Chapter 182: The Crate from the Depths
In the bustling port of Water 7, hidden among the towering shipyards and warehouses, stood the secret CP9 base. A hulking figure loomed outside one such nondescript building: Gecko Moria, seven meters tall, his lanky frame nearly scraping the warehouse roof. He cut an unforgettable silhouette—slender yet imposing, with a horse-like face stretched over half a meter long.
Heads turned immediately. Dockworkers and sailors paused mid-task, whispers rippling through the crowd. But as eyes drifted to the crisp black suit hugging his frame and the gleaming World Government emblem pinned to his lapel, the murmurs died. No one dared approach. They scattered like startled fish, melting back into the chaos of the harbor.
Moria had been a terror on the seas once, a pirate with a 320 million Berry bounty. But those days were whispers now. Word had spread like wildfire: Moria was no rogue captain—he was a plant, a mole embedded in the pirate world by the World Government itself. He'd set out to topple Kaido, dreaming of ruling the New World's crews as a shadowy enforcer for his masters. The plan had crumbled. His entire crew slaughtered, Moria slunk back to the fold.
Rumors painted him as a full-fledged Cipher Pol agent now, or even the personal guard to a Celestial Dragon. From pirate kingpin to noble lapdog? It was a twisted promotion.
Moria snorted inwardly at the sidelong glances. Hmph. All that blood I spilled, and it means nothing next to a shiny badge. These sheep quake more at a title than a blade.
"Lord Moria," came a smooth voice, "your reputation alone is fearsome enough. Paired with the World Government's seal? You're a nightmare with wings. No wonder the locals are scattering."
A young man with garish purple hair sauntered up, bowing low. He looked like a knockoff of Spandam—slick, ambitious, and reeking of Cipher Pol scheming.
Moria's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp as a hook. "And you are?"
The kid straightened, flashing a deferential smile. If not for the government insignia on his own suit, Moria might've swatted him like a fly. He had no patience for bootlickers.
"I'm Spandam. My father is Spandine—he's corresponded with you before, sir."
Spandam's tone was all polish, but Moria caught the undercurrent of wariness. Pirates like him weren't exactly welcome in polite company, but with Ross's backing? No one in the family wanted to test that.
"Spandine's boy, eh?" Moria's scowl eased a fraction. He'd never met the man face-to-face, but their letters had piled up over the years—endless pitches about joining the cause. Rose's meteoric rise had tipped the scales. Why not? Moria had thought. If the kid's as ruthless as they say...
"Yes, sir. Please, come inside. Father's gift is waiting."
Spandam waved him toward the warehouse doors. Moria ducked his head and followed, shoulders brushing the frame. He wasn't here for trinkets—this "gift" was bound for higher hands. But protocol demanded something shiny for a first audience with a Celestial Dragon. If Spandine footed the bill, Moria could pass it along with a nod. Favors like that? He'd repay them. Eventually. Or not. Sentiment was for the weak, and he wasn't some starry-eyed deckhand anymore.
Deep in the warehouse's dim guts, they stopped before a massive crate draped in heavy canvas. Moria's Observation Haki prickled—life stirred inside, pulsing through sloshing seawater. Details blurred; his Haki wasn't refined enough to pierce the wooden seal. But alive? Undeniably.
"Something breathing in there?" Moria grunted.
Spandam grinned wider, like a shark scenting blood. "Prime catch from Fish-Man Island. Cost us dozens of good men to snag it—pulled her right out of the depths."
Moria arched a brow. "Funny, I haven't heard of any uproar from Fish-Man Island lately."
His Haki had pegged it already: a mermaid. Nothing new under the sun. He'd done worse in his pirating days—raids, plunders, the usual rot. This? Just another trophy.
"Can't spill details yet, sir—too sensitive. Unwrap her on your ship if you like. She's all yours to inspect."
Spandam was practically bouncing. They'd poured resources into this haul. Fish-Man Island was playing quiet for now, buying time before the storm. Once they realized she was gone? Chaos. But who gave a damn about a bunch of fish-folk?
Moria shrugged. "Fine."
He didn't care about the passenger. The tank was a puny three-by-three affair—barely a bathtub. And humans and merfolk? No spark there. Waste of seawater.
Under Spandam's orders, Cipher Pol grunts hauled the crate toward the docks. Moria's ride wasn't some dinghy; it was a behemoth, kilometers long, moored a safe mile offshore to avoid scraping Water 7's fragile skyline. He'd rowed in on a skiff, but now the real beast awaited.
Aboard the World Government escort vessel trailing alongside, Spandam gawked at the shadow looming on the horizon. "Incredible, Lord Moria. Your ship's a monster."
Moria's lips twisted into a toothy leer. "Heh. I like 'em big. Once I get my hands on Kaido, his skull's going right up on the prow."
His voice dipped, shadows flickering in his eyes. This floating fortress had seen better days—wild feasts with his old crew, laughter echoing off the rails. Now? Empty decks, ghosts in the rigging. Kaido had taken it all, leaving Moria a hollow shell.
Spandam shifted, catching the chill rolling off the giant. "Saint Ross will make it right. He's descending from Skypiea in two days. Sail his way, and you'll link up."
Moria's aura thickened, a storm cloud of grudge and grief. Spandam shivered—next to a powerhouse like this, he felt like chum in a shark tank. Weak as he was, the pressure was crushing.
"Get lost," Moria rumbled. "I've got delivery duty."
He hefted the crate aboard with one hand, like it was driftwood. As Spandam's ship peeled away, Moria scanned the waves, paranoia itching his spine. That clash with Kaido had broken something in him—shattered his fire. Teaming with Celestial Dragons? It stuck in his craw. But revenge was revenge. If Saint Ross could bury Kaido, Moria would play guard dog. No shame in that.
"Sir?" A soft voice drifted from the crate, muffled but clear. "You seem... troubled."
Moria barked a laugh, kicking the canvas aside. "Troubled? What's it to you, fish?"
No surprise there. His Haki had clocked her as sharp— no dull-eyed prize. If she lacked guts, Spandam's crew wouldn't have tiptoed around her like this.
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