The Saint Florent was divided into five levels—two upper decks and three lower ones. The lower decks served different purposes: aside from the gunports on the first and second lower decks, the first basement deck housed the crew's quarters, the second was the storage hold, and the third... was a watertight barrier layer—and a prison.
Yes, a prison. A place specifically built to detain captured pirate captains and creatures of other races.
On the third lower deck, the air was thick with the stench of mold, rust, and other noxious smells. The corridors were damp and slick, moisture dripping from the wooden ceiling. Every ten meters, an oil lamp hung, though many of them had long since gone out. In the gloom, dirty puddles on the floor reflected the scant light, and on either side stretched rows of iron-barred cells—around twenty or so in total. Each was numbered, and nearly every one contained a prisoner: ragged, filthy, reeking men slumped inside like forgotten refuse.
"Oi~ This ship's not about to sink, is it? Didn't something just crash down earlier?" croaked a scrawny man from behind the bars of Cell No. 5. Crouching at the doorway, he gripped the iron bars tightly, feeling the tremors shaking the decks above. He tried desperately to peer out but couldn't get his head through the bars.
Across from him, in Cell No. 6, a hulking figure sat cross-legged. His massive frame was shackled with thick chains as wide as a man's arm. Listening intently to the tremors above, he suddenly grinned, excitement flashing in his eyes.
"Heh heh heh... Those Crimson Man-Eating Flower bastards—must be them. Sounds like someone's attacking the ship directly. And judging from the shaking, they're no small fry either."
"Bunch of nonsense," sneered a voice from Cell No. 8. Inside, a shirtless, muscular man leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed and demeanor utterly dismissive.
"Bwahahaha...! Tear those bastards apart!" came a shrill, mocking laugh from Cell No. 11. The voice was laced with such venom that it made even the other inmates shiver. The man inside clutched the bars tightly with both hands, his body riddled with grime and festering wounds. His face was twisted with madness, and below his knee, his right leg was nothing but a bloody stump.
"Oi, oi, you think it's the Marines? Or pirates?" someone from Cell No. 9 asked curiously.
"Might be the Marines," guessed a voice from Cell No. 3. "I heard those bastards chatting once. We're not far from Alabasta. The Navy's got patrol fleets and bases around here."
"Pfft—what a joke, you idiot," someone from Cell No. 4 immediately jeered. "The Marines? Those cowards wouldn't dare attack a ship flying the World Government's flag! Even if they knew this tub belonged to slavers, they wouldn't have the guts!"
"Exactly," a voice from Cell No. 12 agreed grudgingly. "I despise those two scumbags too, but their strength is real. Normal Marines wouldn't stand a chance against them."
"They're all cut from the same rotten cloth!" someone spat venomously from Cell No. 1.
"Rehahahaha...! I hope it's pirates! That way I won't go from one prison straight into another, from slavers to the Marines," someone laughed mockingly from Cell No. 15.
"Gehgehgehgeh... Dream on! We're way too close to the Marine branch and the Alabasta Kingdom for that!" another prisoner in Cell No. 17 sneered loudly.
The third lower deck descended into utter chaos. Prisoners cursed, mocked, and bellowed obscenities that echoed off the damp, grimy walls. Most were pirates, though some were bounty hunters or merchant guards. All of them had once been powerful enough to catch the eye of Elver and Paradi of the Crimson Man-Eating Flower. Some had been pirate captains, some first mates, others independent bounty hunters—and every last one had been strong enough to warrant their capture.
"Cough, cough—shut the hell up, you worthless trash! Do you want to die so badly?!"
A voice, thick with killing intent and fury, rang out from the ship's stern.
"It's him! It's gotta be him!"
"Wait... don't tell me he's the one who fell just now?!"
The din fell silent almost instantly. Everyone started whispering, guessing at the source of that ominous voice.
Tap. Tap, tap... Tap, tap, tap, tap...
The faint sound of dripping water was quickly drowned out by the heavy, deliberate sound of footsteps. A tall figure slowly emerged from the shadows.
"Gulp—am... am I seeing things?"
"Am I... hallucinating?"
"Paradi... looks like that...?"
The entire third lower deck froze. From the darkness came a man so battered he was almost unrecognizable.
He was tall, still wearing a tattered, blood-soaked suit. The "dripping" wasn't water at all—it was blood. His clothing was in ruins, his body covered in wounds, blood streaming freely onto the floor, pooling around his feet as he walked. His face was grotesquely swollen and discolored, teeth missing, and a massive gash ran across his scalp, bleeding profusely. The trail he left behind wasn't just a trail—it was a river of blood.
"Bwahahahaha... Look at you, Paradi! Got the stuffing beat out of you, huh?! Bwahahaha!!"
The madman in Cell No. 11—the one-legged Sriya—rattled his cell bars in glee, laughing so hard he nearly choked.
Still bleeding, Paradi coughed up a mouthful of blood, shooting a venomous glare at him. "Cough—Sriya, you bastard... you want me to put you down right now?!"
"Come on then! Come on! You piece of garbage! You think I'm scared of you? I'd rather die than live —you'll die too, mark my words! You'll die too!!" Sriya howled back without a shred of fear, his mad eyes blazing with hatred.
Sriya—formerly a Navy Captain at a nearby branch—had once been a rising star. But after being denied a major promotion by his superior out of jealousy, he'd been betrayed. That superior had bribed Elver and Paradi to ambush him. During the attack, Sriya's entire warship—over three hundred men—was annihilated, and Sriya himself lost his leg to Paradi's Rankyaku before being thrown into this hellhole.
"Tch... How pathetic, Paradi. Can't even talk properly anymore. Hahaha! Must've run into someone tough, huh? I'm betting pirates," the huge man in Cell No. 6 laughed heartily, sneering at Paradi's miserable state.
"Hmph... Mosa, you failures have no right to speak! And listen well—I will not die here. I refuse!" Paradi hissed, his mangled face contorting with a mix of terror and seething rage.
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