The aftermath of the battle left the Celestial Dragon's ship left it unsettlingly still, the only sounds present were the creak of wood and the whisper of waves against the hull. The deck bore the marks of violence—blood spattered across once-pristine planks, splintered fragments of furniture, and rich ornates trampled into the grime. Ryan lingered there, taking in the mingled scent of salt and smoke, his gaze moving slowly over the wreckage of what had been a floating palace. After a long breath, he turned and began making his way toward the lower decks.
The first thing to reach him was the stench—an oppressive mix of stale sweat, rotting wood heavy with moisture, and the faint tang of rusting iron that clung to the air. He stepped down into the gloom, the dim sway of lantern light barely pushing back the shadows. Shapes emerged slowly: men, women, even small children, all pressed into narrow cages. The raw marks of shackles circled their wrists and ankles, skin rubbed red or bruised deep. As he came into view, their eyes followed him—some filled with fear, others with a flicker of desperate hope.
Ryan's jaw tightened, a flicker of grim resolve passing over his features. He stepped forward in silence, the steel of his blade catching a glint of lantern light before he brought it down in a swift, decisive arc. The first set of chains snapped apart with a sharp metallic clang that rang through the hold, the sound hanging in the stale air. The freed links fell to the damp floor, and a hesitant shuffle rippled through the captives as they processed the sudden absence of their restraints.
"Get up," Ryan said, his tone gentler now. "You're free."
One by one, he broke their chains, the clang of each shackle hitting the damp wood echoing through the cramped hold. The silence cracked under the weight of soft murmurs, choked sobs, and voices trembling in disbelief. Some clung to one another as if afraid they might be torn apart again, while others simply stared at the floor, blinking hard as if trying to wake from a nightmare.
He scanned their faces and asked, "Does anyone here know how to navigate a ship?" His voice was steady but carried a note of urgency.
After a pause, a thin, weathered man with salt-and-pepper hair slowly raised his hand. "I… I was a navigator once. Before…" His eyes dropped to the shackles still around his ankles, the bruised skin beneath them telling its own story, before he looked back at Ryan.
Ryan gave a firm nod. "Good. You'll take the helm. We'll get you to the nearest island."
They wasted no time. With the navigator's guidance, Ryan and the freed slaves worked together to turn the vessel away from the bloodied waters they'd left behind. The freed men and women moved with a strange mix of exhaustion and determination, their limbs still stiff from confinement but were driven to excitement by the thought of open horizons. Meanwhile, Ryan moved through the ornate cabins and storerooms, as he walked, he found himself glancing around with a different thought in mind: this vessel, with its sturdy build and ample space, could serve him well if claimed. Every piece of treasure and provision this ship had would help in the steps ahead in his journey.
Hours later, the nearest island came into view, its green hills rolling softly beneath drifting clouds. As the coastline grew clearer, the freed slaves' expressions began to change—shoulders loosened, hesitant laughter broke out in pockets, and the shadows in their eyes seemed to thin.
Ryan eased the ship to anchor a short distance from shore, the hull swaying gently in the tide. Small boats were lowered one by one, the wood creaking as men and women stepped inside, ready to set foot on land for the first time in far too long. Before boarding his own, the navigator came to him.
"You've given us our lives back," the man said, voice thick with emotion. "We won't forget."
Ryan met his gaze, the hint of a tired smile at his lips. "Then live them well."
When the last boat vanished toward the beach, he lingered on deck, letting the quiet lap of water against the hull fill the silence. His gaze swept over the deck out of habit, and it was then he caught an absence—where the Celestial Dragon's rowboat had been lashed earlier, there was now only a length of loose rope swaying with the ship's movement. He leaned against the railing, scanning the open water, but only the empty horizon stared back at him.
Someone had slipped away.
Ryan frowned, but let the thought drift away. Whoever it was, they weren't his concern now. The mission was done, and his path lay elsewhere.
With the ship stripped of its vulgarity and its prisoners freed, Ryan set his sights toward Loguetown. The wind filled his sails, carrying him toward the next chapter of his journey.