The Grand Line.
It is, without exaggeration, the very heart of the entire One Piece world.
This is the central stage of the Great Pirate Era!
Everyone spurred on by Pirate King Roger—those who set sail to look for the ultimate treasure, ONE PIECE—has scrambled into these waters, heading for the final island, Laugh Tale.
Yet the Grand Line is equally famous for being a kind of hell.
In the Four Blues the seas are calm, and ships can travel freely between islands.
But the mont you enter the Grand Line, every rule and theory of seamanship is turned upside‑down.
The weather here is utterly unreasonable: clear one mont, thunder the next, then snow, then a hurricane. Experiencing all four seasons in a single day is common.
More important is this—
There is no "route" in the Grand Line in the usual sense.
You cannot judge your next course from headings, wind, or currents.
The only thing you can rely on is the Log Pose.
Nami stood on deck and, before long, was steadily mastering the Grand Line's secrets.
Even the elite navigators of Marine Headquarters marveled at her talent.
At first, Commander Hina did not like the young Nami—
No, more precisely, she simply did not want to see such a girl setting foot on a voyage this dangerous.
Yet Nami's prodigious gift for navigation, along with her innate warmth and optimism, soon won over everyone—Hina included.
Nami, for her part, admired the strong‑willed Hina, peppering her with questions about the Grand Line and Marine HQ, and the two quickly beca close.
"Hina-neesan, the Log Pose shows a small island ahead… It's the very first island we'll reach in the Grand Line—wonder what it's like. So exciting!"
Hina glanced at the chart, brows knitting.
"Cactus Island… also called Whisky Peak."
"You don't want to go near it?"
"Why?"
"It's a gathering place for pirate hunters."
"Pirate hunters? Isn't that great? Like us Marines, they're enemies of pirates…"
Now Nami, too, wore a tiny Marine uniform—if only that of the lowest rank.
Her big eyes blinked curiously at Hina.
Hina shook her head.
"Even so, sothing about those hunters feels off. They're not the sa as ordinary bounty hunters who just trade pirates for reward money."
"How so?"
"Hard to say. Their thods are dirtier, for one thing; but more than that, they're tightly organized, nurous, and not short of strong fighters. It feels as though so bigger plot lurks behind them…"
Chiyu, of course, knew the truth.
Whisky Peak, nominally a pirate‑hunter hub, is in fact…
A secret base of Baroque Works.
And the mastermind behind Baroque Works is—
Crocodile, the "Sir Crocodile," one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.
The Warlords are pirates powerful enough to bargain with the World Governnt—pirates who cooperate with the Marines to keep other pirates in check.
In other words, they have been officially "tad" and turned against their own kind.
Every Warlord commands overwhelming personal might and influence, to say nothing of their fearso renown—figures no one, Marine or pirate, wants to cross.
But Chiyu has no intention of sparing them.
A Warlord is still a Pirate.
Worse, backed by the Governnt and the Navy, these great pirates only grow more brazen, committing ever more monstrous cris with impunity.
For such people Chiyu feels no rcy.
True, as a Rear Admiral he is technically forbidden to strike a Warlord.
But since when has Chiyu cared about that?
"Crocodile, is it?"
"You'll be the first Warlord I kill."
"Set course for Whisky Peak."
Hina frowned.
"Sir, are you sure? Those hunters won't welco Marines… It could cause trouble."
Chiyu understood. Bounty hunters are an odd class: legally approved to hunt pirates, yet many behave little better than bandits, ruling by brute force. Both sides eye each other warily.
But Chiyu knew Whisky Peak was the gateway into Baroque Works, so he did not hesitate.
"No need to worry," he said calmly.
Hina, by now used to his temperant, ordered the fleet toward Cactus Island. Pink hair lifting in the sea wind, violet shades pushed to her brow, she gazed at the distant swells while her uniform snapped in the breeze.
On Chiyu's order, the Uchiha, an HQ war‑galleon, powered toward Cactus Island. The high‑powered ship soon closed with the strangely shaped land.
Nami gaped.
"Wh‑what is that?
It really looks like a cactus!
Why so many spikes?"
"Gravestones," Chiyu said flatly.
"That many gravestones?!" Nami squeaked.
Hina frowned.
"Sir, you seem to know this place well?"
"You're wrong, Hina-neesan," Nami chirped. "Chiyu-sama doesn't know this place—he knows everything!"
Though Hina saw Nami's blind adoration, she too was coming to realize that this cold, ruthless, and enigmatic officer seed to know every secret. Her curiosity only deepened.
As the warship drew in, the island's "residents" lined the docks in welco—a trick they used on pirates and, evidently, on Marines as well.
Without a word, Chiyu ordered the crew ashore. Amid a corridor of hundreds of greeters, Chiyu, Hina, Nami, and a handful of elite Marines landed on the cactus‑like island.
"Welco to Whisky Peak!
Esteed Marines, are you here on duty, or simply resting?"
The speaker, a man in green whose moustache curled into the shape of a "9," looked sowhat frivolous and timid.
Chiyu recalled him: Mr. 9, who, in the original story, later partners with Miss Wednesday—Princess Vivi of Alabasta. But the tiline now is roughly four years before the manga begins; Vivi has yet to infiltrate Baroque Works, still a little girl.
Mr. 9's current partner is the towering woman beside him, disguised as a nun—a human tank called Miss Monday.
Everyone else present is also Baroque Works, rely playing at being bounty hunters.
Unmoved, Chiyu followed them to a palatial hall at the foot of Whisky Peak, lavishly laid with food and drink as though to honor him.
Nami's eyes shone.
"These hunters really know hospitality!"
Hina could already tell Chiyu had another aim.
Mr. 9 forced a grin, bowing.
"Rear Admiral, what brings you to Whisky Peak?
If it's not official business, please allow us to give you a warm welco!"
"No need," Chiyu said coolly.
"Just tell everything you know—
mbers of Baroque Works."
The lively hall turned to icy silence. All the "hunters" blanched, hands itching toward weapons.
Hina's face hardened.
"Ba… Baroque Works?!
The group behind all those plots and cris around Alabasta?!"
She knew the na: a ruthless syndicate that had risen near the Grand Line's entrance, guilty of murder, arson, theft, kidnapping, inciting civil wars, attacking Marines and civilians—a chief cause of Alabasta's chaos.
She had never imagined the "bounty hunters" here were rely their disguise.
Instantly Hina and the Marines readied for battle. Nami, seeing their reactions, realized the enemy was deadly.
Mr. 9 and Miss Monday's expressions twisted.
"B‑Baroque Works? We don't know what you're talking about!
We're bounty hunters who nab pirates—sa side as you! Don't wrong good people!"
But Chiyu already saw Miss Monday and others circling behind him.
Baroque Works' male agents are numbered and each paired with a female partner; hundreds more operatives roam over 500 islands in the west.
Right here are several "commanders" and two or three hundred others.
In the next instant—
"Get them!"
Miss Monday roared. Towering like a fortress, she swung a massive spiked club down at Chiyu's back.
At the sa ti blades, staves, and firearms burst forth as the agents charged.
Hina's eyes flashed with fury; beneath her stylish façade lay a heart that brooked no evil.
"Black Cage!"
With a shout she flung her arms out; they transford into huge black iron bars that sprang out like a prison, trapping over a dozen agents at once. Drawing her arms in, she slamd the bars shut, locking them immobile—her Paracia Devil Fruit power, the Black Cage Fruit, which turns her body parts into inescapable cages.
Nami was awestruck.
"Amazing, Hina-neesan!"
Bullets slid harmlessly from Nami—her Slip‑Slip Fruit made every attack glance away. Gripping her upgraded Marine staff, she counterattacked with gusto.
Bang— bang bang bang!
Chiyu, anwhile, did not so much as turn as Miss Monday's ambush ca.
Even a heartbeat earlier, he had already moved—his Color of Observation Haki warning him.
Sowhere in his hand had appeared the cursed blade Sandai Kitetsu, crackling with lightning, and he slashed behind him.
Shlk—! Miss Monday's huge club snapped.
"Huh?!"
Realizing she had struck steel, she lunged with iron‑knuckled fists.
"Monster Strength—Adamant Fist!"
Yet—
"Ignorant fool," Chiyu sneered. Sandai Kitetsu flashed.
BOOM! The arc of lightning cut through her arm and chest in a single stroke. Flesh and blood burst; she crashed to the floor, slain.
"Miss Monday!"
Mr. 9, shocked and terrified, had no way out. He flipped, iron rods whistling down—
"Fiery Backflip!"
"Resolute Iron Rods!"
Chiyu scarcely acknowledged the "tricks." Observation Haki and his Sharingan flared; Sandai Kitetsu slipped through an opening—
Thud! The blade stabbed clean through Mr. 9's chest.
anwhile, HQ's elite Marines poured fire into the mob. These were not the East Blue's green sailors but hand‑picked veterans—masters of hand‑to‑hand and marksmanship, mowing down common Baroque grunts.
Bang bang bang—! Blades flashed, guns roared; the once‑opulent hall beca a charnel house.
So agents tried fleeing. One swordsman swung a razor‑edged fad blade to carve an escape.
Chiyu blurred in front of him.
"A fine blade of the Fifty Skillful—Kashu.
That makes you Mr. 11."
Mr. 11 sweated buckets.
"I—I'll hand over the blade! Please spare !"
He raised Kashu respectfully—then, grin twisting, dropped a poison‑gas bomb from his sleeve and bolted.
Thwip! Sandai Kitetsu speared his heart from behind. Before he hit the ground, Chiyu plucked Kashu from his hands and moved on.
Mr. 11 died where he fell.
Before long, Chiyu had turned all of Whisky Peak into a river of blood and seized a trove of Baroque Works secrets. So scattered fugitives escaped, but he did not pursue. Re‑boarding the warship with Hina, Nami, and the rest, he gave one cold order:
"Fire."
BOOM— BOOM‑BOOM!
Cannons thundered. Shells rained down, reducing Whisky Peak to rubble and fla—Cactus Island's Baroque Works base utterly obliterated.
Chiyu watched impassively.
Now his power was more than personal; even these cannons were part of his "truth."
At the sa ti, in Alabasta's "City of Dreams," Rainbase, ho to its greatest casino, Rain Dinners—the sole oasis still blessed with gentle weather, untouched by Dance Powder—
In a hidden chamber behind the casino, a tall, shapely young woman strode in. High‑bridged nose, slender eyes of rare deep blue, clad in a daring top and shorts beneath a white cloak, high heels clicking, white cowboy hat tilted—radiant tropical allure mixed with palpable danger.
She was the woman called the Devil's Child—
Nico Robin.
"Mr. 0."
She spoke to the man lounging with crossed legs, cigar in hand, newspaper raised.
"What is it, Nico Robin?"
"A distress signal from Whisky Peak. Sothing serious has happened."
"Huh?!"
The man's face darkened as he lowered the paper, revealing a vicious visage slashed by a cross‑scar.
He was—
Crocodile, the "Sir Crocodile," one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.
~~~
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