After the incident on the anomaly island, the Red-Haired Pirates continued their voyage. Shanks, as if unfazed by the terrifying experience, decided to stop at a populated island—Ride Island—to throw a grand feast.
That night, in a bustling seaside village, the celebration was in full swing. Bonfires lit up the shore, the air filled with the aroma of roasted meat and sake. Shanks's crew, including those who had fainted earlier, had fully recovered and joined the festivities with high spirits.
Eron sat a little apart from the crowd, observing the merriment while sampling the strange but delicious local food. His fifteen-year-old body relished this simple luxury—a sharp contrast to his past life as a Dao Ancestor, where physical needs no longer bound him.
Shanks, grinning broadly, walked over with two cups of sake in hand. He offered one to me.
"Hey, Eron! Don't just sit there daydreaming! Come celebrate!"
I accepted the cup, though I only sipped lightly. "Thank you, Captain," I said.
Shanks sat beside me, gazing at the bonfire. His tone turned calm, but warm.
"You know, Eron," he began, "what you showed back on that island… that was incredible.
Almost all of my crew fainted—even Benn and I had to struggle. But you, a kid like you, were still standing."
He turned to face me, his eyes sharp.
"I don't know who you are or where you came from, but you've got terrifying potential. And you seem to have… a strange understanding of this world." Shanks took a sip. "So, what do you say? Join us. Become one of the Red-Haired Pirates."
Eron's heart stirred. It was an extraordinary offer—joining a Yonko's crew. Direct access to information, training, and protection beyond compare. It would accelerate his plans greatly.
But then he remembered his greater goal: reclaiming his Dao and unraveling the mysteries of the 33rd Dimension. He also thought of Luffy. There was a timeline he had to respect—or at least take advantage of. Joining Shanks would tie him down, when what he needed was freedom.
I looked at Shanks, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"Captain, that's a very… tempting offer," I said sincerely. "I truly appreciate the kindness you and your crew have shown me. You saved my life and showed me the meaning of freedom."
Shanks's smile thinned as he waited for my answer.
"But…" I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. "I can't accept, Captain."
Shanks's smile faded, replaced with faint surprise. Some nearby crewmates who overheard looked equally shocked. Refusing a Yonko's invitation was almost unheard of.
"Why, kid?" Shanks asked, his tone heavier now. "I know you're searching for something. But with us, you could find anything the seas have to offer."
I shook my head. "I believe that. But there's a journey I have to take alone first. I want to enjoy this freedom I've just found, explore this world in my own way, before… before I tie myself to any crew." I paused, then added with a slight grin, "Besides, I think one day, if fate allows, I'll find a very different crew. Maybe… the Straw Hats."
The words slipped out naturally—a subtle reference that might mean little to Shanks now, but to me, it was a thread of destiny.
Shanks stared at me for a long moment, searching my expression. Perhaps he sensed the deeper intent behind my words. Then, suddenly, he laughed—a booming, heartfelt laugh that filled the air.
"Hahaha! The Straw Hats, huh?! You're one strange kid, Eron!" Shanks clapped me on the back so hard I almost fell over. "Alright! If that's your wish, I won't force you. But remember— the door of the Red-Haired Pirates is always open for you."
He stood, waving at his crew. "Listen up, everyone! This kid, Eron, is going on his own adventure! He's got big dreams!"
The crew cheered. Some looked sad, but most respected my choice. Shanks poured more sake, grinning. "The party goes on! And Eron—enjoy your freedom!"
That night, under the stars of the Grand Line, Eron Arasta, the reincarnated Dao Ancestor, chose his own path.
The next morning, after a warm but meaningful farewell with Shanks and his crew on Ride Island, Eron began his solo journey.
A sturdy small boat, gifted by Shanks, carried him forward. A Log Pose from the Red-Haired Pirates pointed southwest, toward an island on the Grand Line—Valtos Island. Rumors said it held ancient artifacts from the Void Century.
Eron sat at the bow, letting the sea wind brush his face. His fifteen-year-old body, hardened by a year of survival on a savage island, still felt fragile. But inside him, the strategic mind of a Dao Ancestor remained razor-sharp.
He had refused Shanks's offer because he knew his goal was far greater—recovering his stolen Dao.
The Grand Line was never predictable. Storms came and went without warning, sea monsters rose from the depths, and currents shifted without reason.
Eron relied on his Universal Star Reading, recalibrating it with the Log Pose.
Day 3.
In the middle of a calm sea, Eron spotted smoke on the horizon. A merchant ship under pirate attack. His first instinct was to avoid it—but then he realized it was an opportunity. Without the raw strength to fight head-on, he had to rely on his cunning.
He steered his small boat closer, hiding behind the larger waves. Observing carefully, he saw two pirate crews fighting each other over the loot.
With precision born of hundreds of thousands of years of reading mortal psychology, he tossed a small rock at one ship, then shouted with a disguised voice:
"They're trying to steal your share!"
It was a simple trick—exploiting momentum and greed.
But it worked. Already tense with suspicion, the pirates immediately turned on each other. Amid the chaos, Eron slipped aboard the stranded merchant vessel, cutting the bonds of the captive crew.
The freed sailors stared at him in disbelief.
"You—did you just save us?" their captain asked.
Eron gave only a thin smile, his calm voice hiding the truth. "Not me. Their own greed saved you."
But he knew the danger wasn't over yet. Some pirates still remained on the merchant ship's deck, startled by the sudden chaos among their comrades.
"Look!" one of the merchants cried, pointing to the stern.
About five pirates, realizing the captives had been freed, began advancing with cruel grins.
"They're still here!" the merchant captain growled, drawing a rusty sword. "We'll fight them—for our ship!"
Eron glanced at the corroded blade, then at the approaching pirates. With his current body, brute force was useless. But he had something far deadlier.
"Stand behind me," Eron said quietly, stepping between the pirates and the merchants. His movement was not a threat—but a promise of protection.
"You're insane!" one pirate barked, swinging a heavy axe. "Just you? We'll cut you into fish stew!"
Eron stood firm. His Cosmic Yin-Yang Eyes did not see the axe, but the flow of energy, the intent, the momentum behind it. He saw the gap in every movement, the weakness in every strike.
As the axe descended, Eron shifted his shoulder ever so slightly—a barely perceptible motion that redirected the momentum. The axe missed by a hair, its wielder stumbling off balance. With his weight carried forward, the pirate slammed shoulder-first into the mast with a sickening thud.
"What the hell?!" the pirate groaned, dazed. "You… dodged without moving!"
The merchants gaped. To them, Eron was like a shadow—untouchable.
"Now!" Eron commanded, his voice resonating with a strange undertone that stirred courage.
"Strike while they're confused!"
Taking heart, the captain and crew charged, emboldened. They lacked Eron's skill, but courage filled their blows.
Eron didn't join the brawl. Instead, he became the unseen puppeteer. He moved at the edges of the fight, sharp-eyed, his fingers occasionally making subtle motions—an unseen flick, a twist of the wrist. Each gesture was a thread tugged at fate.
A pirate swung a club at a merchant—but the club grew ever so slightly heavier, slower, as Eron subtly warped the energy around it. The merchant managed to block—a feat that should've been impossible.
Another pirate lunged with a dagger toward the captain's back. Eron, without looking, touched a nearby sailor's shoulder, shifting his stance just enough to bump the captain aside, saving him from the strike.
"They're moving weird!" one pirate snarled in frustration. "It's like… they know what we're about to do!"
The pirates began distrusting each other, confused by their sudden misfortune. They stumbled into one another, their weapons clashing clumsily, as if some unseen force was sabotaging them.
In truth, it was Eron— the invisible conductor of chaos, pulling the strings of fate like a hidden puppeteer.