By dusk, the deck of the Oro Jackson had been cleared out completely.
Several long tables were pushed together and covered with clean sailcloth. The head chef led a few crewmen out from the galley, lugging huge barrels of rum, heaps of roasted meat, and baskets overflowing with bread and fruit.
A bonfire was lit near the stern. Orange flames leapt in the deepening twilight, illuminating the smiles on every face.
"To the New World, cheers!"
Roger stood before the main table, raising an oversized wooden mug high above his head, his voice booming like thunder. Foam clung to his mustache, but he did not care in the slightest.
"Cheers!"
The entire crew answered as one. Mugs clashed again and again, a chorus of ringing impacts. Laughter, shouting, and song tangled together and swept away all the fatigue from sailing those brutal seas.
Bullet sat at one end of a long table, a mug in his hand.
He was not guzzling like the others. Instead, he quietly observed everything around him.
This was the first full-crew banquet since he had come aboard.
There had been a few small gatherings before, simple celebrations after battles, usually just the core members.
But tonight, from Roger himself down to the youngest apprentice, everyone was seated at the same tables.
"Hey, Bullet!"
A veteran with a face full of scruffy beard staggered over, holding a mug that had already lost half its contents to sloshing.
He was John, the ship's cannoneer.
"I'll drink to you!"
John shoved his mug toward Bullet, tongue slightly tangled by the alcohol.
"Thanks to you, we saved ourselves a good few fights on the way into the New World this time!"
"All those cowards who detoured the moment they heard the Black Dragon's name, hahahaha!"
Bullet gave him a glance, raised his own mug to clink with John's, and took a small sip.
John, on the other hand, tipped his head back and emptied his cup, then slapped Bullet hard on the shoulder.
Of course, to Bullet that force was barely a tickle.
"Kid, you've got the stuff!"
John roared with laughter and staggered off again, already hunting for his next drinking partner.
That was only the beginning.
One after another, crew members came over to toast him.
Some to thank Bullet for stepping in during fights, some because they admired his strength, and some simply because they wanted to share a drink with the "monster rookie."
Bullet turned no one away.
His physique was far beyond that of any normal man; his alcohol metabolism was ten times that of an ordinary human. The rum he drank was broken down almost instantly and devoured, converted into energy. It was hard for him to feel even a pleasant buzz.
But what he paid attention to were their eyes.
The first time he came aboard, the looks he got were wary and curious.
The first time he displayed his dragonization, those looks turned to shock and awe.
The first time he devoured a Sea King, there was an extra layer of distance and fear.
And now...
In those eyes, there was recognition, closeness, and even a kind of pride.
"Look, that monster is one of ours."
"How does it feel?"
At some point, Rayleigh had taken a seat beside Bullet, a bottle in hand, a gentle smile on his face.
"Noisy," Bullet replied honestly.
"But... not unpleasant."
Rayleigh chuckled and poured himself a cup.
"That's how our ship is."
"Whether you're a kingdom's exile or a monster hunted by the world, once you step onto this ship, you're a crewmate."
He took a sip, then looked toward the bonfire, where Roger was arm wrestling a few crew members at once.
"That guy's got a strange gift. He can pull together people who have nothing in common."
"Not for treasure. Not for fame. But for... freedom."
"Freedom."
Bullet repeated the word.
"Yes, freedom."
Rayleigh nodded.
"Sailing on the sea with no chains on your back, going wherever you want, doing whatever you want."
"To protect that freedom, we become stronger. That is why we fight."
He turned his head to look at Bullet.
"And you? Why do you seek strength?"
Bullet was silent for a moment, then said, "To devour everything and stand at the very top."
Direct, pure, and perfectly in line with who he was.
Rayleigh did not criticize. He nodded instead.
"An honest goal."
"Then what happens after you reach the top?"
"Will you be like those Celestial Dragons and trample everyone else under your feet?"
"Not interested."
Bullet shook his head.
"I only want to prove that I can do it."
"Good."
Rayleigh patted his shoulder.
"Remember this. Strength exists to protect, not to oppress."
"That's what Roger taught me. Now I'm passing it on to you."
With that, he rose and walked over to where the head chef was tending the meat at the fire.
Bullet sat alone for a while, turning Rayleigh's words over in his mind.
Protect...
He had never truly thought about that word.
From the moment he crossed into this world, fused with Bullet's body, and inherited Nidhogg's legacy, his goals had been singular: grow stronger, devour, evolve.
But protect...
He looked around.
John was loudly bragging to some younger deckhands about the time he blasted three enemy ships to the bottom with a single shot.
Shanks had quietly told Bullet once that those "ships" were actually little fishing boats.
Near the fire, the chef hummed a folk song from his homeland as he worked the spit. There was a glimmer of moisture at the corner of his eyes. His homeland had been wiped out by pirates. Roger had been the one to save him.
A group of apprentices huddled together, chattering excitedly about the pirate crews they would form in the future, the adventures they would have, the treasures they would find.
And then there was Roger, that man as dazzling as the sun itself, with an arm slung around Rayleigh's neck as he poured him drink after drink. Rayleigh looked thoroughly put upon, but he did not push him away.
These people. These lives...
"Hey, Mr. Bullet!"
Shanks's voice cut across his thoughts.
The red-haired teenager walked over carrying two large mugs of rum. He thumped one down in front of Bullet, sloshing some of the liquor over the rim.
"Drink with me!"
Shanks's eyes shone, his cheeks already flushed from the alcohol.
"Rayleigh said you can really hold your liquor. I don't believe I'll lose to you that easily!"
Bullet glanced at the mug, which held enough strong rum to drop an ordinary man, then looked at Shanks, who was clearly already starting to sway on his feet.
"You're drunk."
"Not drunk!" Shanks bellowed, then hiccupped.
"Urgh... at least three more cups in me!"
He dragged over a stool, sat down, and fixed Bullet with a stare. Suddenly, his expression turned serious.
"I mean it, Mr. Bullet."
"I really respect you."
Bullet raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not just being polite."
Shanks took a deep swallow of rum and went on.
"You've only been on board for a bit over a month, and you've already become stronger."
"Every day I watch you train. I watch you grow. I watch you shatter and rebuild my idea of what a 'monster' is, over and over."
He set his mug down, his gaze turning firm.
"At first, I was jealous. Really."
"I've been on this ship for years. I always thought I was the most gifted among the younger ones."
"But when you showed up, I saw the gap."
"But now I've figured it out."
Shanks grinned, showing his teeth.
"With you running in front, I can run even faster."
"Captain Roger said that true strength is never afraid of others becoming stronger. It's only afraid that you yourself are not working hard enough."