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.
The journey through the Grand Line, guided by the subtle, insistent whispers that only Robin could hear, had been a perilous gauntlet.
Yet, Guts, the Devil Swordsman, moved through it with a grim, practiced ease.
His sheer power, honed by endless, brutal encounters, carved a path through turbulent seas and desperate crews, keeping their small ship remarkably untouched.
Robin, too, contributed, her maturing "Whisperer of the World" ability sensing shifting currents, hidden threats, and the presence of dangerous marine patrols long before they became visible, guiding Guts with quiet, precise warnings.
Finally, the colossal, ancient roots of the mangrove trees, stretching impossibly high into the sky, became visible on the horizon.
The air grew thick with a strange, sweet scent, and then, they saw them: the iridescent, shimmering bubbles, floating gently above the water, some carrying people, some encapsulating entire buildings. This was the Sabaody Archipelago, the gateway to the New World, a place unlike any other.
As their ship approached the chaotic shoreline, the cacophony washed over them.
Pirate flags of every conceivable design flapped in the breeze, mingling with the stiff, imposing banners of the Marines. The sheer diversity of people was staggering – hardened pirates, flamboyant entertainers, grim-faced bounty hunters, and, most unnervingly, the opulent, protected figures of the World Nobles, their presence a palpable weight in the atmosphere.
They docked their ship in a bustling harbor, the clatter of wood against wood, the shouting of merchants, and the distant, unsettling pop of bubbles echoing around them.
For Guts, this was another battlefield, albeit one masked by commerce and strange delights.
For Robin, it was a living library, a place where the history she craved might finally reveal itself, even as she remained acutely aware of the constant peril.
They stepped onto the unstable planks of the dock.
Guts, cloaked in his usual tattered mantle, his immense frame barely contained by the rough fabric, seemed like a walking shadow. He wasn't in his Berserker Armor, just the raw, unadorned bulk of the man himself, the colossal Dragon Slayer sheathed and resting against his back, its black form a stark line against the chaos.
Beside him, Nico Robin walked with a quiet confidence that belied the turbulence she carried within. Now nineteen, her beauty had blossomed, striking and undeniable. Her dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing intelligent, observant eyes that missed nothing.
Her figure, graceful and slender, was subtly emphasized by her practical but elegant attire.
As they moved through the throngs, she drew gazes like a moth to a flame – appreciative glances, curious stares, and, inevitably, the leering, hungry eyes of men who saw only an easy mark.
A group of crude, muscled pirates, their captain a hulking brute with a chipped cutlass at his hip and a grin that revealed missing teeth, blocked their path.
Their eyes raked over Robin, then sneered at Guts.
"Well now, what's a pretty little flower doing with that... thing?"
The captain slurred, his voice thick with ale and arrogance. Another pirate, smelling of cheap liquor and stale sweat, tried to reach out, his grubby hand aiming for Robin's arm.
Guts didn't even flinch. His hand, however, was already moving.
It was the fluid, almost ethereal speed raw, unadulterated force of a man whose muscles had been tempered in a thousand hellish battles.
His fingers wrapped around the Dragon Slayer's hilt.
"Hey, look at this loser,"
Scoffed another pirate, noticing the oversized sword.
"Think he's the 'Devil Swordsman' or somethin'?"
"That hunk of iron ain't gonna scare nobody, 'wannabe'!"
The captain laughed, a guttural bark.
"Yeah, go on, big man. Go play with your toy. The lady's got better company now."
He took a step forward, his hand reaching for Robin, a lecherous smirk twisting his face.
The world seemed to pause. Before Robin could do something. The carnage unleashed.
What happened next was not a fight, but an execution.
Guts moved.
It was a blur of black cloth and glinting steel.
The Dragon Slayer, drawn with a chilling scrape, became a whirlwind of destructive power.
There was no theatricality, no wasted motion. Just a brutal, efficient, horrifying force.
A sickening THWACK as the flat of the blade slammed into the first pirate's chest, sending him airborne like a broken doll, to crash through a fruit stall, scattering produce and shattering crates.
Another's arm, reaching for Robin, was severed with a single, deafening SLICE, the limb falling to the grimy planks with a wet thud, blood arcing through the air like a macabre fountain.
Guts, the unstoppable calamity, his sword keeps blurring. cleaving, whacking, beheading, dismembering the nearby pirates.
The captain, still mid-smirk, froze, felt a pressure, then a searing pain, as the edge of the Dragon Slayer tore through his midsection with a wet RIP, disemboweling him in a horrifying spray of crimson.
The air, moments ago filled with raucous laughter, was now choked with screams, gasps, and the wet, dying gurgles of men. Body parts lay scattered among broken crates and spilled fruit.
The pirates, those still alive, stood frozen, their faces pale with abject terror, the "wannabe" now a living nightmare.
Guts stood amidst the carnage, the Dragon Slayer now resting against his shoulder, a faint trickle of blood running down its massive blade.
He looked utterly unfazed, his hidden gaze piercing.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The message was delivered in severed heads , limbs and spilled guts.
Robin, her face a mask of practiced composure, didn't flinch or cry out.
She merely took a step forward, carefully navigating the widening pool of blood on the dock, her eyes briefly flicking over the horrifying scene, her jaw subtly clenching.
It was a familiar tableau, a necessary evil that always accompanied Guts and her. She didn't like it, but she understood.
Without another word, Guts turned, and together, they continued walking through the now-silent, stunned crowd, leaving the grotesque tableau behind.
The chaotic hum of Sabaody slowly resumed, but a new, chilling whisper spread through the docks – a whispered warning about the hulking figure with the black sword and the beautiful woman by his side.
The chilling silence that followed Guts's brutal display lasted only a few agonizing seconds before the cacophony of Sabaody slowly, hesitantly, began to resume.
Yet, it was a different kind of noise now—a hushed, fearful murmur replacing the boisterous shouts, the laughter dying on lips, replaced by wide-eyed stares.
People scattered, creating a wide, empty circle around the bloodied planks where the unfortunate pirates lay.
No one dared to approach Guts or Robin, their forms now stark figures of terror and cold composure.
Guts, his immense sword now eerily clean and resheathed against his back, continued walking as if nothing untoward had occurred.
His hidden gaze swept over the stunned onlookers, a silent warning to any who dared to meet it.
Robin, equally unfazed on the surface, walked beside him, her steps light and graceful, though her mind was a whirlwind of calculations.
The sheer efficiency of Guts's violence, a necessary evil for their survival, was a grim reminder of the world they inhabited and the relentless pursuit that still shadowed them.
Her jaw remained subtly clenched, a testament to the cost of their freedom.
The whispers, which had previously guided her path, now swirled with a new urgency. Not the gentle wind of Shell Island, but the frantic, overlapping vibrations of human fear, tinged with the metallic scent of fresh blood.
She heard fragments of thoughts, half-uttered names, and the rapid spread of news: "The Devil Swordsman... he is real... his bounty... unbelievable!"
Guts led them away from the most crowded thoroughfares, veering into a labyrinth of smaller, more dilapidated alleys where the bubbles floated lower, closer to the ground, and the air was thick with the smell of salt and stale liquor.
He needed information, and a place to disappear, even temporarily.
His eyes settled on a scrawny, wary-looking man leaning against a grimy wall, eyes darting nervously around.
He looked like he knew the underbelly of Sabaody.
Without breaking stride, Guts stopped directly in front of the man, casting him in a deeper shadow.
The man visibly flinched, fear blooming in his eyes as he recognized the hulking figure from the docks.
"Information,"
Guts rasped, his voice was like a grinding stone.
"Safe lodging. Out of sight."
The man stammered, intimidated beyond measure.
"Y-you... you're... the Devil Swordsman... G-Guts... I-I heard..."
Guts's hand subtly moved towards the Dragon Slayer. The man gulped, sweat beading on his forehead.
"R-right! Right, understood! There's... there's a place. Old bubble mechanic's shop, abandoned. Just a few blocks down. Used to be a hideout for small fry. Nobody bothers it now. And for information... I-I know a guy. Just... don't kill me." He pointed a trembling finger down the alley.
Guts merely grunted, a sound of acknowledgment and dismissal. He continued on, Robin following, leaving the terrified informant trembling in their wake.
They found the mechanic's shop, a dusty, forgotten corner of Sabaody, but secluded enough.
Inside, the air was stale, filled with the faint scent of oil and disused machinery. It was far from comfortable, but it was out of immediate sight.
As Robin quietly set down her small bag, the faint, distant sirens of a Marine patrol could be heard.
The news was spreading. Their arrival was already etched in blood, and Sabaody, the supposed stepping stone to the New World, had now officially become their next, perilous battleground.
A Familiar Face in a Shady Tavern
Later that night, with the cacophony of Sabaody's day fading into a more insidious hum, Guts left Robin resting in the quiet gloom of their mechanic shop hideout.
The journey had taken its toll, and she was deep in the sleep of utter exhaustion.
Guts, ever watchful, needed to gather more information, and perhaps, simply to confront the oppressive stillness of their temporary haven with the noise of the outside world.
He found a nondescript tavern, tucked away beneath the upper levels of the archipelago, its entrance shrouded in shadow.
The air inside was thick with pipe smoke, cheap alcohol, and the low murmur of desperate conversations.
Guts chose a stool at the far end of the worn counter, his back to the wall, his gaze sweeping the room.
He ordered a drink, a tankard of the local, harsh brew, and drank in silence. Then, a voice, too familiar for comfort, spoke beside him.
"Well now, fancy meeting you here, Guts."
Guts didn't flinch. He didn't even turn his head. He recognized the man immediately, though he hadn't seen him in a year. Potan. The amiable doctor from Shell Island, whose cheerful demeanor had always grated against Guts's instincts, now sat beside him, a disturbingly casual smile on his face.
Potan looked exactly the same, which was itself suspicious; the man hadn't aged a day since Guts had seen him last.
Guts had always known Potan was World Government Agent, a carefully placed observer, but to see him here, on Sabaody, so soon after their arrival, was a chilling confirmation of their constant surveillance.
Potan ordered a drink, his eyes scanning the chaotic tavern, seemingly at ease.
"You weren't supposed to leave Shell Island, you know,"
He said, his voice dropping to a low, conversational tone, as if discussing the weather.
"The World Government was prepared to leave you and the girl alone there. It was... an understanding."
He took a slow sip, his gaze finally settling on Guts, a hint of something cold and calculating in his eyes.
"As long as you never left."
Guts finally turned his head, his hidden gaze piercing Potan's very essence. His voice was a low, dangerous growl, laced with raw contempt.
"Leave us alone? With all the pests they kept sending to disturb us?"
Potan's smile tightened, a flicker of genuine annoyance crossing his face.
Guts had seen through their thinly veiled attempts at containment all those years ago on Shell Island.
The "pests" were the sporadic 'accidents'—the incited pirates, the bounty hunters, the stray agents—all probes designed to test Guts's resolve, to gauge Robin's development, to keep them contained.
Potan cleared his throat, a hint of his professional demeanor returning.
"That was merely... encouragement to stay in your designated area. You broke the agreement, Guts."
Guts returned to his drink, his silence a more potent threat than any words.
Potan, recognizing the futility of further conversation, simply sighed, a casual observer in a very dangerous game.
The Devil Swordsman was back in play, and the World Government's 'understanding' had just been shattered.