Chapter 2 – Beneath Black Sails
The ship loomed larger with every passing second—its hull cutting through the waves like a blade. It wasn't a Marine vessel, nor a merchant ship. The sails were black, but not emblazoned with the skull and crossbones typical of pirate flags. Instead, a single red wing stretched across the canvas—unfamiliar, ominous, and elegant.
Ashen stood his ground at the cliff's edge, the sea wind snapping through his clothes, hair tousled and eyes narrowed. His makeshift signal mirror glinted in the sun, now shattered from use but enough to do its job.
The ship came closer—within cannon range—and slowed. A small longboat was lowered into the surf, manned by three figures rowing with military precision. They cut through the waves, straight toward the rocky shoreline.
Ashen's fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword.
He wasn't sure who they were. But if they meant to kill him, he'd sell that attempt dearly.
Minutes later, the boat grounded. One figure, tall and sharp-eyed, climbed out. He wore a long crimson coat, but it was his bearing that marked him—like a predator that had never known fear.
He stepped forward with a faint smirk. "You're the one flashing mirrors off the coast like a desperate lighthouse keeper?"
Ashen didn't answer at first. The man's tone wasn't mocking—it was amused. Curious, even.
"I needed to be seen," Ashen replied finally.
"Congratulations," the man said, looking him over. "You've been seen. Name?"
Ashen considered lying. Then shrugged. "Ashen."
"Fitting. I'm Captain Draeven. This is the Crimson Wraith. My crew and I don't make it a habit to rescue strangers, but your signal intrigued me."
Ashen tilted his head. "You planning to kill me or sell me?"
Draeven laughed, genuine and sharp. "No. If I wanted you dead, you'd be feeding crabs. I'm offering passage—on one condition."
Ashen waited.
"You work your keep. Earn your food. No dead weight aboard my ship."
Ashen nodded. "Done."
"Then welcome aboard."
The two other crewmen—silent and observant—gestured for him to follow.
As they rowed back toward the ship, Ashen stared at the Crimson Wraith. It was a sleek brig, painted in shades of obsidian and blood. It looked fast, well-kept, and deadly.
Not pirates. Not Marines. Something else entirely.
And now, it would be his vessel through the Grand Line's treacherous waters.
------------
The moment Ashen stepped aboard the Crimson Wraith, the scent of salt, steel, and lacquered wood hit him like a wave. Unlike the chaotic mess he'd expected, the ship was immaculately maintained—decks scrubbed, ropes coiled perfectly, the crew moving with fluid precision.
This was no pirate scow cobbled together with stolen planks.
It was a warship in everything but name.
"Stay out of the way unless you're ordered," one of the men from the rowboat grunted. He had pale blue eyes and a scar that split his jawline. "Captain'll call for you when he wants something."
Ashen nodded and watched as the two returned to their duties without another word.
The crew numbered perhaps two dozen—some rough around the edges, but all carried themselves like professionals. A few glanced at him with vague curiosity. No mockery. No overt threats. Just mild interest… and maybe quiet judgment.
Ashen liked that. It meant he wasn't being underestimated.
He found an empty spot near the railing and leaned against it. His body was still tired, but adrenaline kept him sharp. The wind tugged at his clothes and hair, while the ocean stretched infinitely in every direction.
His mind wandered to the system.
[Total Berry: 31,200]
[Required for Next Level: 100,000 Berry]
[Current Level: Novice | 31.2% to Amateur]
Still far off, but not impossible.
The scavenged marine supplies had earned him more than expected. It wasn't just treasure—the system recognized value in tools, documents, even structure fragments. Maybe strength wasn't just earned in combat, but also in knowing what to gather and when.
He thought about the bandits he'd killed. The way their corpses had vanished into light, the Berry earned by their strength—not their identity.
Power had a price. And he was slowly learning its currency.
Just then, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You're not seasick already, are you?"
Ashen turned. A girl leaned against a crate nearby, arms crossed. She was around his age—perhaps younger. Short-cropped black hair, sea-worn clothes, and an ever-present knife at her hip.
"I'm fine," Ashen replied simply.
"Hmm. Thought so. You're not like the usual strays we pick up."
Ashen raised an eyebrow. "You pick up strays often?"
"Sometimes. Not often. Most don't last past the first week. But you…" She stepped closer, eyes sharp. "You don't flinch. You don't ask questions. You look like someone who's already bled enough to stop caring."
Ashen didn't respond. She wasn't wrong.
She offered a hand. "I'm Lira. Quartermaster's assistant."
"Ashen."
She nodded, then leaned back again. "You're gonna want to impress the Captain soon. He doesn't keep people who can't pull their weight."
"What kind of crew is this?" Ashen asked, watching the disciplined crew again.
She gave him a sly smile. "We're hunters."
"Hunting what?"
"Bounties. Secrets. Fallen weapons. You name it."
Ashen's pulse quickened. A bounty crew—that meant danger, high-value targets, and opportunities.
Opportunities for Berry. For power.
And for something else too: direction.
For once, fate might've delivered him to the right place.
-------------
The stench of iron clung to the air as Ashen crouched beside the fresh corpse of the pirate he'd cut down. Blood soaked into the cracked wood beneath them, still warm, still steaming faintly in the morning chill.
A faint ding sounded in his head.
[You have slain a combatant – Estimated Power: Low-tier Novice]
[+3,200 Berry Acquired]
[Auto-absorption: 3,200 Berry converted]
He didn't have time to marvel. Another scream rang out over the deck of the Crimson Wraith. The pirates were being pushed back by the crew, but the battle was far from over.
Ashen's breathing was fast but steady, chest rising with practiced control. His body ached from the earlier exchange, but not enough to stop him. Not now.
He stood up slowly, sword dripping, eyes scanning for the next threat.
A big man with knotted muscles and a spiked club had just thrown two of the crew overboard. The pirate's face twisted into a snarl as he spotted Ashen alone at the edge of the skirmish.
"Fresh meat!"
Ashen adjusted his stance instinctively—his feet light, sword angled low, weight centered. He wasn't faster than everyone. But he could be just fast enough.
The pirate charged.
Ashen sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the downward swing of the club, and twisted his torso mid-motion. He let his blade snap upward in a clean, controlled arc—aiming not for a flashy strike, but for the tendons just behind the pirate's knee.
The man screamed and crumpled, and Ashen didn't hesitate. He reversed his grip and drove the blade into the base of the pirate's skull.
He didn't feel sick. Not this time. Just focused.
[You have slain a combatant – Estimated Power: Mid-tier Novice]
[+6,400 Berry Acquired]
[Auto-absorption: 6,400 Berry converted]
That was two.
The numbers ticked up with quiet, impersonal precision. There was no praise, no fanfare. Just the hum of power quietly reinforcing his body.
And he could feel it. Not drastically—but enough.
His swings were cleaner. Recovery quicker. He hadn't felt the tremor in his wrist when parrying that last strike. And the feedback from the impact didn't jar his arm like it used to.
[Stats Updated]
[Strength: 4.1 → 4.2]
[Durability: 4.4 → 4.5]
[Agility: 4.0 → 4.1]
He grit his teeth against the small surge of triumph.
Keep your head. Keep moving.
"ASHEN! On your left!"
One of the deckhands—Rolo—shouted just in time for Ashen to duck. A throwing knife zipped over his head, missing by a hair. He rolled across the deck, sprang to his feet, and saw a wiry man with twin daggers vaulting toward him from the mast rigging.
Ashen raised his sword in time to catch the clash, but the impact pushed him back.
This one was different.
Faster. Calmer. Less rage, more intent. A proper killer.
Their blades met again and again in rapid flashes of steel. Ashen grunted as a dagger grazed his ribs, but he didn't falter. He used the pain—took the angle—and stepped in instead of away.
His shoulder slammed into the man's chest.
The pirate stumbled. Ashen swept low, spinning, and slashed across the man's thigh. He howled, but before he could retaliate, Ashen surged up, grabbed his collar with his free hand, and rammed his forehead into the man's nose.
A crack.
Blood.
A moment's daze.
That was all he needed.
Ashen's blade found the man's throat in a clean, decisive motion.
[You have slain a combatant – Estimated Power: High-tier Novice]
[+12,000 Berry Acquired]
[Auto-absorption: 12,000 Berry converted]
[Endurance: 4.8 → 4.9]
Ashen stumbled back, chest heaving. His ribs burned. His sword arm throbbed. Sweat soaked his tunic and blood clung to his skin like war paint.
He'd killed three men in less than ten minutes.
Three killers.
Not animals. Not monsters.
Men.
He shook the thought away. Survive first. Break later.
Shouts rang from the bow. The enemy was retreating. Crimson Wraith's crew had rallied. The remaining pirates were either dead or diving into the sea like rats abandoning fire.
Ashen turned slowly, sword still raised, ready for one last fight.
But no one came.
The battle was over.
He lowered his blade.
---
Ten minutes later, Ashen sat alone beside the mast, back pressed against the wood, blood on his hands and a blank stare in his eyes.
The ship creaked. Wind stirred the tattered sails. The smell of salt, blood, and smoke filled his lungs.
He'd survived.
More than that—he'd grown.
He brought up the screen.
———————————————————
Status Window – Ashen Veyr
[Level: Novice]
[Total Berry: 108,650 / 10,000 (Tier Complete)]
[Tier: Amateur – 108,650 / 100,000]
Attributes:
Strength: 4.2
Endurance: 4.9
Durability: 4.5
Agility: 4.1
Skills:
Swordsmanship (Basic – Proficient)
[Haki: Kenbunshoku – Locked]
[Haki: Busoshoku – Locked]
[Haki: Haoshoku – Locked]
[Rokushiki – None acquired]
Passive Abilities:
Material Conversion (Auto)
Combat Intuition (Developing)
Notes: Skill unlocks are based on physical and experiential thresholds. No notifications for unavailable abilities.
He stared at the words. The numbers. The quiet evidence of change.
This wasn't a dream.
This was his life now.
And for the first time since waking up in this broken body, he didn't feel afraid.
Just... determined.
The deck of the Crimson Wraith had become a field of the dead.
Bodies—some still twitching, others frozen in grim silence—littered the blood-soaked wood. Crewmen moved about with grim purpose, tossing enemy corpses overboard, checking their own for wounds, and tending to the injured. The stench of death mingled with the salt of the sea and the sharp tang of gunpowder.
Ashen stood once more, his body aching as bruises bloomed under his skin and the gash on his side throbbed with each breath. He didn't wince. He'd lived through worse—just never in such close proximity to death dealt by his own hands.
"Ashen."
The voice was deep, gruff, and familiar. He turned to find Captain Vorn approaching, bloodied but still standing tall. The broad-shouldered man had a cut running across his cheek and a torn sleeve, but his eyes were clear—piercing.
"You saved my ship," Vorn said bluntly. "Twice now."
Ashen didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. In his old world, praise had often come with strings attached—or knives in the back.
Vorn stopped before him, then extended a gloved hand.
"Not many have the spine to face down killers and hold their ground. Fewer still do it without flinching."
Ashen looked at the offered hand. He hesitated, then shook it. The captain's grip was firm.
"You've earned a place aboard this ship," Vorn said, voice quieter now. "You're not just some stowaway anymore."
Ashen gave a nod. That much, at least, was true. He'd bled for this ship. Killed for it.
"I want to ask you something," the captain said, lowering his voice further. "That technique—your movement, precision... You weren't just swinging blind. Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Ashen didn't lie. But he didn't tell the whole truth either.
"I remember... fragments," he said. "From before I woke up. I don't know who I was—but the body remembers."
Vorn narrowed his eyes. "You're saying you were a fighter? Before?"
Ashen shrugged slightly. "It's possible. I don't know. But I don't hesitate."
That part was true. His instincts had proven that.
Vorn watched him for a long moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Fair enough."
He turned and started to walk away, but stopped mid-step. "Rest up. We've got wounded and a ship to clean. I'll send for you later."
Ashen nodded and leaned back against the mast as the captain departed. He finally let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
He'd gained something valuable—not just strength, but trust.
That could go a long way.
---
By midday, the sky had begun to clear. The stormclouds that had once loomed over them were long gone, leaving golden rays streaking across the ocean like blessings from gods who weren't watching.
Ashen sat alone near the ship's rear deck, having cleaned most of the blood off his clothes. His side was bandaged tightly under the tunic. He'd refused medical treatment, choosing instead to do it himself—he didn't want anyone discovering how fast the wound was closing.
The system hadn't given him healing magic or regeneration, but the increase in durability and endurance worked wonders. His body was becoming something... else. Something stronger.
More capable of surviving.
He called up his system screen once more, letting it hover faintly in his vision.
[Amateur Tier – 120,050 / 100,000 Berry]
[Next Tier: Expert – 1,000,000 Berry required]
It was humbling.
From 10,000 to 100,000 had been a rapid climb thanks to combat and looting—but a million? That was a different beast entirely.
The thought didn't frighten him. Not anymore.
He'd grown stronger in hours than he had in years in his past life.
But he needed more.
More fights. More knowledge. More enemies.
That meant staying on this ship—for now.
---
Later that evening, Ashen stood near the front of the ship as the crew gathered. They were solemn now—dozens missing from their ranks, yet more were tending to wounds below deck.
Vorn stood before them on the raised quarterdeck, flanked by his officers. He raised a hand.
"We survived because we fought like hell," the captain said, voice carrying over the deck. "And because someone none of us expected stepped up when it mattered."
The crew turned to glance at Ashen.
Some with curiosity. Others with a wary respect.
"Ashen Veyr," Vorn said, looking directly at him. "You've earned your place among us. And more than that—you've earned your own cut."
There was a beat of silence.
The crew broke into murmurs, then scattered applause.
It wasn't much—but it was enough.
Ashen nodded once, not smiling. Not bowing. Just acknowledging.
This was just the start.
---
Back below deck, Ashen lay in the dim light of the cargo hold again, his coat folded into a makeshift pillow beneath his head. His sword rested beside him, clean and sharp.
He stared at the wooden ceiling above.
His thoughts drifted—between the weight of the sword in his hand, the way the system ticked away in silence, and the lingering memory of that dead man's eyes.
They weren't nightmares. Not yet.
But they were waiting.
And he'd be ready for them.
He clenched his fist.
He didn't know what the Grand Line would throw at him next, but he knew this:
He would never be weak again.
Not for them. Not for anyone.
Not even for himself.
-----------------------------
The next morning arrived with a strange stillness.
No cries of gulls. No waves slapping against the hull. Just silence.
Ashen awoke to the dull creak of the ship, muscles sore but not stiff. He sat up, the low throb in his ribs reminding him of the fight—and the price he'd paid. Yet even now, the system had absorbed that pain into something constructive. His body, having slept deeply, felt denser… more solid.
He opened his status panel, the translucent interface humming lightly in the air:
[Strength: 4.4]
[Endurance: 5.0]
[Durability: 4.6]
[Agility: 4.3]
Incremental—but steady.
He no longer questioned the system. It was a tool. It didn't speak or explain; it simply adapted to what he gave it. Effort was rewarded with power. Risk with return.
And death… with opportunity.
Berry gained from the battle, including the corpses he'd looted and the gear he quietly fed into the system's auto-convert function, had surged his total past a hundred thousand. He still hadn't told anyone—not even Vorn—what the system could do. And he wouldn't.
Ashen had already tested the limits in secret. Material worth, size, and strength all affected the value returned. A dead man with little gear? A few hundred. A seasoned fighter with precious metals and armor? Thousands. If he ever brought down someone powerful—truly powerful—he might gain a fortune in one corpse.
It was morbid.
But this world was merciless.
And he wasn't playing fair.
---
He climbed onto the upper deck to find the ship dead in the water.
The sails were slack, the ocean around them completely calm. No wind. No swell. Just the eerie shimmer of a glasslike surface stretching to the horizon.
"Doldrums," Vorn muttered at the helm, voice heavy with distaste.
Ashen approached quietly. The crew moved slower today, some resting below, others working with mechanical repetition. The Crimson Wraith had won its fight—but that victory came at a price. Half its gunpowder was used, several cannons damaged, and worst of all—their navigator had died in the ambush.
"You said you knew a bit about navigation, right?" Vorn asked without looking at him.
Ashen raised an eyebrow. "Some basics. Reading stars. Wind angles."
"Then you're better than what we have left."
The captain finally turned toward him, eyes hard. "Until we find a replacement, I need someone with a sharp mind and steady hands. Think you can do that?"
Ashen nodded slowly. "Yes."
He had no intention of becoming a navigator long-term. But staying useful meant staying alive—and learning.
Knowledge in this world was power. Maps. Sea charts. Compass work. It would all serve him later.
---
Two days passed in the doldrums.
Without wind, the Crimson Wraith moved only by rowing. Every crewman took turns on the oars—even Ashen. It wasn't efficient, but it kept the ship from stagnating, and the movement helped morale.
Ashen used the quiet to reflect and experiment. He'd begun training at night again, practicing his sword forms with greater precision. He couldn't risk drawing attention to the system's aid, but his movements became sharper each day.
Even without skills like Soru or Tekkai, he could feel the path forming in his mind—a rhythm that might someday let him replicate those legendary techniques.
But they were locked.
His body wasn't yet ready. Not truly. The system didn't force open doors; it simply made them visible.
And Haoshoku Haki… that was different altogether.
He'd felt a flicker of something, back when he stood between Vorn and the marine gunfire. A strange pressure, deep inside his chest. But it had vanished as quickly as it came.
The system had said nothing.
Maybe it was a dream. Or maybe it was waiting—just like everything else.
---
It was the third night when something changed.
Ashen had just finished a short routine of sword drills under the stars when a voice rang out from the crow's nest.
"Light! Starboard! Bright and pulsing!"
Vorn was on the deck in seconds, Ashen beside him. All eyes turned toward the right side of the ship.
At first, there was only darkness.
Then it shimmered.
A pale green glow, rising from the ocean's depths like the breath of something ancient. It pulsed, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat. Then another glow joined it—blue, then red. Three distinct pulses under the water.
"Sea Kings?" someone whispered.
"No," Vorn said, eyes narrowing. "That's something else."
Ashen squinted.
For just a moment, between the waves and the glow, he saw the shape of ruins.
Massive stonework beneath the surface—ancient pillars cracked in half, enormous statues covered in coral, a shattered archway lost to time.
It wasn't an illusion.
This was something real.
Then, his system blinked:
[Undiscovered Landmark: Forgotten Temple of the First Current]
[Estimated Treasure Value: Unknown]
[Warning: High-Risk Zone]
Ashen's pulse quickened.
This was it.
Opportunity.
And danger.
-------------------
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