Cannon Classifications in the One Piece World:
8-pounder (light cannon), 12-pounder, 18-pounder, 24-pounder (heavy or ship cannon), 32-pounder (large naval or fortress cannon), 48-pounder (heavy fortress cannon).
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Somewhere in the East Blue, inside the captain's quarters of the Chris.
The air reeked of alcohol inside Aeridar's cabin. Over twenty empty bottles littered the floor, several massive barrels still upright but already halfway drained.
"Captain, when are we hunting another Sea King?"
Gorbo sloshed the wine in his cup, his scarred face flushed red as the stench of booze wafted off him like steam. Anyone nearby could tell he was drunk. Anyone not nearby might think he'd fallen headfirst into a barrel.
"Next time, I'm taking the kill."
Oliver was sprawled on the couch, cheeks tinged with pink, one hand clutching a keg, the other groping for a sword that wasn't there—it was still back in his room.
"We really gotta slice up another one of those Sea Kings. Tasted amazing. Hic~"
Arlan leaned against the doorframe, eyes half-lidded as he reminisced about the massive serpent-like Sea King their captain had slain days prior. Just the memory made him hiccup.
Creak.
"Couldn't agree more."
Dimitri kicked the door open and casually picked up an unopened bottle off the floor. He popped the cork and took a long swig, then shut the door behind him.
"Tch. Bunch of amateurs... hic~"
Aeridar was slouched in his armchair, face flushed and gaze hazy. He sneered, nudging a cluster of empty bottles by his feet with the heel of his boot.
"L-listen here, you punks... once we reach the Grand Line, there's even more Sea Kings. Some are hundreds of meters long, especially near—hic—Fish-Man Island."
"Heh~ Fish-Man Island... think we'll see mermaids?"
Arlan's eyes sparkled—he'd heard rumors for years.
"Mermaids? I've heard stories about them from Captain Jaron!"
Dimitri edged closer, curious. He'd learned plenty from Captain Gurley Jaron back when he ran a few voyages through the Grand Line—but even then, he'd never seen a mermaid himself.
"Mermaids? What are those? Can you eat them? Do they taste good?"
Oliver perked up, defaulting to his usual curiosity—is it edible?
Thwack!
"You idiot! Hic~ Mermaids are a race, not food! There are also giants, and the Mink Tribe—beasts that walk like men!"
Aeridar smashed his fist into Oliver's skull, snarling with bared teeth.
"Stop trying to eat everything!"
"BAHAHAHA! Dumbass!"
Arlan slapped the wall as he roared with laughter, chugging a third of his bottle in one go.
"Tch~"
Rubbing his head, Oliver pouted and downed a third of his keg in defiance, shooting Arlan a competitive glare.
"Wait... something feels off."
Aeridar slapped his own forehead, suddenly sober enough to remember.
"I came here to discuss plans, not get hammered!"
"You just realized that, Captain?"
Gorbo's tone was dry, though his eyes were swimming in booze.
"Eh, who cares... hic~"
Oliver scratched his chest lazily.
"Captain, this about the crew divisions?"
Despite his drinking, Arlan's head was still clear.
"I'll just stay the navigator, no problem."
Dimitri tossed his empty bottle and cracked open another, calmly volunteering.
"That's right—but judging by the state of you lot, I already know how this'll go."
Aeridar gave them a helpless look, then pointed to Arlan.
"You—Gilbert Arlan—you're the First Mate of the Chris Pirates. My right hand. You'll also command the Second Division."
"First Mate? Ugh. What a pain..."
Arlan collapsed against the wall, defeated.
Aeridar ignored the dramatics and turned to Oliver.
"Oliver, you're the Head of Combat—and First Division Captain."
"Boring. Urgh... fine."
Oliver wanted no part of it, but one look at Aeridar's deadly glare changed his mind fast.
"And you—Hariel Gorbo—you're our Head Chef, and the Third Division Captain."
Aeridar's tone softened, face no longer scowling.
"Got it!"
Gorbo shrugged—titles didn't mean much. A good drink or meal was way more important.
"And you, Myles Dimitri—you'll be the Navigator, and in charge of the Treasury."
Aeridar gave it some thought, then handed over the finances to the most level-headed one of the bunch.
"No problem."
Dimitri gave a firm nod, more serious than before.
And just like that, amid a haze of drunken banter, the five founding members of the future infamous Chris Pirates were assembled—chaotic, comedic, and completely unintentional.
Five days later...
With clear roles and responsibilities, the Chris Pirates were finally functioning like a real crew.
"Hey, Dimitri, how long until we see land? Been three days since the last island."
Aeridar sipped fruit juice, utterly bored as he watched Dimitri at the helm.
"We should already be in the waters near Mohali Island. You'll see land soon."
Dimitri scanned the sea and double-checked the map. Confident.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Suddenly, muffled explosions echoed from the distance—smoke rising into the sky.
"Hmm… who's firing cannons?"
Aeridar instantly perked up, eyes scanning the horizon.
Ten days at sea, and aside from merchant ships, they hadn't run into anything—not even a stray Marine vessel. He was itching for action.
"Captain! Starboard side, roughly 2,300 meters out—three ships in combat!"
The spotter in the crow's nest called out, hair spiked with colorful dye and eyes glued to the telescope.
"Marines or pirates?" Aeridar shouted back.
"Can't see the flags clearly—they're turned away from us. But at least two of them look like Marine ships!"
"HAH! That means the Navy's fighting pirates!"
Aeridar slammed the railing with a grin, barking orders:
"Bring us in closer! Time for the Chris Pirates to make our debut!"
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