Chapter 49: Encounter with an "Ally" on the Road

Not long ago, in the waters near Cocoa West Village.

Nami stood at the bow of the warship, gazing into the distance at the as-yet empty horizon. The sea breeze from her hometown brushed gently against her face, teasing the hair she had so carefully arranged and lending it a slightly tousled texture. Yet Nami paid no mind to her appearance, her thoughts consumed by the complex emotions stirring within her as her homeland drew ever nearer.

“How much farther?” Smoker walked up to Nami’s side and asked once more, “How long until we arrive?” Nami tuned into the subtle movements of the air around her, listening to the pulse of the sea beneath the hull. With the instinctive precision of a genius navigator, she quickly made her assessment:

“At full speed, we’ll reach the shore within twenty minutes.”

“Good!” Without hesitation, Smoker turned and bellowed to the gathered marines, “All hands, battle stations!”

“Yes, sir!” The sailors responded in unison, their voices thundering across the deck. Swords were drawn, bullets chambered, and dozens of cannons loomed menacingly from the sides of the warship, their muzzles bristling like the fangs of a beast. The great vessel now revealed the sharpness of its true power.

The lookout, too, was at full alert, scanning the path ahead without rest. Smoker hefted his heavy jitte, Sergeant Tashigi silently rested her hand on the hilt of her famed blade Shigure, Wallace was poised with the visual Den Den Mushi, ready to document the news, and even Nami gripped her familiar staff tightly in her hands.

Only Garen stood beside Nami in his immaculate white suit, looking relaxed—it mattered little, after all, as his armor and greatsword could be summoned in an instant.

“Stay sharp, everyone!” Smoker took a deep drag on his cigar, then warned his subordinates with a grave tone: “Our opponents this time aren’t small fry from the East Blue, but fish-men from the Grand Line! Don’t let yourselves get killed!”

Fish-men were innately ten times stronger than humans—a daunting challenge for ordinary soldiers, especially those freshly transferred from the local garrisons of Loguetown. What’s more, Garen had previously described Arlong as a figure who could converse with Warlords and cross blades with Admirals—a truly fearsome character.

“Garen?” After inspecting his men’s preparations, Smoker strode back over, his expression solemn. “Is it true that the Arlong Pirates are connected to the Sun Pirates?”

“They are indeed connected,” Garen replied seriously. “In fact, quite a few among Arlong’s crew were once mere grunts aboard the Sun Pirates.”

Smoker’s face grew even more grave. He knew well the caliber of the Sun Pirates in their prime.

“Don’t worry too much!” Garen smirked with disdain. “Compared to his old captain, the fish-man hero Fisher Tiger, Arlong is just a worthless small fry.”

“Fish-man hero? Sun Pirates?” Nami listened quietly to the exchange between Garen and Smoker, finally unable to suppress her curiosity. “You mentioned all this before… What’s the real story behind Arlong’s crew?”

“Well…” Garen glanced at Nami, then spoke in a low voice: “The captain of the Sun Pirates, Fisher Tiger, was once Arlong’s leader. But unlike that scum Arlong, Fisher Tiger was a true hero.”

Smoker said nothing; as a Marine, it was not his place to praise such a man—though, in truth, he shared the sentiment.

“A hero?” Nami frowned, her voice skeptical.

To her, fish-men were synonymous with monsters and villains. The word “hero,” paired with them, grated on her ears.

“That’s right.” Garen explained earnestly, “He once rose against the World Nobles, freeing hundreds—if not thousands—of enslaved fish-men and humans from their cages.”

“Fish-men, slaves?” Nami’s voice brimmed with incredulity. “Don’t they claim to be a superior race?”

“Heh!” Smoker snorted dismissively and added, “In the Grand Line, fish-men are far from ‘superior.’ Quite the opposite—they’re a people scorned by most humans.”

Garen picked up the thread: “Fish-men aren’t even allowed to set foot on land, and they’re prized prey for slave traders.” He paused, searching for the right words. “The situation of fish-men in the Grand Line is hardly better than that of the villagers in your homeland under Arlong’s oppression.”

“And most of the Sun Pirates’ crew were once slaves brutalized by the World Nobles.”

“Wha…what?” Nami murmured in disbelief, a flicker of confusion appearing in her eyes.

“Hey, now!” Sensing the shift, Garen quickly added, “Don’t tell me you’re starting to sympathize with those thugs?”

Nami didn’t answer, but her stiff expression betrayed her thoughts.

“Listen closely,” Garen said gravely. “No matter how tragic their pasts, it gives them no right to inflict tragedy on others!” His tone grew more scornful. “Someone like Fisher Tiger, who dared raise his blade against the strong, is worthy of respect. But Arlong, who vents his pain on the powerless—he’s nothing but a bottom-feeder.”

“Right…” Nami clenched her fists tight. Memories of years of pain and darkness flashed through her mind, and at last, the determination in her eyes solidified once more.

“By the way…” Smoker mused aloud, “If Arlong’s crew are fish-men from the Grand Line, and so closely linked to the Sun Pirates, how have they managed to hide out in the East Blue for so many years without being noticed by the Marines?”

The standards of East Blue’s navy were as poor as those of its pirates—small matters were ignored, and major ones were avoided—but there were certain red lines they dared not cross. Some matters, especially those involving the World Government’s allied nobles, its finances, or the stability of its rule, could not be left unattended. For such matters, even the local navy would face severe punishment if they failed to act.

The Sun Pirates were a thorn in the World Government’s side, and fish-men from the Grand Line were prime targets for the human kingdoms’ hostility. It was hard to imagine how Arlong’s gang, flaunting such a reputation, could live as petty tyrants in the East Blue.

“Well…” Garen thought for a moment. “I did come across something while gathering intelligence.”

“What did you find?” Smoker asked curiously.

“Remember Major Hammer?” Garen said meaningfully. “Arlong has a similar figure above him—someone who’s been pocketing his dirty money and serving as his protector.”

“Goes by the name… Colonel Mouse, I believe.”

“What?!” Smoker’s eyes narrowed sharply, his anger barely restrained. “There’s such a scoundrel in the East Blue navy?!”

After the events at Loguetown, Smoker’s hatred for corrupt Marines had surpassed even his loathing for the worst pirates.

“Heh…” Nami interjected sarcastically. “That word ‘actually’ isn’t quite right. This is business as usual in the East Blue!”

A thin veil of smoke drifted up as Smoker’s expression darkened, his mood becoming as heavy as a storm cloud. His anger fermented in silence.

He was about to speak, teeth clenched, when the lookout shouted from above: “Report! Colonel Smoker! Ship sighted ahead!”

The lookout paused, then added loudly, “It’s a navy vessel!”

“What? Another warship?” Smoker’s expression faltered, and he muttered, “What would another navy ship be doing here? Could it be…?” Remembering Garen’s earlier words, his face turned grim.

He ordered coolly, “Signal them—identify ourselves! Have that ship come alongside!”

“Yes, sir!” The nearby sailors saluted and hurried off to signal the distant vessel.

Within the navy, a system of flags allowed for communication between allied warships. Each East Blue division had its own identifying marks, and all were aware that Loguetown’s base was the highest-ranking navy in the region, directly under Marine Headquarters—a special envoy, in effect. In the eyes of these lesser divisions, Smoker’s unit was the absolute authority.

Sure enough, once the higher command’s insignia was raised, the distant warship hesitated for a time, but eventually complied and sailed over as ordered.

Once the ships drew alongside and came to a halt, the sailors on the other vessel snapped to attention and saluted Smoker. He stood silently on deck, fixing a cold gaze on the commanding officer opposite—a man whose very appearance exuded slyness and sleaze.

With a comical mouse-eared cap, a scrawny, monkey-like build, two crooked tufts of mustache, and shifty eyes that couldn’t meet Smoker’s glare, the man’s brow was furrowed in anxious obsequiousness, a nervous sweat glistening on his forehead.

The term “rat-faced” described him perfectly.

“Marine Headquarters Colonel, Smoker,” Smoker said coolly, his sharp gaze pinning the man in place. “Which division are you from?”

“E-E-East Blue Sixteenth Division… Colonel,” the sleazy officer stammered, saluting in terror and announcing his name—one that matched his appearance all too well: “Mouse.”

“Oh? You’re Colonel Mouse?” Smoker’s eyes glinted with menace. “What a pleasure to meet you.”