A few days later, the morning mist still clung to the freshwater river of Twin Island, shimmering like scattered diamonds under the first rays of the rising sun. At the southern dock, the brand-new caravel rested quietly, her white sails still furled tightly against the mast like the folded wings of an eagle waiting for the signal to take flight.
The dock, usually a place of quiet industry, was packed. It seemed as though every soul from the town had come to see them off.
Jack approached from the town's main thoroughfare, flanked by the towering forms of Alf and Alger. He looked every bit the budding legend. He wore a set of durable blue overalls that allowed for maximum mobility, with a deep black cape draped over his broad shoulders that billowed gently in the cool sea breeze. Tucked into a sturdy leather sash at his waist was a weapon that drew the eyes of every veteran sailor in the crowd: Moon Tear.
It was a beautiful blade, a masterpiece of craftsmanship known as a Wazamono, one of the Fifty Skillful Swords of the world. In the hierarchy of blades, it sat below the legendary Supreme and Great Grade swords, but it was still a "Famous Sword" by any definition, sharing the same rank as the Shigure carried by the Marines' rising star, Tashigi.
The sword had been a parting gift from Old Man.
Thinking of the old man's gruff kindness, Jack's pace quickened until he stood before the hunchbacked figure sitting on a crate at the edge of the dock. For a moment, the arrogance and confidence Jack usually wore like armor fell away. He didn't just say goodbye; he dropped to one knee, his head bowed low in a gesture of profound respect.
"Old man," Jack began, his voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion. "I know you think I'm just a loud-mouthed brat. But I've always believed you were a true hero of the sea, not just some storyteller. You gave me a home when I had nothing. You gave me the strength I have now."
Jack looked up, and to the surprise of the watching villagers, tears were streaming down his handsome face. "I swear to you, I will not disgrace your name or this blade. I'm carrying your stories, my own yearning for freedom, and a hunger for power. I will reach the pinnacle of this world!"
Old Man Weir looked down at the silver-haired youth he had pulled from the surf six years ago. He remembered the weak, half-dead boy who couldn't even lift a training wooden sword. Seeing that boy now, standing 1.9 meters tall with the aura of a budding master, Weir's stoic, wrinkled face finally cracked. A glimmer of moisture appeared in his eyes.
"Hmph," Weir grunted, though his voice wavered. "Don't go acting like a little girl, Jack. True heroes of the sea aren't so fragile. Tears are for the weak or the victorious, wait until you've actually done something worth crying about."
He reached out and slapped Jack's shoulder with surprising strength. "Stop dawdling. The wind is changing. Go forth toward that pinnacle in your heart! The sea is a man's true home!"
Jack rose, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and turned to the crowd. He gave a deep, sweeping bow to the villagers. "Thank you! Thank you all for looking after me all these years!"
With a final wave, Jack boarded the caravel, followed by the heavy, booming footsteps of Alf and Alger. The ship swayed under the weight of the two giants, but the ironwood ribs held firm.
Jack walked to the center of the deck, gripping the sail rope. He looked back at his two subordinates. Alf had already moved to the helm, his massive hands gripping the wheel like it was a toy. Alger stood by the heavy iron anchor, his muscles tensed and ready.
"Alf! You ready to steer us into history?" Jack shouted.
Alf gripped the giant axe at his waist, his eyes burning with excitement. "Ready and waiting, Boss! Just say the word!"
"Alger! Up with the anchor!"
"On it, Boss!" Alger roared, hauling the heavy rope with terrifying ease.
Jack drew Moon Tear from its scabbard. The blade gleamed with a cold, silvery light as he pointed it toward the open ocean. "Release the sails! Wings of Freedom, set sail!"
Jack pulled hard on the rope. The white sails unfurled with a thunderous snap, catching the morning breeze. The ship lurched forward, her bow splitting the river's current as she began her glide toward the vast blue horizon.
A roar of cheers erupted from the dock. Hats were thrown into the air, and voices carried over the water.
"Don't get eaten by a Sea King, Jack!" "Remember to send a letter when you're famous!"
"Hey Jack! If you find a pretty wife out there, bring her home to show us!"
Alger stood at the stern, waving his massive arms so vigorously the ship actually rocked. "Goodbye, everyone! We'll bring back plenty of treasure!"
Alf, focused on the helm, spoke in a voice that boomed across the deck. "Don't worry, Boss. I've got the course. As long as the sun is up, I know exactly where we're going... mostly."
Jack leaned against the mast, watching the outline of Twin Island grow smaller and smaller. The towering mountains where he had spent thousands of hours swinging his sword gradually faded into a hazy silhouette. His heart was a chaotic mix of nostalgia and burning determination.
The ship eventually cleared the island's bay, entering the deep, dark blue of the open South Blue. Alger lowered his arms, looking out at the boundless expanse of water with a look of disbelieving excitement.
"Boss... we're really doing it," Alger whispered. "We're actually out here."
Alf came over, gently stroking the head of his giant axe. "It feels different than being with those Iron Rope losers. This feels... real."
Jack smiled at them. "Of course it's real. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. If it weren't for the old man's training, a couple of simpletons like you and a half-baked swordsman like me would be shark bait before we even left the South Blue."
"Hey, Boss," Alf said, looking up at the empty mainmast. "What are we calling ourselves? Every crew needs a name and a flag. We're just an empty pole right now."
Alger's eyes lit up. "Oh! I know! We should be the Giant Axe Pirates! And the ship should be called the Battle Axe!"
Alf snorted in disdain. "That sounds boring. We should be the Muscle Pirates! Because we're the strongest!"
"Muscle Pirates? That sounds like a group of circus performers!" Alger retorted, rolling up his sleeves. "Giant Axe is way cooler!"
"It's Muscle or nothing!"
Seeing the two four-meter giants about to start a wrestling match that would likely capsize their brand-new ship, Jack raised a hand to stop them.
"Cool it, both of you! We aren't even pirates yet. For now, we're just adventurers. We don't need a flag to prove who we are. Besides," Jack added with a smirk, "can either of you even draw? Because I certainly can't."
The two giants paused, looked at each other, and then simultaneously shook their heads.
"Then that's settled," Jack said. "We'll find someone with an artistic touch later. For now, this ship is the Wings of Freedom. It's going to carry our dreams to every corner of the sea, from the Calm Belt to the New World."
"The Wings of Freedom..." Alger repeated, testing the name. "Yeah. I like that."
Jack drew Moon Tear again, swinging it in a dazzling arc that sent a tiny ripple of sword intent across the water. "From today on, no matter what storms we face, we face them together. We never retreat!"
The heroic moment lasted for exactly three seconds before Jack's stomach let out a thunderous, cavernous growl that rivaled the sound of a cannon.
Jack looked at his two subordinates speechlessly. "Right. Speaking of things we're missing... we don't have a navigator, we don't have a doctor, and most importantly... which one of you is going to cook?"
Alf suddenly found the clouds very interesting, staring intently at the sky as if searching for a rare bird. Alger began whistling an off-key tune, looking anywhere but at Jack.
Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. "Great. Six years of training and I'm still the one stuck on kitchen duty. Fine! Stay on deck and keep a lookout. I'll go see if I can whip up enough food to keep you two from eating the wooden hull."
As Jack headed below deck toward the galley, the Wings of Freedom continued to cut through the waves, leaving a long, frothing wake behind her. The sea breeze was saltier here, sharper, carrying with it the unmistakable taste of a world waiting to be conquered.