The initial shock of accepting Shanks's offer had quickly given way to a sense of focused determination. Regulus knew this was a strategic alliance, a temporary detour on his path to ultimate power. The four-year limit he had imposed felt like a necessary anchor, a reminder that his own ambitions remained paramount. Yet, as he looked at the faces of the Red-Haired Pirates, their genuine warmth and the easy camaraderie they shared, a flicker of something akin to belonging sparked within him, a feeling he hadn't anticipated.
His first day as an official member of the crew was a whirlwind of introductions and boisterous welcomes. Each pirate had their own unique personality, their own story etched into their faces and reflected in their laughter. There was Lucky Roux, the ever-smiling giant with an insatiable appetite; Yasopp, the sharpshooter with an almost supernatural aim and a quiet, observant demeanor; and Benn Beckman, the first mate, whose sharp wit and insightful observations seemed to miss nothing. They all treated him with a mixture of curiosity and good-natured acceptance, their initial surprise at his strength quickly turning into a grudging respect for his intensity.
True to his word, Regulus was back to training the very next morning. The Red Force had set sail during the night, and the vast expanse of the East Blue stretched out around them. The deck became his new training ground, the rhythmic creaking of the ship's timbers a constant soundtrack to his exercises. He started with his usual physical conditioning, the familiar routine now feeling almost meditative.
Shanks, ever the observant captain, watched him with a keen eye. After Regulus had completed his initial sets, Shanks approached him, a playful grin on his face. "Ready for another round, kid?"
The sparring sessions became a daily ritual. Shanks, while still holding back a significant portion of his power, pushed Regulus harder than anyone ever had. He didn't just defeat him; he dissected his techniques, pointing out flaws and offering insightful advice. "You rely too much on raw power, Regulus," he'd say, effortlessly parrying a furious flurry of blows. "Strength without precision is like a storm without direction."
He taught Regulus about the nuances of Haki, explaining the difference between simply coating his weapon and truly infusing it with his will. He showed him subtle shifts in stance and breathing that could make his attacks more efficient and his defenses more resilient. He even sparred with Regulus using only a wooden sword at times, forcing the younger fighter to rely on technique and speed rather than just the raw cutting power of the "Fang of Fenrir."
Regulus was a voracious student, absorbing every piece of advice like a parched sponge. He would spend hours practicing the techniques Shanks had shown him, his movements becoming gradually smoother, his strikes more focused. He could feel his control over his Devil Fruit improving as well, learning to shift between his human and hybrid forms with greater speed and efficiency, tailoring his transformations to the specific demands of the spar.
The dynamic between Regulus and Shanks was a unique one. There was a clear mentor-student relationship, but also an underlying sense of friendly rivalry. Regulus, despite his constant defeats, never backed down, his unwavering determination earning him the respect of the entire crew. Shanks, in turn, seemed genuinely invested in Regulus's growth, recognizing the immense potential that lay within the young pirate.
He also trained with other members of the crew. Benn Beckman's sparring sessions were less about raw power and more about calculated precision. Beckman's movements were economical and efficient, every strike aimed with deadly accuracy. He taught Regulus the importance of observation and anticipation, how to read an opponent's movements and exploit their weaknesses.
Yasopp, while not a direct melee fighter, offered invaluable lessons in Observation Haki. He would set up elaborate scenarios, testing Regulus's ability to perceive and react to threats from multiple directions. He also gave Regulus tips on using his enhanced senses in his hybrid form to track and anticipate movements.
As the days turned into weeks, Regulus could feel himself growing stronger, faster, and more skilled. His Armament Haki was becoming more potent, his Observation Haki sharper. He was starting to truly understand the nuances of high-level combat, the subtle interplay of physical strength, Devil Fruit abilities, and Haki.
Yet, Shanks's knowing glances and cryptic remarks about Regulus's past continued to intrigue him. One evening, as they sat on deck watching the stars, Shanks leaned back against the railing, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, Regulus," he said, his voice low, "that Fenrir Devil Fruit… it's a powerful one. But it's also… connected to some rather old legends. Legends that aren't often spoken of." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "Legends that might even tie into some of the ancient families of the Holy Land."
Regulus met his gaze, his curiosity piqued. He had always suspected his Figarland lineage held some significance, but Shanks's words seemed to confirm it. "What do you know, Captain?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Shanks simply chuckled, ruffling Regulus's hair. "Patience, kid. Some things are best discovered in their own time. Just remember that you come from a powerful line, Regulus. A line with a… complicated history." He offered no further explanation, leaving Regulus to ponder his cryptic words.
The Red-Haired Pirates quickly grew accustomed to Regulus's relentless training ethic. They would often watch him spar with Shanks or practice his Devil Fruit transformations with a mixture of awe and amusement. They admired his dedication, even if they occasionally teased him about his intensity. He was becoming one of them, forging bonds through shared laughter, hard-fought training sessions, and the unspoken understanding that comes from sailing together on the high seas.
Despite the growing camaraderie, Regulus never lost sight of his ultimate goal. The four-year limit was a constant reminder that his time with the Red-Haired Pirates was a temporary but invaluable chapter in his journey. He would continue to learn, to grow, and to absorb everything he could from these legendary pirates, preparing for the day when he would set sail on his own, ready to carve his own legend into the annals of the Grand Line. The lessons learned under the red sails would undoubtedly shape the warrior he was destined to become.