Chapter 37

The midday sun hung high over the Blue Sea, its rays warm on my skin as a salty breeze rustled through my cloak. The scent of the town—grilled meat, sweat, and fresh fish—mixed with the lively sounds of the market. I pulled the cloak tighter around my shoulders, keeping my features hidden. Anonymity was key here in Loguetown, and the plain clothes I wore were perfect for the task. Gone were the days of wearing the Marine uniform with pride. I had shed that life for good. Now, I was a pirate, forging my own path.

But not yet. Not here.

Smoker was in town. He had no reason to recognize me, but if he did, everything would fall apart. I couldn't risk it. I kept my gaze low, my posture unassuming. Blending in with the crowd wasn't hard; it was something I'd learned to do well over the years. The Marine uniform wasn't mine anymore, and neither was the life I'd once known.

I moved quickly, my first stop the shipyards. Loguetown's shipyards were bustling with activity—traders, travelers, and adventurers all preparing for their journeys. But I wasn't looking for anything grand or flashy. What I needed was a sturdy vessel to brave the unpredictable Grand Line.

"Hey! You need a ship, traveler?" The voice of a shipwright cut through my thoughts. A weathered man with a scruffy beard and calloused hands eyed me curiously.

I nodded. "Yeah. Something strong enough to handle the Grand Line."

The shipwright's eyes glinted with the knowledge of what that meant. "The Grand Line's no joke. Unless you've got a noble's purse, all you'll get is a caravel."

I didn't care what it looked like. "Just show me what you've got."

He led me to an old caravel, her hull weathered by years at sea. The single mast rose high above the deck, and the ship was far from pretty, but it had the kind of strength I needed.

"She won't win you any races," the shipwright said with a half-smile, "but she's strong. She won't sink easy."

I studied the ship, my eyes assessing the sturdy construction. It was perfect. "I'll take it," I said, tossing him a pouch of Berries.

The shipwright caught the pouch and gave it a quick shake, nodding. "Deal. She'll be ready by sunset."

With the deal made, I moved on to the market to gather supplies—rope, sails, barrels of fresh water, gunpowder, navigational tools, and provisions for the long journey ahead. The Grand Line wasn't a place to be unprepared, and I wasn't going to take any chances. Dried meat, rice, spices, and cooking utensils went into the haul. Every item served a purpose, and nothing was unnecessary.

It was then that something caught my eye. A sword shop, its windows filled with gleaming blades. As I stood there, staring through the window, I realized that I had never truly owned a sword. I had trained with one during my time in the Marines, but it wasn't something I had ever called my own. It had always been a tool of the job, nothing more. Now, though, as a pirate, I needed something more than just utility. I needed a weapon that was mine.

The young shopkeeper, no older than forty, looked up from his workbench and smiled. "Looking for a sword?"

I nodded. "I need something better than this." I gestured to my empty side. "I've been walking around without a sword for far too long."

He chuckled. "Not many come in here without one. Lucky for you, I've got a few blades that won't break the bank."

He pulled a solid, well-balanced sword from the rack. Polished steel, functional, and nothing fancy. It wasn't the finest blade I'd ever seen, but it was good enough.

"This one will do," I said, running my fingers along the hilt.

The shopkeeper wrapped it carefully and handed it over. I strapped the sword to my side, feeling the unfamiliar weight settle against me. For the first time, I felt like a swordsman. It was an odd sensation—one I wasn't sure I entirely understood, but it was a feeling of completeness, of having something that was truly mine.

With my supplies and sword in hand, I made my way to the ship. It was unassuming, nothing special to look at, but it would carry me where I needed to go.

Once I had cleared the harbor, I went below deck to my cabin. There, neatly folded on the desk, was my old Marine officer uniform. I paused for a moment, my fingers lingering on the fabric. It was a reminder of everything I had left behind. A life that no longer fit me. I'd sworn never to wear it again, but now, circumstances had changed.

"Just this once," I muttered to myself as I pulled it on.

It wasn't for justice. It wasn't for the Marine cause. It was simply for the mission. To do what had to be done.

I stepped onto the deck and raised the Marine flag high on the mast. "Not for justice… just one last time."

As the night settled in, the sea grew quieter, the stars above shimmering like tiny beacons. Then, a sharp tingle in my mind. The signal.

A smile tugged at my lips. "Finally."

I adjusted course, my eyes scanning the water. There, under the moonlight, was the small boat, its figure unmistakable. Ace.

I moved quickly to the cannon, loading it with care. One shot. One chance.

"One shot… and it's over," I murmured to myself.

I fired. The cannon roared, the shot echoing across the sea as the boat splintered into pieces. In the moonlight, I saw him—Ace, swimming desperately for survival, holding onto a fragment of the shattered boat.

I laughed. "Hahaha! Pirate—surrender! You won't escape my pursuit!"

Ace froze, his eyes widening before a grin spread across his face.

"…Lazarus?"

"Oi, idiot! Stop flailing and get up here," I called, tossing him a rope.

Ace, gasping for air, swam toward it. With some effort, he hauled himself aboard, dripping wet and exhausted.

"Man, you saved me. I thought some Marine was after me," he muttered.

I shrugged, grinning. "Yeah, yeah. Not like I'm the only one out here."

Before he could respond, I snapped seastone cuffs onto his wrists.

"The hell—?" Ace gaped.

I smirked. "It's been, what… less than an hour since you became a pirate? And I'm already picking you up."

Ace stared at me for a moment, looking like he might cry. Then, both of us burst into laughter, the sound carrying into the night.

"Damn it, Lazarus," Ace chuckled.