Beep—
Beep—
A sharp whistle pierced the silent night.
"There's gunfire! Gunfire on the lower deck!"
"Emergency! Emergency!"
The warship, once quiet, was suddenly thrown into chaos. Bright lights on deck tore through the darkness.
Commodore Brownie, who had been sleeping soundly, silently got out of bed. His face, hard as iron, was marked with displeasure as he picked up the scimitar resting nearby.
The Marine who'd disturbed his sleep looked pale.
"Report, Commodore! Gunshots were heard from the prisoner deck!"
"Have you identified who fired?"
"...The passage to the lower level is blocked, sir. Also... several crates of ammunition are missing. It's an emergency!"
Brownie stood still for a moment, his fury evident, though he knew yelling at his men wouldn't solve anything.
Standing tall—almost two meters—his presence alone was intimidating.
"If we don't know who fired it, then execute half the scum down there first."
"This is to honor the time they stole from my precious sleep."
Brownie had always been critical of this transport mission. In his opinion, the best way to deal with heinous pirates was simple—execution.
"Three seconds to react?" Buggy tapped his fingers, silently calculating the time from gunshot to the Marines' response.
'Not bad.'
Of course, reaction time was one thing—sending personnel to investigate was another. That would likely take ten more minutes. After all, he'd left them quite a few surprises.
While the exterior of the warship was armored with steel, the inside resembled a traditional wooden sailing ship. The vessel was divided into four decks:
First deck—Main operations and navigation.
Second deck—Marines' rest and living quarters.
Third deck—Cargo hold; Buggy, Arne, and Musa had been tossed here, likely due to space constraints or perceived weakness.
Fourth deck—The deepest and darkest: a prison filled with caged criminals.
Buggy walked barefoot across the damp wooden floor, his left shoulder exposed, and a pistol in his right hand. Occasionally, he pressed the barrel to his cheek—the heat fading quickly.
His steps echoed through the still air.
Pat—
Pat—
In the tight, suffocating space of the lower cabin, those footsteps seemed to stomp directly on the hearts of every prisoner.
Arne trembled.
'Dammit... that lunatic fired three shots... now the whole ship knows something's wrong!'
But the moment he stepped into the lower cabin, his posture shrank like a startled quail.
Rows of iron cages stood before them, each a different size. The largest stood four to five meters tall, nearly touching the ceiling. The smallest was only two meters—like the one Arne had been locked in earlier.
Cold, dim light barely revealed the outlines of the prisoners, stretching their shadows long across the deck. And everywhere... eyes.
Hungry, dangerous eyes.
It felt like being surrounded by wolves in the dead of night.
From above came the sounds of hurried footsteps, barking orders, and the clatter of weapons... It echoed downward, straight into Arne's ears.
In front of him: a den of ravenous beasts.
Behind him: a flame that would soon engulf them.
His heart pounded in his throat.
"Heh... heh..."
At least that madman's laugh was still there.
Oddly enough, Arne felt a strange sense of comfort in it.
'If we just free these guys... we can fight the Marines together, right? Surely they'll help us... right?'
"Oi~ a lost little pet wandered in!"
A mocking voice rang out from the darkness.
"If you want milk, little pet, you gotta kneel and beg!"
"Otherwise... you'll get shot~!"
"Hahahaha!"
"My little pet... open this cage and kiss my toes, and I'll take care of those Marines for you."
From the shadows, a tall figure—easily over two meters—called out, half-joking, half-desperate.
"You know... I've got a 100 million bounty on my head!"
"Hah! Joseph, everyone knows that bounty's more bluff than bite!"
The other prisoners laughed and mocked without hesitation.
Voices of every kind tore Arne's fantasy apart.
These weren't allies. They were pirates.
And pirates love nothing more than to eat their own.
"It's over... we're dead..."
Arne's lips trembled. If the prisoners didn't help, how were they supposed to fight off the Marines? As the source of the commotion, they'd probably be strung up on the mast and left to rot.
"Ah~ ah~ 'lost little pet'—that's actually a good one. Much better than the one I had in mind."
Neither the mockery nor the danger seemed to sour Buggy's mood.
He sat down lazily.
Then, with the same calm he might use to swat a fly, he aimed his pistol at the loudest speaker.
Bang!
A single shot. Then silence.
"Unfortunately... I don't like jokes that are better than mine."
His eyes didn't change—not a twitch. Like he'd killed a bug, not a man.
Laughter died in an instant.
Turns out, it's not so funny when the 'lost pet' is carrying a loaded gun.
Still, none of them moved. Not because they weren't afraid—but because they didn't understand what Buggy and Arne were doing here in the first place.
Were these two seriously planning to take on the entire Marine crew... alone?
Buggy grinned.
"Why so serious?"
"Let's play a game, shall we?"
He rubbed his chin.
"Let's see... before the Marines get here, why don't we all give each other a name?"
"For example... Arne here—he'll be the Navigator Candidate of the Buggy Pirates... -san!"
Buggy clicked his tongue.
"Alright, now it's your turn."
"Give me a name."
"Are you out of your mind?" one of the prisoners snapped from the shadows. "Without us, you'll be dead!"
"No, no, no..." Buggy waved his hands and licked his lips. "Not me. Us."
He pulled a long rifle from the sack, wiped it down, and pointed it casually at various cages. His expression made it clear—bounty or not, they were just targets in a shooting gallery.
"Jihihi..."
"One more thing: anyone who fails to come up with a name... dies first."
"Or if none of you can think of anything—well, then we all die together."
"Sounds fun, right?"