"Yaaawn... Got it, leave it to me."
With a loud yawn, Syrons lazily rubbed his bleary eyes, muttered a half-hearted response, and casually hung up the call. Muttering under his breath, he added,
"Heh... If he's planning to confiscate Garp's snacks, he better be ready to kiss his own goodbye too."
Hearing this, the middle-aged adjutant standing behind him broke into a cold sweat, but wisely pretended he hadn't heard a thing.
Inside the top-floor office of Marine Headquarters' fortress, Fleet Admiral Sengoku stared, dumbfounded, at the abruptly disconnected Den Den Mushi. Veins bulging on his forehead, he roared,
Still, even though Sengoku was furious at Syrons for hanging up on him, he didn't call back. He understood Syrons' temperament — once that guy accepted a mission, he'd see it through seriously. In that regard, Syrons was a lot more reliable than that other guy, Garp.
Sitting down on the nearby sofa, Vice Admiral Tsuru, Chief of Staff, asked calmly.
Sengoku nodded, massaging his temples to ease his headache, then asked worriedly,
"Tsuru... do you think Syrons can really wipe out the Chris Pirates in Alabasta?"
"Hard to say," Tsuru replied, closing her eyes in thought.
"The Chris Pirates have been laying low for half a year. Who knows how strong they are now? What we do know is that Aeridar of the Golden Ring is about as powerful as a Vice Admiral."
She opened one eye slightly, adding,
"If worst comes to worst, we can have Zephyr intervene. He's currently leading the cadets in field exercises anyway, and the Chris Pirates would make a fine live target."
Vice Admiral Tsuru knew the Chris Pirates were just a fledgling crew. They might be tough enough to give a Vice Admiral's expeditionary fleet a hard time, but facing Zephyr — the former Admiral Black Arm himself — they wouldn't stand a chance.
Former Admiral or not, Zephyr's strength was still monstrous. Deploying him against rookie pirates was like hunting rabbits with a battleship — complete overkill.
"Fine. If Syrons fails, we'll send in Zephyr."
Sengoku nodded, visibly relaxing a little. With Zephyr stepping in, he had nothing to worry about.
Meanwhile, on the deck of a Navy warship, Syrons drained his coffee in one smooth gulp, then waved over his adjutant.
"Adjust course. New target — the Desert Kingdom: Alabasta."
The middle-aged adjutant, cloaked in his coat of Justice, snapped his heels together crisply and bowed before marching off.
Before long, the seven or eight ships in Syrons' fleet adjusted formation and steamed ahead, slicing through the open sea.
That night, deep within one of Little Garden's hidden routes, a massive three-mast wolf-headed battleship rested by the shore. On land, a brightly lit camp bustled with noise and merriment.
"Welcome aboard, brothers! Eat and drink your fill!"
Standing at the heart of the camp, Aeridar raised his mug high and shouted cheerfully. The men around him — both veterans of the Chris Pirates and newly joined crew members — responded enthusiastically, lifting their mugs to join the toast.
Around the lively camp:
— Some competed in drinking contests, the rich scent of liquor heavy in the air. Those who couldn't hold their liquor staggered away after just a few rounds.
— Others wrestled for sport, with bystanders loudly betting and jeering at the losers.
— Still others sang and danced... or at least made a noisy, chaotic attempt at it, more like a band of drunken demons than anything musical.
— Some crews were even competing to see who could eat the most; tables overflowed with towering piles of plates and heaps of beast bones.
"Hahaha! What a lightweight!"
Aeridar roared with laughter, pointing at a collapsed drunkard on the ground. He then threw an arm companionably around the shoulders of a newly recruited crewmate and clinked mugs with him.
Near the center of the camp, Gorbo and Backan were engaged in a wrestling match — though Backan, easily three times stronger, flipped Gorbo effortlessly, earning gales of laughter and mockery from Oliver and Arlan.
Elsewhere, Dimitri was already dead drunk, staggering around before someone hauled him onto a makeshift stage. Slurring terribly, he belted out a mangled version of Binks' Sake, completely off-key.
Still, the crowd of drunken pirates cheered and clapped wildly as if it were the grandest performance they'd ever seen.
As for the sisters, Millie and Mina, they had long since passed out from drinking and retired to their tent.
No one knew how much time had passed or how much had been drunk, but eventually, a bleary-eyed Aeridar found himself being dragged away from the chaos by Oliver.
Oliver, face flushed, clutched a half-empty bottle of rum in one hand and a mug in the other. Slurring heavily, he muttered,
"C-Captain, I... I talked to those two giants today. They... they told me something."
"Spit it out already — and keep your hands to yourself. I'm not into guys."
Aeridar shoved Oliver away disdainfully, speaking just as drunkenly,
"I'm not into guys either!"
Oliver recoiled dramatically, then hiccupped before continuing,
"Those giants said that unless we have an Eternal Pose, a regular Log Pose would take a full year to record Little Garden's magnetic field."
Aeridar's eyes snapped wide open, sobering up a little. If Oliver hadn't mentioned it, he might've completely forgotten about that crucial detail!
Aeridar clutched his aching head, grimacing with his eyes squeezed shut.
"Dimitri's got an Eternal Pose that points straight to Alabasta," Oliver explained, tipping back his drink.
"But if we use it, we'll sail straight to Alabasta and skip all the other islands on the way."
Aeridar massaged his temples, agonizing for a moment before grimacing and making the call,
"Fine! We'll head straight to Alabasta. I wanted to stop at Drum Island to recruit a few top-notch doctors, but guess that's out. Dammit!"
"Quit whining. You're embarrassing yourself," Oliver sneered, shooting Aeridar a side-eye.
"Tch, whatever. Straight to Alabasta it is. I've got a score to settle with that Sand Crocodile."
Aeridar's eyes gleamed dangerously.
"OK, you're the Captain. You call the shots."
Oliver shrugged, tossing away his mug and drinking straight from the bottle now.
As far as he was concerned, as long as there were fights to pick and booze to drink, he didn't care where they went.
Aeridar caught Oliver sneaking glances at him and, smirking mischievously, added in a conspiratorial tone,
"Oh right... Word is, that crocodile's got a swordsman under him. A guy nicknamed 'Swordsman's Bane.' Supposedly never even been cut by another swordsman before."
"Tch. Now that sounds like a challenge."
Oliver instantly perked up, though he kept his usual act of feigned indifference.
His hand, however, had already drifted to the hilt of his sword, fingers restlessly caressing the grip as he took another swig of rum.
Seeing this, Aeridar chuckled to himself in satisfaction.
Thus, a raucous night passed quietly into the coming storm...
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