Chapter 143: A Bloody Tragedy Caused by a Single Horse

Meanwhile, in another stretch of sea near Alabasta.

Cavendish, once the captain of the Beautiful Pirates and now a stray dog, was sailing a small boat alone on the ocean.

Unlike the genius handsome man pursued by countless women in the past, Cavendish's exquisite clothes had long since been torn into rags amidst endless battles. Dried blood and sweat clung to his body, emitting a repelling stench.

Had he still been the previous White Horse Cavendish, he would never have tolerated falling into such a dilapidated and ungraceful state.

Yet now, he was merely a failure who had lost everything on the Grand Line, unable even to protect his dearest friend in life. How could he still have the mood to care about his appearance as he used to?

"Gecko Moria..."

In the eyes of the blond youth, whose wounds had not yet healed, a sense of helplessness welled up. His blood-stained, handsome cheeks looked somewhat delicate at this moment.

However, very soon, Cavendish gripped the famous sword Durandal in his hand. The pride unique to a genius and the grief and indignation of losing his lifelong friend ignited the flames of anger in his eyes once more:

"I will definitely defeat him!"

Cavendish's pirate journey had only just begun. Most of his subordinates were sailors hired with wages to help him sail, not true comrades.

Those emotionless employees could be abandoned without issue; Cavendish could accept such a loss.

What truly pierced his heart and proved unacceptable to him was his lifelong friend trapped in Moria's hands: the steed Faruru.

Since childhood, this fine horse had accompanied the handsome Cavendish through countless glories and honors.

It was from this that Cavendish derived his moniker of the "White Horse."

For the sake of his dear friend Faruru, he could not give up the fight under any circumstances.

Fueled by this conviction, Cavendish had launched challenge after challenge against Gecko Moria over the past half-month, refusing to abandon his pursuit of this Warlord of the Sea despite suffering repeated defeats.

It was the same now.

No sooner had Cavendish's stamina slightly recovered than he eagerly accelerated his speed, pressing on in the direction Moria had vanished.

Employing the common solo sailing technique of swordsmen, he used his personal sword Durandal as an oar, driving the boat across the sea at a startling velocity.

Yet this boat, cutting through the roaring waves, suddenly came to a halt because Cavendish spotted a distressed old man far out on the sea:

This white-bearded and white-haired old man was shirtless, with a waterproof pack and a long sword of indistinct appearance strapped to his back, floating face up on the water as if entirely devoid of strength.

For an old man to be drifting like this on the ocean meant nine times out of ten that he had encountered a shipwreck.

Cavendish stopped his rowing motion, his gaze fixed upon the old man filled with hesitation.

Because of a similar incident, Cavendish had encountered such a situation half a month ago:

Back then, he had rescued a tall, fat man from the sea, only to be reduced to a stray dog by that black-hearted fellow.

And now, he had encountered a sturdy old man in the sea...

Cavendish hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and looked away, intending to sail directly past him.

However, the small boat no longer maintained its previous speed, and Cavendish's paddling movements grew sluggish and hesitant amidst his internal conflict.

"Sigh!"

With a long sigh, Cavendish finally turned the bow of his boat toward the suspected shipwreck victim.

When he finally drew close to the old man, Cavendish was somewhat stunned in astonishment:

The old man seemed completely oblivious to the dangerous predicament of drifting alone on the ocean, sleeping soundly upon the water, with a large air bubble expanding and contracting on the bridge of his nose in rhythm with his breath.

Cavendish stared for a moment, then reached out a hand, intending to pull the distressed old man onto his boat.

Yet before his hand could touch the old man, the sleeping figure on the sea suddenly awoke.

The very instant the old man opened his eyes, the terrifying gaze inadvertently revealed within them sent a chill running straight down Cavendish's spine.

Yet in the blink of an eye, not a shred of imposing aura remained on the old man, as if that glance just now had been merely an illusion.

Although Cavendish appeared to be a dashing knight on the surface, at his core he was a free-spirited pirate, so he never spoke with aristocratic airs:

"Old man, are you alright?"

"Huh?"

The old man floating in the ocean stretched lazily, not a trace of panic visible on his face:

"I'm fine."

"I just swam all the way from Twin Capes, and after swimming for a whole day, I'm a bit tired."

"Eh?"

Cavendish was slightly taken aback, then said with an amused smile:

"Old man, have you soaked your brains out in the water?"

"Twin Capes is the entrance to the Grand Line! Do you have any idea how far away that is?"

"To swim here in just a single day—just how fast would you have to swim? Stop joking around!"

"Hahaha..."

The old man merely let out a hearty laugh and offered no defense.

Yet he truly had swum all the way from Twin Capes, and it had taken him only a single day.

After escorting his old friend Crocus and the missing person Brook safely to Twin Capes, he had wasted no time in swimming straight over.

"Come up!"

Cavendish beckoned to the old man: "It's not far anyway; I'll use the boat to take you to the shore."

"......"

The old man gave Cavendish a playful look, then boarded the small boat with considerable interest.

"Young man..."

Surveying Cavendish's disheveled appearance and the wounds covering his body, the old man asked with mild curiosity: "Your situation seems a bit rough!"

"Hmph!"

Cavendish cast a disdainful glance at the old man and retorted: "You're already drifting out on the ocean, and you still have the mood to care about others?"

"Haha..."

The old man chuckled softly, merely replying: "Didn't you also rush over to care about me?"

"Sigh..."

A dark shadow suddenly veiled Cavendish's profound eyes as he sighed:

"It's precisely because I meddled like that that I ended up in this state."

"Oh?"

A hint of unusual interest flashed in the old man's eyes, and his piercing gaze prompted Cavendish to continue.

That deep gaze seemed to possess a special magic, causing Cavendish, without realizing it, to pour out his experiences of the past half-month in detail:

"And so, this happened, and that happened."

"Gecko Moria?"

The old man was slightly surprised, merely murmuring to himself: "I never expected he would still dare to be this arrogant..."

"He won't be arrogant for much longer... I will definitely defeat him!"

Having finished recounting his experiences, the fires burned fiercely once more in Cavendish's eyes, lending an air of resolute determination even to his pretty-boy face.

"Fine spirit!"

The old man offered a light praise, then casually retrieved a hip flask from his pack, took a small sip of strong liquor, and said:

"However..."

"If you need it, I can help you."

"You?"

Cavendish was slightly startled: "That's a Warlord of the Sea. You're a distressed old man, so don't..."

Before he could finish his sentence, his shocked gaze locked onto the black--bladed sword the old man carried with him.

"Could, could this be the long-lost black blade Shusui?"

Cavendish pointed at the sword and asked in astonishment.

"That's right, this is the black blade Shusui."

The old man casually picked up the renowned Great Grade Sword, smiling lightly as he said:

"However, this is not my personal sword."

"In fact, I came here specifically to deliver it to someone."

"An old friend of mine owes a great debt of gratitude to a swordsman, and this sword is meant as a gift for that swordsman."

"This..."

Cavendish grew even more dumbfounded, unable to speak coherently:

Such a precious black blade like Shusui, and the old man before him spoke of giving it away as casually as that.

Coupled with his earlier "joke" about "swimming all the way from Twin Capes in a day," Cavendish felt his scalp tingle even more intensely.

"You, who are you...?"

Before he knew it, Cavendish had begun addressing the old man before him with honorifics.

"Speaking of which, your encounter with Gecko Moria is probably partly my fault..."

The old man let out a slight sigh, stating a shocking truth in a flat tone:

"I am Silvers Rayleigh. You should have heard my name."

"......"

Cavendish was completely frozen like a wooden statue.

"Senior Dark King!"

After a long period of stupor, Cavendish fell to his knees before Rayleigh with tears in his eyes:

"I beg you, please help me rescue my dear friend!"

His voice was heart-wrenching, as if his intestines were snapping from grief.

Rayleigh deeply admired such exceptional young men who cherished their companions, and readily agreed: "I will do my best."

Having persevered through continuous defeats, Cavendish seemed to have found an outlet for his emotions as he continued to weep while clenching his fists:

"I watched him grow up since he was little; he's just like my own flesh and blood!"

"That child is only ten years old this year, yet he fell into the hands of a scumbag like Gecko Moria..."

"Only ten years old?"

Rayleigh furrowed his brow deeply, his tone instantly carrying a hint of murderous intent:

"Has this Gecko Moria grown so depraved that he wouldn't even spare a child?"

"This..."

Rayleigh's eyes, which had been disguised as those of a kindly old man, finally burst forth with terrifying majesty, so sharp that Cavendish did not dare meet his gaze.

"Rest assured, he is dead for sure this time."