One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #76

The coastal village was a patchwork of makeshift barricades, overturned carts, and what looked suspiciously like a fence made entirely out of broom handles and mop shafts.

And yet—somehow—they had managed to hold their ground long enough for the cavalry, or well, the navy, to arrive.

Gale leaned against the railing of the battleship as it creaked into the dock, raising one eyebrow as he watched the post-battle cleanup. If “cleanup” was the right word for it.

Because the villagers? They were going way too hard on the stragglers.

“Okay,” Gale muttered, “that guy’s already dead, and you just hit him with a sack of rice. That can’t be necessary.”

Further down the dock, a teenager with wild curly hair and two dented frying pans was chasing a limping pirate like she was auditioning for a cooking-themed horror movie.

Whack!

“This is for me chicken coop!”

Whack!

“And that’s for sneezing on me apples!”

Gale winced in sympathy. “Note to self: never piss off the people here.”

As the ship finally settled against the dock with a soft thunk, Poqin and Isuka approached from behind. Poqin was humming to himself, while Isuka had a look that could only be described as half-curious, half-concerned Marine officer.

“You mind explaining,” she started, voice as crisp as her uniform, “how exactly you sank an entire pirate ship with one cannonball?”

Gale blinked, feigning innocence so hard it should’ve been a crime. “Did I? Huh. Must’ve been a lucky shot.”

Isuka narrowed her eyes. “You did something to the cannonball, didn’t you?”

“…Maybe.”

Poqin cut in with a scoff. “I love how this is what gets your attention. He literally broke an iceberg in half with a flintlock two days ago and you didn’t even blink.”

Isuka crossed her arms. “I’ve seen people use rifles and pistols like that before. Haki exists, you know... I haven't heard of anyone using it on a canon, though..”

“Hockey?” Poqin tilted his head. “What's that? Soup?”

“Haki,” Isuka corrected, tone sharp. “An internal power some people can use to boost their attack and defense. I just assumed Gale had that.”

Gale shook his head, gesturing vaguely at himself. “Nah. No Haki here. Just mild disrespect for physics.”

Isuka’s brow furrowed. “Then how the hell did you—”

“Devil Fruit,” Gale cut in with a shrug. “I can mess with the weight and hardness of stuff. Cannonballs, swords, annoying barrels of cabbage…”

“Ah,” Poqin said, rubbing the back of his head. “But aren't devil fruit users supposed to be unable to swim? Why would anyone eat something like that...?”

Isuka nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s the main drawback. Fall into the ocean, and you’re basically a rock with regrets.”

There was a pause.

Poqin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you sure that's the case for everyone? I clearly remember seeing—”

Before he could finish, Gale moved like lightning, suddenly clamping a hand over Poqin’s lower face with the grace of someone who had practiced the motion a lot.

“—You had a bug on your mouth,” Gale said quickly, eyes twitching.

A beat of silence. Poqin just… blinked.

The “bug” excuse hung in the air like an awkward balloon.

Isuka gave them both a suspicious sideways glance, but decided—probably for her own sanity—not to ask. Poqin, meanwhile, tilted his head and slowly peeled Gale’s hand off his face, looking at him with the calm suspicion of someone who’s been roommates with a liar for too long.

“…Right. Bug. Looked real… venomous.”

“Mm-hm,” Gale said, poker face still twitching. “Could’ve killed you. I saved your life. You’re welcome.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gale turned abruptly and started walking down the gangplank, very purposefully not looking back.

Poqin watched him go, muttering under his breath, “I knew there was something fishy about that glow…”

Isuka followed behind with a resigned sigh. “If I get court-martialed because you two clowns are hiding something stupid, I’m punching someone.”

“Not it,” Poqin said, raising his hand.

The three of them stepped off the ship onto the battered dock, villagers cheering faintly in the distance, the sun beginning to rise over the horizon of the Vashiri Archipelago.

The battle for the islands had only just begun.

...

The house they were in used to be a bakery, judging by the lingering scent of yeast and soot and the flour stains still dusting the walls like old battle scars.

A large wooden table had been cleared off in the center of the room—save for the occasional rolling pin—and was now host to a large, wrinkled map of the Vashiri Archipelago, held down by a teapot, a chunk of broken cannon, and what Poqin was reasonably sure used to be a scone.

Gale stood with his hands on the table, brows knit as he scanned the map. “Alright,” he muttered, “this is either a very complicated naval situation or a failed attempt at abstract art.”

Poqin was sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, munching on a questionable biscuit. “Definitely the art thing. That island looks like a duck.”

“That’s because you bit part of it off.”

“Still valid.”

Isuka, arms folded and standing stiffly near the window, ignored the both of them. She was all business. “Assuming the pirate ships split off after taking the westernmost island, they could be pushing eastward in waves. That’d stretch their numbers, but still—enough to overrun a place like this.”

The door creaked open behind them, boots clinking softly against the wooden floor.

A tall man in polished silver and sapphire armor stepped in, helmet tucked under one arm, cloak brushing against the doorway as he ducked inside. His chiseled face looked like it hadn’t smiled in a decade and didn’t plan to start now.

“Sir Remiel Velnar,” he said, bowing politely. “Knight-Captain of the Gilded Torrent. I wanted to thank you for your timely arrival. We’d have lost the entire coast without your aid.”

Gale looked up, blinking once, then offered a casual shrug. “No need for thanks. We’re just following orders. Though…” he leaned slightly against the table, eyes narrowing, “...if you’ve got time to chat, maybe you can tell us what’s really going on. What does Blight actually want?”

Remiel’s expression hardened, jaw tightening. “We don’t know. He hasn’t attempted to negotiate, parley, or even posture. In fact—he killed the messenger we sent to open talks.”

Gale winced. “Yikes. Not very pirate-y of him.”

Isuka frowned. “You’ve… met a lot of pirates?”

“Met? No. Studied? Absolutely. Top-tier procrastination reading.” Gale straightened up and started pacing slightly. “Proper pirates—real ones, not whatever Blight thinks he is—they don’t throw away men for nothing.

They threaten, extort, maybe blow up a warehouse to prove a point, then take gold and leave. It’s transactional. Business-like. This?” He gestured vaguely toward the window, where distant smoke still curled over the horizon. “This is just chaos.”

Remiel exhaled through his nose, weary. “That’s been our experience. Since the Marine presence withdrew from the region a year ago, we’ve had more pirate flags in our waters than sails. Most of them demand treasure, take it, and leave. Blight? He didn’t even hesitate. The moment he saw our defensive fleet—he raised the red flag.”

Poqin looked up from his biscuit. “Wait. Red flag as in…?”

“As in no quarter,” Remiel said grimly. “Slaughtered every last sailor. Then took the island of Ulgarde.” He tapped the far western corner of the map. “That was our most fortified position. It fell in less than a day.”

Gale leaned over the map again, fingers tapping idly near Ulgarde’s coastline.

'So he wasn’t just some big-name pirate looking for loot... seems he has some sort of plan... or he's just a psychopath out to murder as many people as possible...'

Gale stared at the map again, drumming his fingers on the table like a man trying to summon answers via percussion. The parchment rustled every time someone shifted.

Poqin was leaning over his shoulder now, chewing the end of a stale breadstick like it was a cigar, while Isuka stood with her arms crossed, her eyes sharp and unreadable.

Remiel watched the group in silence, eyes flicking between the paper and the window like a knight waiting for a storm to walk in the door.

Eventually, Gale exhaled through his nose. “Alright,” he muttered, straightening.

“I’m not gonna pretend I can Sherlock my way through Blight’s master plan with one bad map and a table full of bread crumbs. You’re the one who knows this place, Sir Remiel. Geography, politics, gossip—whatever. So take a guess. Why Ulgarde first? Why here next?”

Remiel’s brows furrowed, his gaze narrowing on the map. He was silent for a long beat.

Then—his expression changed. His eyes widened just slightly, like someone had pulled the pin from a thought that had been stuck in his head all week.

“The bastard’s aiming for the capital,” he said, voice low and grim. “Our central island.”

Gale blinked. “What?”

Remiel pointed at the map, his armored finger tapping the middle of the archipelago—a circular island surrounded by six others like stones orbiting a jewel. “The Vashiri Archipelago is made up of seven islands. Six of them form a ring around the seventh—our capital, Corscala.”

He drew a finger in a rough circle, connecting dots between the outlying islands. “Because of the narrow channels and powerful ocean torrents between them, it’s nearly impossible to reach the central island without passing within range of at least one—usually several—of the surrounding islands’ shore defenses.”

“Basically,” Poqin chimed in, “you try to siege the capital, and five other islands slap you for free.”

“Six,” Remiel corrected. “Even the smallest one has ballistae and observation towers.”

Gale frowned, staring at the central island like it owed him money. “So by taking the outer islands, he clears the path to the capital…”

“Exactly,” Remiel said, grave. “If he can control all six, the torrents work in his favor. We lose our choke points. Corscala becomes a sitting duck.”

“Okay,” Gale muttered, “so he’s strategic, brutal, and coordinated. That’s fun.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the table.

“But that’s where the logic breaks. What’s the point of taking the capital? Even if he manages it, the World Government’s not just gonna let him ignore this. They’ll send a fleet big enough to sink the entire archipelago once the hunt for revolutionaries is over.”

He paused, then narrowed his eyes. “There's in point on conquering Vashiri....unless…”

He leaned forward again, gaze sharp. “Is there something in Corscala worth dying over? Some kind of treasure? A weapon? A giant cannon with legs? Better yet, does Blight have a history with this country? Maybe an irreconcilable grudge?”

Remiel shook his head, frowning. “There’s no treasure. No grudge. Not that I know of.”

Gale narrowed his eyes slightly. Was he lying? Maybe. But Gale had been around enough nobles to know when one was deliberately hiding something… and Remiel didn’t give off that smug, wine-sipping, vaguely-oiled vibe.

He looked more like a man running on stale coffee and hope.

Not that it mattered.

Gale exhaled through his nose and dragged a finger across the map. “Doesn’t really change things. Whether Blight’s here because he wants to settle some old score or just hates coastal beauty—his crew’s still made up of pirates. Greedy, bloodthirsty, not-so-bright pirates.”

He jabbed at a red-marked spot on the island. “We’ve already sunk one of their ships. And there’s another one parked on the far side of this island, probably thinking no one’ll touch ‘em because they don't even know we're here...”

He glanced up. “So now’s our chance to remind them this isn’t an all-you-can-loot buffet.”

Isuka gave a sharp nod. “If we take out a second ship, they’ll think twice. Pirates don’t like risk unless there’s a big payoff. Lose two ships out of ten? That’s not a raid anymore. That’s bad math.”

“Exactly,” Gale said. “And if they hesitate, that’s time bought.”

Remiel let out a slow breath, his posture easing ever so slightly. “If we can pull it off… it could give us just enough time. If reinforcements arrive, we might—” He cut himself off and looked at Gale. “Speaking of. When will the rest of your forces arrive?”

Gale blinked.

Literally just blinked. Once. Twice. In the way a man might if you asked him when the moon planned to retire.

“…What?” Remiel asked, a faint but audible note of dread slipping into his voice.

Poqin suddenly found the wall very interesting. Isuka glanced away with the guilt of someone caught next to the last piece of cake.

Remiel’s eyes darted between them, the color visibly draining from his face. “No. No, no, don’t tell me…” He turned back to Gale, nearly pleading. “You’re just the vanguard, right? You’re scouting ahead of a bigger fleet?”

Gale gave him a grin that was far too cheerful for a man about to destroy someone’s remaining hopes.

“That’s right,” he said brightly. “We’re the brave tip of the mighty spear. The vanguard. Paving the way for justice and a mighty naval fleet of ten ships crawling with the navy's mightiest sailors!”

Remiel’s shoulders sagged with relief—until Gale added:

“…Which would be very reassuring, if it were true.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

Remiel stared at him, face frozen in disbelief. “I—what?”

“No fleet,” Gale said, shrugging casually. “No backup. Just me, Poqin, Isuka, and twenty-four marines. Most of whom get seasick in direct sunlight.”

Remiel let out a sound that was half groan, half whimper. “You’re joking.”