"Hahaha… now that's interesting. Hey, how about joining my crew?" Aeridar's eyes gleamed as he chuckled lightly. He didn't answer the question—instead, he flipped it, making an offer of his own. This guy would make a decent strategist, he thought to himself.
"Hey, hey! I'm still standing right here!"
Hearing Aeridar so blatantly try to poach his man, Enrod's face darkened even more.
"Haha… Aeridar-sama, is it really wise to say that in front of my captain?"
Galan's jet-black face broke into a grin, and he let out a hearty laugh before getting straight to the point. "So, Aeridar-sama—what do you think of my proposal?"
"You weaklings… fine, I'll let you go since you've managed to amuse me." Aeridar waved them off, utterly unconcerned. "Once you set foot on the Grand Line, you'll realize how laughable your words sound today."
"Aeridar-sama… is there something wrong with my proposal?" Galan frowned in confusion. He genuinely didn't understand what was wrong with what he'd offered.
"Well then," Aeridar said with a sigh, "since you're asking—fine, I'll tell you. When you make it safely to the Sabaody Archipelago and you're still worthy of being called Supernova pirates, then—maybe—you'll qualify to talk alliances with me."
He was already growing bored. The urge to kill them had waned.
"Supernova pirates?" Enrod and Galan echoed, both seeming deep in thought.
"Oh, and Galan—consider this a freebie in your honor." Aeridar squinted at them, something flashing in his mind. With a smile playing at his lips, he added, "The Grand Line is a sea where monsters gather. Three powers dominate it: the Marines, the Seven Warlords of the Sea, and the Four Emperors. There are plenty of monsters out there with terrifying strength. Frankly, you're too weak. And remember this—unless you've got Seastone and Haki, the moment you meet a Logia-type Devil Fruit user, the only thing you should do… is run. Run as far and fast as you can."
"The Marines I know, but… the Seven Warlords? The Four Emperors?" Enrod was baffled.
"Seastone? Haki? Logia Devil Fruit users?" Galan's brow furrowed into a tight crease. He suddenly realized how little he actually knew about the Grand Line. "Why do we have to run if we don't have Seastone or Haki?"
"Because you can't hit them," Aeridar said flatly, shooting him a glance.
"Can't hit them…?" Galan muttered, not quite getting it—but Aeridar cut him off before he could press the point.
"That's enough. Get out of my sight before I change my mind."
"You—!"
Enrod was seething, hand raised and about to shout something, but Galan stepped in and stopped him.
"Captain. Let's go."
Enrod glanced at his first mate. His anger cooled in an instant. He understood clearly—he had no real chance against Aeridar. The moment that sank in, Enrod spun around and walked off without hesitation.
"Thank you, Aeridar-sama. We'll meet again in the Grand Line." Galan gave him a regretful look and a slight bow, then quickly followed after Enrod with the rest of their crew.
"Let's hope you live long enough to see that day," Aeridar muttered, rolling his eyes. He didn't take the farewell seriously.
Too many people wanted to be pirates in this world. People died every day. Getting captured and thrown into Impel Down could almost be considered lucky. Just surviving was already an achievement—fame was even rarer.
Seeing his protector walk away, Big Cat Sams panicked. He turned and tried to follow after Enrod, hoping to slip away with him. His crew behind him were equally terrified. When they saw their boss trying to bolt, they scrambled to follow.
"Oi, oi! Big Cat—who said you could leave?"
Aeridar's voice rang out. His tone soured at the sight of Sams trying to sneak off.
He raised a finger.
Impact Gun!!!
Pop!
A sharp, subtle crack rang through the air. A ripple shimmered, barely visible.
"Aaaagh!"
A scream erupted from one of Big Cat Sams's men. It was like he'd been shot—he collapsed instantly, a gaping, fist-sized hole blown through his back, gory and terrifying.
Aeridar hadn't drawn a gun. There was no gunshot, no smell of gunpowder. Yet it was like the man had been sniped clean through—not by a handgun, but something with the punch of a high-caliber rifle.
More than anything, it resembled a martial artist's secret finger strike from a wuxia novel.
"A-Aeridar-sama! I-I'm sorry! Please! Spare me—I was forced into this!"
The sudden death triggered a memory buried in Sams' mind—one from a year and a half ago. Terror slammed into him. He fell to his knees, frantically kowtowing toward Aeridar.
And like dominoes toppling, the rest of Sams's men collapsed to the ground as well. The air filled with desperate, pleading voices and the sound of foreheads hitting pavement.
"Aeridar-sama, we were forced into this!"
"Please, treat us like farts and let us go!"
"We had no choice! Spare us!"
"I swear I won't ever do it again—please!"
"Mercy, mercy! Please let us go!"
...
"Hehehe…"
Aeridar grinned as he looked over the crumpled thugs. No matter how many times he saw scenes like this, it always gave him a thrill. It was a twisted kind of satisfaction—one that made him feel good. Really good.
"Shut it. Trash."
Then his smile vanished. His eyes went cold.
He flicked his fingers—four times.
Impact Gun!!!
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
"N—!"
Sams barely had time to register the motion. His scream was cut short.
His burly body convulsed as if struck by a warhammer. He collapsed backward with a crash, dust billowing up around him. A gaping hole, as wide as a bowl, was torn through his chest where his heart used to be.
Almost simultaneously, three of the loudest lackeys dropped dead as well—blood blooming from wounds in their heads or hearts.
Click click~
Click click…
The remaining thugs froze. The only sounds now were their rattling teeth. No one dared speak. They clung to the ground, paralyzed in terror.
Aeridar shot them a look of pure disdain, then turned away. He left behind only a single, chilling order.
"Break a leg. Each."
"Yes, boss!"
His crew responded at once, bowing respectfully as they watched him leave.
Then they turned toward the trembling thugs, malicious smiles twisting their faces—eyes glittering with bloodlust.
"Hehehehehe…"
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