Chapter 22 – Night of Judgment (1511)

Night fell without a sound over Mad Hat Island, enveloping the city in a darkness denser than usual. There was no wind. There was no sound. Only the scent of char and blood hung in the air like a curse-laden mist refusing to dissipate. The city had been amputated— not saved.

In the heart of the city, once alive with the bustle of illicit trade and the sinister laughter of criminals, only ruins remained. Blackened walls still smoldered. Streets were slick with coagulated blood. Corpses—children, women, men—lay piled like refuse discarded by war. Some bodies still steamed, their flesh bursting like overripe fruit set alight. Not all had died swiftly. Some had been strangled, stabbed, or burned alive when the bloodthirsty pirates raided the auction house, realizing their own end was imminent. They did not want to leave witnesses.

And they nearly succeeded.

Rear Admiral Gion stood at the center of the square, frozen in horror. His boots sank into the mud and gore beneath him. His eyes scanned the remains of the slave auction hall—now laid bare like a rotten belly turned inside out by the rescuers. Inside, shattered chains hung like nooses. The walls were clawed with tiny gouges, proof of the voiceless struggling in vain.

From the makeshift medical tent, muffled groans could be heard. But the majority of the two hundred slaves discovered here breathed their last long before rescue arrived. Too late. Always too late.

Regan stepped forward, dried blood crusting his temple. He handed Gion a visual report: images of children with torn abdomens, decapitated heads, some crushed under ruins while clutching younger siblings. One photograph showed a little girl, her body marked with whip scars, hanging beneath a sign that read "Defective Goods – Not for Sale."

Gion caught his breath. His hands trembled. Yet no tears fell. He had forfeited the right to weep since the first war. Now only coldness and regret gnawed at his soul.

"We were too late..." he whispered. His voice cracked like shattered glass.

Regan bowed his head. "We found no trace of Black Death. No signs of resistance. Only... bodies."

Gion clenched his fist. "He was here. I know he was. And he witnessed this."

---

[Emergency Headquarters – City Center]

Inside the command tent, lantern light danced on the canvas walls. Documents lay strewn across a wooden table: death lists, names of freed slaves, interrogation records. Dominating the clutter was a single photograph: a young boy's emaciated body, ribs protruding, eyes empty and upturned as if waiting for aid that never arrived.

"Is this... what you call 'civilization'?" Gion hissed. "They died waiting for us."

"The central command's orders were delayed... we moved as fast as we could," Regan replied softly, shame in his tone.

"Fast?" Gion's gaze pierced him like a blade. "We arrived only after everything precious was destroyed. What use is the banner of justice if it cannot protect the voiceless?"

No one answered. Only the distant howls of feral dogs, scavenging among the remains, broke the silence.

---

[Escape Ship – Open Sea]

Rick Blacknose stared at the island shrinking in the mist. The sea was a black mirror reflecting the sins of the night.

Marlo rewrapped a bandage around his arm. Sexton reassembled his rifle, calm as if he had just hunted deer instead of men.

"We finished it all," Rick murmured, his voice heavy and flat. "Children. Auction. Headquarters. Fire. Death. Now only fog and whispers remain."

Marlo shrugged. "All the kids are dead. No one remembers our faces. No witnesses."

"But we remember them," Rick replied coldly. "And because of that, we will survive."

He pulled a dossier from his coat pocket—intel on revolutionaries in West Blue, target lists, naval coordinates. All salvaged from Mad Hat's underbelly.

"We don't kill for pleasure," he continued. "We kill because the system will never change... unless someone spills blood first."

Sexton chuckled. "Gion will hunt us down until we're dead."

Rick turned to him, eyes hollow. "Let him come. The most dangerous hunter is one wounded by regret."

---

[Old Market – Purification Fire]

Pirate corpses were stacked and set ablaze. The smell of burning flesh mingled with the crackling of bones snapping. Marines stood rigid, guarding the fire—not for warmth, but to ensure the fallen could never rise again.

Elyndra watched the flames in silence. In her right hand, she clutched a tattered doll—her sole remaining possession. Her eyes were dry, but a storm raged within.

Gion approached her. "You don't have to watch this."

"But I must," Elyndra replied softly. "So I never forget... that justice arrived too late."

Gion studied the child long and hard. No pity remained in his heart. Only understanding. Before him stood not a little girl but a spark that would one day burn fiercer than he could control.

"If you wish to endure, grow like fire. Small, but painfully relentless," he said, then walked away.

---

[End of the Night – Open Ocean]

Rick lit a cigar, gazing at the island's silhouette from afar. The mist swallowed the city, but the glow of the funeral pyre still pierced the night—like a candle in a grave.

"Look," he whispered, "Mad Hat Island. No longer a den of sin. Now a mausoleum for the victims of justice that came too late."

He exhaled smoke into the night sky.

"Farewell, Mad Hat. You've done your job. Now... it's time to ignite a wider world."