The fire at Viremont hadn't died — it had simply gone to sea.
Even as the Emberfang vanished into the morning mist, word spread like a fever. Not through newspapers or Marines, but through whispers. Drunken tavern rumors. Shadows passed between ships. Eyes widened. Voices trembled.
"Viremont fell."
"He freed them all. Every single one."
"No survivors... not from the guards."
The world didn't know his name yet. But it would.
The Grand Line – Off the Coast of Krakalon
A man dressed in white fur leaned against a mast, surrounded by a crew of grim-looking pirates. His name was Baron Koil, a rising warlord who had once eaten the Fur-Fur Fruit, granting him control over animal instincts and heightened senses. He had just received word from a battered messenger bird.
He sniffed the parchment.
"Burned paper. Cursed ink. Shadow residue."
His eyes narrowed. He turned to his first mate, a spider-like woman named Murliss.
"He's not just making a name. He's sending a signal."
Murliss twirled a dagger on one of her eight fingers. "Then should we be worried?"
Koil cracked his neck, then grinned.
"We should be entertained."
The Blue Mountains of Cravessia
High in a fortress carved into black rock, Vice-Admiral Taland Vega crushed a teacup in his hand as he read the report. A man of order and sharp edges, Vega had climbed through the ranks by executing disorder wherever it bloomed.
"How does a child, a child, break Viremont?" he growled.
His assistant stammered. "Raizen D. Crow... that's the name echoing from the survivors' mouths. None of them saw his face, only... shadows."
Vega walked to the window and stared at the distant sea.
"So we have another D. Let the world romanticize him. I will be the one who buries him."
Back on the Emberfang
Below deck, Calder Vale patched up his sniper rifle while humming an old war hymn. Lasska polished her claws in silence. Zhara paced, still stiff from the battle.
Raizen sat in the strategy room, candlelight flickering against a map that spanned the table.
Each pinned marker told a story: abandoned Marine outposts, corrupt noble ships, mercenary fleets. He didn't just want chaos — he wanted control through fear.
"Who's our next target?" Zhara finally asked.
Raizen didn't answer right away. He stared at a location circled in red — Kronvale, a merchant republic known for trafficking Devil Fruits to the highest bidder.
He tapped the circle once.
"Let's see how strong a nation built on greed really is."
Meanwhile… Aboard the Iron Song
Far north, the pirate ship Iron Song rocked gently on still waters. At the helm stood Captain Varn Skoll, a philosopher-pirate who believed in balance above all else. His sword had never tasted mercy — but his mind was sharp as glass.
His navigator held out a bounty poster — Raizen's face sketched poorly, but his eyes unmistakably cruel.
Skoll read it silently.
Then laughed.
"Finally… a pirate worth hunting."
Whisper Markets – Deep Below Salverine City
In the underworld bazaar hidden beneath the elegant city of Salverine, a masked broker called Whisper One sold secrets in exchange for time. Clients arrived in silence, left in fear.
A woman wrapped in crimson approached the booth. "I want to know about the boy who burned Viremont."
Whisper One didn't flinch. He retrieved a vial of ink. Dipped his finger. Wrote a single word on the table:
"Nightborne."
She blinked. "A title?"
"No," Whisper One said softly. "A prophecy."
End of Chapter 10: Embers Across the Sea