As they drew near the Polestar Islands, Oboro and his companions abandoned their pirate ship, boarded a small boat, and drifted across the open sea.
They waited for cargo and merchant vessels to pass, hoping to be taken aboard so they could blend in and hide their true identities.
Because of his arrival, Loguetown—situated so close to the entrance of the Grand Line, and famous as one of the East Blue's most notable destinations—would surely be heavily guarded.
And indeed, just as Oboro expected, after paying a substantial sum of money, they boarded a cargo ship and passed themselves off as part of its crew.
Once they entered the waters surrounding the Polestar Islands, they saw warships constantly passing by, clearly on patrol, searching for some unknown target.
Marines routinely inspected and searched the vessel, but they had already agreed on their cover story beforehand, and the captain helped conceal their identities. Oboro, Dom, and the third companion raised no suspicion at all.
The deeds of the Godslayer had indeed spread far and wide, and everyone knew the name… but for small trading crews like this, such matters were far removed from their daily lives.
As long as the price was right, they were more than willing to offer "protection"—provided they never learned Oboro's true identity.
And so, though it took some effort, the three of them finally reached Loguetown as planned.
"You seem very nervous," Oboro remarked as they walked through the streets, observing the town's prosperous, peaceful atmosphere.
Behind him, Dorrance kept glancing nervously in every direction, acting extremely cautious, and frequently wiping cold sweat from his forehead.
"Not at all," Dorrance replied, his eyes shifting uneasily as he forced a smile.
Just then, a squad of marines came marching toward them. Dorrance instinctively lowered his head. Oboro and Dom, however, remained calm and composed.
Once the marines had passed and were out of earshot, Oboro spoke in a quiet tone. "Are you afraid of the marines?"
Loguetown was clearly a major military stronghold. Its prosperity and order stemmed from its role as one of the Marines' most important bases in the East Blue, guarding the gateway to the Grand Line.
Almost every pirate from the East Blue would pass through here before entering the Grand Line—some to resupply, others out of reverence: this was the birthplace of the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, and also the place where he was executed. Many pirates came here on a sort of pilgrimage.
Yet along the way, Oboro had seen very few pirates in town. Those he did spot were all heavily disguised, not daring to openly fly their flags.
"Sir… there's a very tough marine stationed here. Loguetown is his territory. I hear he was recently assigned here and hasn't been in charge long, but his reputation has already spread across the entire East Blue. Countless pirates have fallen into his hands—including some of the most infamous crews in these waters. They say he's cold and ruthless, and deals with pirates with terrifying cruelty. To men like us, he's the White Death. Ever since he arrived, small fry like me don't dare sail anywhere near the Polestar Islands. Many pirates have given up the idea of stopping here at all."
"Smoker, the White Hunter," Oboro said, speaking the name clearly.
"Yes! That's exactly him!" Dorrance nodded quickly, startled.
"Act natural," Oboro warned. "The more afraid you look, the more likely you are to draw attention. Don't worry—they won't find anything. Your ship and crew have long since vanished beneath the waves, destroyed and eaten by Sea Kings to erase all traces. We came here aboard a cargo ship, and right now we're just ordinary people. We won't be staying long…"
"I understand," Dorrance replied, his face turning pale as he remembered that very fact.
"Halt! You're newcomers, aren't you?"
A few hundred meters further on, several marines stepped forward and blocked their path, looking them up and down.
"We've already registered," Dom said coldly.
"Apologies, but we still need you to fill out some forms for verification. Things have been a little tense lately," the leading soldier said, meeting Dom's gaze with a hint of fear, but standing his ground.
Oboro took the paper and pen, and wrote down a false name.
"Zilchand?" the soldier read, then looked at the mysterious man before him—his face partially covered, only his eyes and forehead visible. "Place of birth?"
"Windmill Village, in the Goa Kingdom, at the foot of Mount Colubo," Oboro answered calmly.
"The capital region?"
"Windmill Village, at the foot of Mount Colubo."
The soldier nodded, satisfied with how smoothly the answer came. "And all three of you are from there?"
"Only me and him," Oboro said, pointing to Dom.
The soldier happened to know of Mount Colubo in the Goa Kingdom—he had even been there once on a mission—so he knew Oboro wasn't lying. He asked a few more questions about the kingdom, and Oboro answered every one fluently, further confirming his cover.
Dorrance, being a local of the East Blue, had no trouble either; his identity had been slightly altered to fit their story.
Convinced there was nothing suspicious about them, the soldier glanced at Oboro's mask and was about to speak—when Oboro cut in smoothly. "Excuse us, we have business to attend to. We'll be on our way."
"Ah… very well. Thank you for your cooperation."
Though he felt the three were not ordinary men, they had been fully cooperative, and their identities checked out. There was no reason to cause trouble.
"Something's off about them… they don't look like regular folks," one soldier remarked as they watched the trio walk away.
"Judging by his clothes, he's probably a noble from the Goa Kingdom. He carries himself with such grace—definitely not a criminal," another replied.
"Come on, let's go. We still have to check everyone coming into town."
...
A short while later, having smoothly navigated that small crisis, Oboro reached the very heart of Loguetown—the place every visitor came to see.
A wide square.
Rising high at its center stood the execution platform where Roger had been put to death all those years ago.
The square was busy but not crowded; the liveliest part of town was the port, lined with shops and streets right along the waterfront. Around the square stood buildings that looked like government offices, with almost no commercial activity at all.
As they walked deeper into the town, Oboro noticed how old the architecture was, the walls marked by time and weather, giving the whole place a sense of history and age.
"So this is the execution stand of the Pirate King Roger?" Dom asked, his voice trembling slightly. "It was here that the Great Age of Pirates began…"
Whether it was just his imagination or not, Dom felt a strange heaviness in his heart. Most pirates, when they were young and first set sail, held pure dreams: to explore, to see the vast world, to prove their courage.
But as time passed and they gained experience, many—including himself—had ended up becoming nothing more than common thugs, their dreams and original longings long forgotten.
Standing here in Loguetown, looking at the platform, he suddenly felt as if he had found a small piece of the person he used to be. In his mind's eye, he could almost see the great man kneeling there, announcing the existence of the One Piece to the entire world…
Whoosh!
A sudden sound snapped Dom back to reality.
He saw Oboro, hands in his pockets, walking slowly toward the platform. Then, bending his knees, he leaped with astonishing strength, soaring straight up and landing effortlessly on the highest point of the square.
Oboro crouched down slowly, reaching out one hand to run his fingers along the surface of the stand, as if trying to sense something from it.
"This is where it all began… the prelude to an era," he murmured. "His soul may have faded long ago… yet for some reason, my heart still stirs just standing here. I would have loved to meet you. What a pity."
His fingers traced the worn, weathered marks on the wood as he spoke softly to himself.
____________________
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