Somewhere in the Florian Triangle...
Amid the thick, ever-present fog, a decrepit pirate ship drifted aimlessly with the tide. Its hull bore numerous cracks and signs of decay, while its tattered sails fluttered feebly in the mist.
"Yohohoho..."
Laughter echoed across the deck of the dilapidated vessel.
On the ship's cracked and splintered wooden planks sat a modest table and chair. A skeleton with an afro, dressed in a black gentleman's suit, was seated at the table.
His bony, pale fingers delicately held a chipped teacup, from which steam gently curled upward. He appeared utterly at ease.
The eerie laughter that spread through the mist came from his mouth.
"Yohohoho, what a pleasant evening it is."
Raising his teacup, he took a small sip before tilting his head back and gazing into the shifting fog above, as if he could see the orange-hued sky beyond the veil.
In the Florian Triangle, dense fog blanketed the seas year-round, making it nearly impossible to see sunlight, let alone a clear sky.
In such an environment, determining the time of day by the position of the sun was futile. Staying too long in these conditions would distort one's sense of time.
Yet, this skeleton remained unaffected.
For nearly fifty years, he had endured the loneliness of this endless mist, keeping time only by counting the seconds.
"Yohohoho..."
Tea in hand, the afro-haired skeleton slowly rose and strolled toward the ship's railing. As he gazed into the fog before him, he took another sip of his drink.
Even when the last drop of tea was gone, he remained motionless, his empty eye sockets fixed on the mist ahead.
Nothing but darkness and hollowness resided within his sockets, making it impossible to discern his emotions.
After a long silence...
"Forty-five degrees!"
Suddenly, his body tilted forward, his forehead resting against the railing as his long, thin frame formed a perfect 45-degree angle with the deck.
"Yohohoho..."
Maintaining this odd posture, he looked down at the deck beneath him.
"Eh???"
His jaw dropped in shock.
Clatter.
The chipped teacup slipped from his hand and shattered into several pieces upon the deck.
It was the last usable teacup on the ship, a precious item—but the skeleton paid it no mind. Instead, he stared intently at his faintly visible shadow on the deck.
"My shadow... has returned."
He muttered in disbelief.
"That powerful swordsman... was defeated? What happened over there? Could it be..."
He abruptly straightened and looked up at the sky, his expression uncertain.
About an hour ago, he had vaguely heard the sound of a massive creature soaring overhead.
At first, he thought it was his imagination. But shortly after, a similar sound echoed through the air again, heading in the same direction.
He had no idea what it was.
But his shadow had returned without warning, making him wonder if the two events were connected.
With this thought in mind, he scanned the ship, using the placement of various objects to determine a rough direction.
"If I remember correctly, it came from this way..."
...
Thriller Bark.
Inside the eerie, cold mansion hall, Maude continuously swung his sword, familiarizing himself with its weight and feel in the brief window before battle.
Compared to the lower-grade Chidori and the transformed White Weasel, Shusui was longer, thicker, and significantly heavier.
Furthermore, its durability far surpassed that of Chidori and White Weasel.
After all, it was one of the 21 Great Grade Swords—a blade tempered into a permanent black sword through years of Haki refinement.
"It feels great."
Maude admired the black-and-purple blade of Shusui.
Truly, it was a national treasure of Wano.
With such a legendary sword in hand, the power of his slashes had effectively doubled.
Its sheer durability alone gave it immense suppressive force. Against weaker opponents, a single clash would likely shatter their weapons outright when combined with Armament Haki.
Moreover, Shusui's weight provided a tactical advantage. In a deadlock, even a slight edge in strength would allow him to leverage its mass, converting force into an even greater output.
Holding Shusui, Maude was more than satisfied.
The only regret was that he couldn't acquire Ryuma's swordsmanship experience along with the blade.
That said, on this island, the only one who could provide Maude with valuable experience was Moria himself.
Since Maude hadn't come solely for experience, he put the thought aside. With a swift motion, he flipped his wrist, smoothly sheathing Shusui and securing it at his waist.
It was then that he finally noticed a peculiar change in White Weasel's blade.
Its length, thickness, width, and even the intricate patterns on the blade and hilt now closely resembled Shusui.
"..."
Maude observed Bailey's transformation in surprise.
Had a single battle with Ryuma increased Bailey's ability proficiency that much?
Previously, when transforming into the White Weasel sword, Bailey couldn't replicate detailed features—forming a proper hilt was already a challenge, let alone intricate patterns.
But now...
Staring at the near-identical White Weasel blade, Maude raised an eyebrow.
Was Bailey... jealous?
The thought crossed Maude's mind.
Indeed, Bailey was jealous.
But beyond mimicking Shusui's appearance, he had no other way to express it.
Not far away, Philo glanced up at the shadows atop the columns.
The spider rats that had been lurking there earlier were now gone.
Lowering her gaze, she stepped closer to Maude.
"Maude, what's the next move?"
She had followed along but had done little thus far.
Combat didn't interest her. If she wasn't needed, she preferred to spectate.
Truthfully, she found the island's flora far more intriguing than its dangers.
Maude didn't respond immediately but instead looked toward the garden beyond the collapsed wall.
"So, they finally decided to make a move..."
His eyes gleamed red as he untied several pouches of salt from his belt and tossed them to Philo.
Catching them, she tilted her head slightly, looking up at Maude, who towered over her.
"Philo, handle the zombies in the mansion."
"No problem."
She nodded.
At that moment, the sound of countless flapping wings filled the air.
A swarm of pitch-black, eyeless bats descended, gathering in the ruins outside the mansion.
Maude watched them calmly and said, "Go."
Without looking back, Philo headed deeper into the mansion.
...
Tap, tap—
Within a wide corridor of the ancient castle, Lafitte twirled his cane with one hand as he strode forward. The thick heels of his leather shoes struck the stone-tiled floor, producing crisp, resounding footsteps.
Beside him walked the burly Jim, his imposing frame moving in tandem with Lafitte's measured pace.
Scattered across the corridor behind them lay numerous fallen zombies, strewn about haphazardly.
"Hoho, it seems the main forces of the zombie legion that Maude mentioned aren't here."
Lafitte ceased his twirling, resting his cane horizontally behind his back as he tilted his head slightly, gazing at the large door at the corridor's end.
Suddenly, several white ghosts phased through the stone wall and darted toward Lafitte, who was closest to the wall.
Just as they were about to make contact—
Sensing the incoming threat, Lafitte swiftly retreated a step, narrowly evading the three spirits.
However, Jim, who had been walking beside him, was not as fortunate. The three ghosts passed straight through his body.
Instantly, Jim collapsed to the ground as if drained of all strength. His face was overtaken by an expression of utter despair as he mumbled to himself in a low voice.
Lafitte observed Jim's abrupt loss of combat capability, a flicker of wariness flashing in his eyes.
"So, this is…"
Adjusting the brim of his hat with a gloved hand, Lafitte lifted his gaze slightly, watching the drifting, ghostly figures hovering above the corridor.
"Even Observation Haki can't detect them… and once they pass through a body…"
From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Jim, who lay powerless and dejected, and a cold glint surfaced in his gaze.
"If not for the intel Maude provided, the consequences would've been dire. But now that their nature is exposed, they're nothing special."
As the thought crossed his mind, Lafitte suddenly unsheathed his blade and swung it in a single fluid motion, unleashing a slicing airwave.
The slash traversed the corridor in an instant, hurtling toward a girl dressed in a gothic-style dress, her pink twin tails bouncing as she hovered in midair.
However, the razor-sharp strike passed straight through her body, vanishing into the darkness beyond the corridor.
"Hmph."
The girl scoffed, glaring at Lafitte before secretly commanding her negative ghosts to ambush him from behind.
If she could land a hit, then this vampire-looking creep would end up just like the big oaf sprawled on the ground—completely incapacitated.
And after that, their shadows would be hers for the taking!
----
Author's Notes:
Looking back at the Thriller Bark arc, let's talk about Perona's characterization—specifically, her loyalty. Perona herself stated that she joined Moria simply because she found it fun. Then, when things turned against their crew, her first instinct was to have her subordinates gather all the castle's treasure so she could escape alone—only to be sent flying by Kuma.
Yet, two years later, she displayed unwavering loyalty toward Moria. The contrast between these two moments feels jarring… It's likely a character inconsistency in the original story.
-------
Want to read waaaay ahead of schedule?
Join here: patreon.com / emperorgarus
There are more than 200 advance chapters available for you!