Then came the night Bonal, the island's mayor, stumbled upon the grotesque truth in the forest.
Bonal's hand trembled, the bounty posters rustling faintly in the humid air.
He stared at the depiction of the Devil Swordsman, then at the imposing figure of Guts, whose face remained obscured beneath the shadow of his immense shoulder.
The unspoken question hung heavy: What have you done to incur such a monstrous bounty? What horrors lie behind that piles of corpse?
Guts's gaze flickered from the posters to Bonal's pale, fear-stricken face. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken dread, until Guts finally spoke. His voice, typically a low rumble, was even more gravely, devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable weight of finality.
"They are after the kid," he stated, his words a blunt instrument.
"As long as you leave her be, you and this island... you'll be fine."
His eyes, though hidden, seemed to bore into Bonal.
"Those bodies you found... they were sent to retrieve her. They failed."
The simple declaration, delivered without remorse or explanation, was more terrifying than any gruesome detail. It implied a relentless, unseen war that Guts waged, a battle for Robin's very freedom, and the corpses in the ground were merely the casualties.
Bonal could feel the raw, untamed power emanating from Guts, a silent assurance that while terrifying, was also absolute.
He took a shuddering breath, the initial wave of pure terror slowly giving way to a chilling, grudging understanding.
This dark guardian had kept them safe, even if the cost was unimaginable. From that day forward, Mayor Bonal and the islanders understood.
Guts was a monster, perhaps, but their monster, and his presence ensured a peace they couldn't have otherwise dreamed of.
He never asked for gratitude, but a profound, unspoken thankfulness settled over Shell Island, knowing that Guts was their silent, terrifying protector.
Years blurred into nearly a decade on Shell Island, a decade of unusual, often grim, tranquility.
Jumoi continued her role, a comforting, scolding presence.
"Robin, dear, are you eating enough vegetables?" she'd inquire, sliding a plate of steamed greens across the counter, even as Guts, unbidden, placed his usual apple pie order.
The peace Guts afforded them was punctuated only by the sudden, swift disappearances of any pirate ships or World Government vessels foolish enough to veer too close.
And Nico Robin grew. The small, scared child had blossomed into a thoughtful, observant young woman, now around eighteen years old.
Her intellect, already prodigious, had flourished amidst the island's secluded libraries, the books Guts bought for her and hidden natural wonders.
But more profound was the maturation of her unique ability.
What had once been a nascent intuition, a simple understanding of animals, had evolved into something far grander.
She was becoming the "Whisperer of the World," an ability akin to the fabled "Voice of All Things." The ability her father, The God gives her without her knowing.
She could not only understand the chattering of the birds and the rustling warnings of the forest creatures, but she could now hold silent conversations with them, their simple wisdom flowing into her mind.
The wind, too, had become her confidante, whispering not just secrets of nature, but soft, guiding currents that tugged at her very soul, showing her paths forward, hinting at distant truths.
She felt the echoes of history, the hum of ancient stories embedded in the very stones and seas.
One crisp morning, with the salty air carrying the distant calls of gulls, Robin found Guts by the shore, a father figure she's too shy to admit. His immense sword resting beside him, his gaze fixed on the endless horizon.
She approached him, her usual quiet deference replaced by a new, resolute determination.
"Guts," she began, her voice steady, tinged with a maturity that belied her years.
"I... I understand now. What my mother, Nico Olvia, was searching for. What she wanted."
Her eyes, usually so calm, held a flicker of a fierce, inherited quest.
"The whispers... they guide me. I need to find the truth, to fulfill her wish."
Guts remained motionless, but Robin sensed his attention was entirely on her.
He had never pressured her, never questioned her silence about Ohara, and she deeply appreciated his patience.
Now, she was ready to ask. To her guardian, the ever-changing shield that always keep her safe.
"I need to leave this island, I've been in this island for as long as i remembered Guts. I need to fulfill what my mother wish for," she continued, her gaze meeting his with unwavering purpose.
"And I need you with me. The whispers... they lead to the Sabaody Archipelago, to what lay under Shabody Archipelago."
Guts was silent for a long moment, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves.
Then, he simply stood, turning to head back towards the village. Robin, a child he never had, a child who make him feel like a father. For the first time in forever, she asked something from him.
***
Later that day, Guts approached Mayor Bonal, who was overseeing the repair of a fishing net.
The mayor, his face lined with the wisdom of years but his eyes still holding that deep gratitude, looked up immediately.
"Bonal," Guts's voice was rough, direct.
"We need a ship. A good one. Capable of long travel."
Bonal didn't hesitate.
"For Robin's journey? For your journey, Guts?"
He had seen Robin's growth, observed the strange, silent connection she had with the island itself.
"Of course. Shell Island owes you more than a mere vessel. We've amassed resources, Guts. From the bounties of the pirates you... dealt with,"
He said, a subtle shudder running through him, remembering the carnage and horror guts's aftermath.
"Let me cover the cost. Consider it a small repayment for the peace you've granted us."
The preparations were swift and discreet.
A sturdy, medium-sized ship, provisioned for a lengthy voyage, was made ready.
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in fiery hues, Robin found Jumoi waiting by the docks, her apron still on, but her eyes glistening.
"Oh, Robin, my dear," Jumoi murmured, pulling the young woman into a tight, warm embrace. Robin embraced her back.
This plump woman that is taller than her in the past, now one head shorter than her. The memories of her livelihood in Shell Island keep flowing through her mind, making her heart warm.
"You've grown so much. Be careful out there, child. The world is a cruel place, even for the strong. And Guts!"
She pulled back, looking at the silent swordsman.
"You look after her! Make sure she eats proper meals, not just... not just pie!"
Her voice wavered with genuine concern.
Guts merely gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod, a silent promise to the worried woman.
Jumoi then pressed a small, intricately embroidered pouch into Robin's hand, full of her favorite dried fruits and a tiny, perfectly baked apple pie, still warm from the oven.
Under the pale moonlight, as the waves gently rocked their newly acquired vessel, Guts and Robin set sail from the peaceful haven of Shell Island.
They left behind the mayor who owed them an unpayable debt, the warm, motherly figure who had given Robin a semblance of a normal childhood, the countless unmarked graves of those who had sought to harm Robin, and the years of quiet, perilous sanctuary.
Their compass, guided by the whispers only Robin could hear, pointed towards the Grand Line's tumultuous gateway: the Sabaody Archipelago.