no antidote in time." His words hung heavy, each syllable a stone in the quiet room. Aria's tears fell freely, her sobs breaking the silence as she clutched her hands to her chest, her emerald hair falling forward to curtain her face.
Olbap waited, his own heart heavy with the weight of his failure, giving Aria time to grieve. Her sobs slowed, her eyes red but resolute as she wiped her face with trembling hands. "Did he say anything before he died? Where is he buried?" she asked, her voice trembling, barely above a whisper.
"He told Popeye to ensure I'd look after you and Elin, that you'd never need anything in the future," Olbap said, pausing to let the words settle, their weight grounding the moment. "We buried him and Toro on Brackmor's highest mountain, a place of honor for their sacrifice and our family's bond."
Aria nodded, her tears falling anew, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "I'd like to visit his grave with my daughter, if possible," she said, her voice steadier now, though the pain lingered.
"Of course," Olbap replied, placing a Den Den Mushi on the table, its eyes closed in sleep, its shell glinting faintly. "This is for you to contact me, or Popeye if I'm unavailable. We'll arrange the visit."
Minutes passed in silence, the group's grief mingling with the cabin's warmth, the lavender scent soothing but unable to erase their pain. Anna and Vanessa offered to help Aria prepare tea, their crimson hair catching the light as they moved to the small kitchen, their footsteps soft on the wooden floor. The group sipped the warm, herbal brew, steam rising in delicate curls, the quiet morning offering a fleeting moment of solace. Aria, calmer now, her face still etched with sorrow, listened as Olbap honored Kael's final wish.
"As Kael asked, I'll ensure you and Elin are cared for," Olbap said, his voice firm but gentle. "I'm giving you ownership of my tavern. You won't need to work; I have a manager in place. All profits are yours. If you need anything more, just ask."
Aria sipped her tea, her expression soft but resolute, her amber eyes meeting his. "We're fine here for now, just Elin and me. But thank you for honoring Kael's wish. It means more than you know."
The distant chirping of birds filled the silence, their songs weaving through the open windows, joined by the soft patter of small footsteps on the floorboards. A girl with emerald hair like Aria's and eyes strikingly like Kael's—bright, curious, and full of life—ran in, her smile wide as she threw herself into her mother's arms. Aria hugged her tightly, the embrace a lifeline in her grief, her fingers brushing Elin's hair. Elin looked up, her gaze darting to the strangers. "Mama, who are they?" she asked, her voice bright despite the heavy air.
Aria's voice softened, a faint smile breaking through her tears. "Elin, this is your big brother, Olbap. These are your aunts, Anna and Vanessa, and your uncles, Liro and Popeye." Elin's smile grew, and she ran to Olbap, wrapping her small arms around his waist. He returned the hug, his stoic facade softening, his amethyst eyes warming as Aria watched, her own smile gentle, a flicker of gratitude amidst her sorrow.
They spent time with Kael's family, sharing quiet moments to ease the pain, the cabin's warmth a fragile shield against their loss. They told Elin her father was on a long journey, promising to share his stories when she was older. Her tears came, her small face crumpling, but Aria soothed her with promises of new dolls from her father, her voice steady despite her own grief. Olbap offered Aria and Elin a place in his building in Krakenport, closer to the crew, but Aria declined for now, her voice soft but firm. "We'll stay here for a while, but I'll consider it later. Thank you." They left with a vow to bring her to the graves, Olbap personally ensuring it if his schedule allowed, his promise a solemn oath.
Outside, the caravan awaited, the river's murmur a soft farewell, its waters reflecting the rising sun. Popeye spoke as they boarded, his voice low. "Where to now, Olbap?"
"The orphanage," Olbap replied, his tone firm, his gaze distant. Popeye nodded, guiding the caravan forward, the horses' hooves steady on the dirt path, kicking up small clouds of dust.
The journey was peaceful, the dense forest giving way to open fields, the air fresh with the scent of grass, wildflowers, and the faint salt of the sea. By late morning, they reached the orphanage, a modest wooden building surrounded by the joyful chaos of children's laughter, the creak of swings, and the thud of a ball against the ground.
Olbap let Liro take the lead, his voice breaking as he gathered the children in a circle on the grass. He told them Toro had embarked on a grand adventure, promising tales of his exploits that would fill their dreams. The children's eyes welled with tears, their small faces mirroring Liro's grief, but his stories of Toro's bravery—leaping from ships, battling sea beasts—sparked excitement. Their tears gave way to laughter, and they ran to play, their voices echoing across the field. Olbap, watching from a distance, leaned against a tree, its bark rough under his hand. A faint smile curved his lips, his heart heavy but warmed by the children's resilience, a reminder of Toro's gentle spirit.
Popeye joined him outside, checking the horses, their coats gleaming in the sunlight. "That was kind of you, Olbap. Didn't think you had that side," he said, his tone gruff but sincere.
Olbap pulled a pipe from his pocket, a rare habit that he have see from his past before Brackmor, its wood worn smooth by time. He filled it with tobacco, the sharp scent grounding him, and lit it with a small flame, taking a deep drag. He exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it drift into the breeze, curling toward the sky. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Popeye. This won't happen again. We'll be ready next time, and we won't bury another of ours." His voice was steel, his amethyst eyes distant, reflecting the weight of his vow. Popeye shook his head, returning to the horses. Everyone had their way of coping, and Olbap's was his unyielding resolve, tempered by the smoke curling from his pipe.
Elsewhere on Brackmor Island
Deep within a hidden base carved into Brackmor's jagged cliffs, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Barrakuda Silco sat at a heavy oak table, a map of the South Blue spread before him, its edges frayed from years of plotting, its surface marked with ink and pins. The air was heavy with the scent of damp stone, burning candles, and the faint metallic tang of ink, their flickering flames casting shadows that danced across the rough-hewn walls.
Three days had passed without word from Rane, Silco's master of espionage, whose scarlet eyes missed nothing. At first, Silco dismissed the silence—Rane often vanished for days, his missions cloaked in secrecy—but the absence grew ominous, a storm brewing in his gut. He sent Jerry to investigate the forest where Rane had gone to retrieve a hidden stash of beli. Jerry returned with grim findings: signs of a brutal fight—trees slashed by blades, branches snapped, craters gouged in the earth, and traces of blood soaked into the soil. No bodies remained, no clear evidence of who fought or died, but Silco, no fool, knew Rane was likely dead, his remains hidden to conceal the crime.
Silco's mind churned, piecing together the puzzle with methodical precision. The Red Tide had enemies—rival pirates, merchants, even Marines—but its security was ironclad, a network of informants and patrols bolstered by Olbap's intelligence web. An external attack was improbable; the rings of surveillance around Brackmor were too tight. The culprit was on the island, a traitor within the ranks. His first thought was Jerry, who, alongside Rane, held the most knowledge of the organization's inner workings. But Jerry had been in the lab with him, refining Red Tide formulas, when Rane vanished, his hands stained with crimson powder, not blood. Ruling him out, Silco's thoughts turned to others, and Olbap's name rose like a shadow, growing larger with each consideration.
Olbap had appeared at ten, a boy with a mind sharper than any Silco had encountered, climbing the ranks with an intellect that seemed almost unnatural. Rane had warned him—Olbap's brilliance was dangerous, his methods too independent, always bending the Red Tide's goals to his own vision. But Silco saw potential, not threat, in the boy's ambition.
He had approved Olbap's plans to strengthen Brackmor's economy and intelligence network, planting spies to monitor him. Over the years, Olbap had shown no overt disloyalty, his efforts bolstering the Red Tide's wealth and reach, but his closeness to Popeye, his personal guard after joining the organization, raised questions. Popeye's loyalty to Olbap was unshakable, a bond forged after they join the Red Tide, and Silco wondered if it blinded him to Olbap's true intentions or he know about it.
With Jerry, Silco concluded Olbap was the likely culprit, but a problem loomed: Olbap had become indispensable. With Rane gone, only Silco, Jerry, Tom, and Mot remained at the core, supported by lesser soldiers who lacked the cunning to challenge Olbap. Anna and Vanessa, likely loyal to him, continued their crimson flower deliveries without disruption, their neutrality a calculated move. Kael, missing and presumed dead, was another mark against Olbap, his absence too convenient.
A direct confrontation was risky; recalling Marlon, Vex, and Graves from sea patrols would weaken Brackmor's defenses, exposing the island to external threats. This was no brawl—it was a war of strategy, a chess game where Silco had to outmaneuver Olbap's cunning mind.
Seated at the map, Silco's eyes flicked to Jerry, scribbling on a parchment, the scratch of his quill sharp in the quiet room. "What are you writing?" Silco asked, his voice low, his fingers tracing a coastline on the map.
"Candidates for coral collection to replace Kael. Someone unconnected to Olbap," Jerry replied, his eyes scanning a list of names, his brow furrowed.
"And the crimson flowers?" Silco asked, his tone sharp, his mind already calculating.
"No change. Anna and Vanessa deliver as usual. I don't think they'll join this fight, given their behavior," Jerry said, setting the quill down.
"Good. Two fewer pieces on the board. Find that replacement, and keep Tom and Mot active, tracking Olbap's moves. He has to act first; we stay defensive," Silco ordered, his voice cold, his fingers tapping the map rhythmically.
"Sounds like a plan. I'll inform them," Jerry said, folding the parchment with a crisp snap.
Days passed, both sides moving as if nothing had changed, their routines a fragile mask over the growing rift. Olbap and Silco, two masterminds locked in a silent duel, watched each other through their networks of spies and informants, waiting for the first move to reveal the truth. The air on Brackmor was thick with suspicion, the island a powder keg ready to ignite.
End of the chapter.