(17/02/24 - 03:00) (Wednesday February 17, 1524)
The last patron stumbled out of the Rip-off Bar. Uma wiped down the final wooden table near the window. He folded the damp rag and set it on the counter. He was officially off the clock. His punishment for tardiness expired two days ago. He maintained strict punctuality since the shipyard incident, arriving exactly on time for every shift.
He unbuttoned his work apron. He stood taller than he did forty-eight hours prior, his frame stretching to one hundred and eighty-three centimeters. The wages from Shakky provided the necessary funds to purchase fresh canvas shirts, durable trousers, and massive quantities of dense sea beast meat from the local markets. The constant influx of calories fueled his hyper-recovery.
His knuckles and shins bore fresh, thick calluses. He spent the past two mornings deep in the isolated mangrove roots, repeatedly striking the petrified wood to micro-fracture his bones and force them to calcify denser. He dedicated hours to refining the aerial technique, isolating the explosive muscle twitch required to solidify the oxygen. He could now launch himself several meters through the air before his muscles fatigued.
He grabbed his heavy grey jacket and turned toward the front door to head back to the clinic.
Shakky stood behind the counter, pouring a glass of dark rum for Rayleigh.
"The supply chains in Grove Seventeen are expanding," Shakky mentioned, resting her chin on her hand. "Silas is moving a massive shipment by the end of the week."
"The Hound," Rayleigh mused, swirling the liquid in his glass. "He operates a large slaver ring in that sector, does he not?"
"He runs the main compound," Shakky confirmed, lighting a cigarette. "He enjoys the direct financial backing of Don Valerius, an Underworld Broker with legitimate Noble status. Valerius uses Silas to funnel prime stock directly to the World Government. They supply the Celestial Dragons in Mary Geoise. The Nobles pay a heavy premium for the discretion."
Uma stopped walking. His hand hovered over the iron door handle.
The words hit his ears like a physical blow. The concepts of slavery, stock, and the World Government triggered a violent, suffocating wave of pure, homicidal rage in his chest. Thick, dark veins bulged instantly against the skin of his neck and his forehead. His jaw locked tight enough to grind his molars. He remembered the blistered ring of his own slave collar. He remembered the beaten human children held on leashes by the celestial dragon.
He turned around and walked back to the counter.
"Tell me more about Silas," Uma demanded, his voice vibrating with a dark, dangerous frequency.
Shakky looked at the bulging veins pulsing on his forehead. She tapped a grey ash from her cigarette into a glass tray.
"Silas operates out of a heavily fortified slaver compound in the center of the grove," Shakky explained calmly. "He holds an active bounty of twenty-two million Berries. He is a seasoned combatant. He wields a heavy, weighted chain-whip to control his prisoners and keep challengers at a safe distance."
Rayleigh watched the young man over the rim of his glass. The old pirate felt the sudden, overwhelming bloodlust filling the ambient space of the tavern. It was a cold, focused, and absolute intent to murder.
"I am quite curious to see how you will deal with The Hound, boy," Rayleigh said softly, a faint hint of genuine anticipation in his raspy voice.
Uma looked at the old pirate. He absorbed the intelligence completely. He possessed a clear target, a specific weapon to counter, and a location.
He gave a short nod to the two legends. He turned his back to the counter. He pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped out into the dark, humid air of the lawless zone. He had already decided exactly what to do.
(17/02/24 - 03:30) (Wednesday February 17, 1524)
Uma navigated the dark, winding paths of Grove Thirteen. He reached the clinic, pushed the heavy iron door open, and stepped inside. Doctor Vance snored lightly from his cot in the corner. Uma walked to his own narrow bed and sat down. He removed his new leather boots and lay flat on his back. He needed to rest his body and allow his growth to consolidate his strength. He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake his exhausted mind.
(17/02/24 - 10:00)
The morning sun baked the muddy streets of Grove Seventeen. Uma stood outside a massive stone compound. High iron fences topped with barbed wire surrounded the entire perimeter. Heavily armed guards patrolled the main entrance. He adjusted the collar of his clean canvas shirt. He walked directly toward the iron gates, projecting the casual confidence of a buyer with heavy pockets.
A guard blocked his path with a wooden spear.
"State your business," the guard demanded.
"I am looking for laborers to handle cargo on my ship," Uma lied smoothly. "I have Berries to spend."
The guard lowered the spear and pointed toward the main double doors. Uma walked inside. The interior resembled a high-end merchant guild. Clean stone floors replaced the mud outside. A tall, lean man with a scar across his nose and a heavy, weighted chain-whip coiled at his hip stood near a polished wooden desk.
Silas evaluated Uma's tall frame and the quality of his clothes.
"Welcome to my establishment," Silas said, offering a practiced, hollow smile. "I am Silas. We provide the finest stock in the Sabaody Archipelago. Are you seeking manual labor, domestic servants, or perhaps something more specialized?"
"Heavy labor," Uma replied. "I need strong backs."
Silas nodded. He snapped his fingers. A short, balding man wearing a stained vest scurried out from a side corridor.
"Take our guest to the holding pens," Silas ordered. "Show him the recent acquisitions from the South Blue."
(17/02/24 - 10:15)
The balding man bowed to Uma and led him down a long, dimly lit hallway. The clean air of the reception area gave way to the sharp stench of unwashed bodies, human waste, and despair. Heavy iron doors lined both sides of the corridor.
The guide pulled a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the first door. He pushed it open.
"Here we have the standard laborers," the guide announced, waving his hand toward the interior.
Uma looked inside. Thirty men sat chained to the damp stone floor. They possessed hollow eyes and bruised ribs. Heavy iron collars rested on their necks.
"They look starved," Uma observed, maintaining his cover as a discerning buyer.
"We keep their rations low during processing to break their spirit," the guide explained cheerfully. "Once you purchase them and feed them, they will work until they drop. Five thousand Berries a head."
'They treat human lives exactly like livestock,' Uma thought, feeling a cold, heavy disgust settling in his stomach. 'This entire system operates on absolute sociopathy.'
The guide closed the door and moved down the hall. He opened a second room. This cell held women of various ages. Some wept quietly. Others stared blankly at the far wall.
"Domestic servants," the guide said. "We also have a premium selection for private entertainment if you prefer. They cost double the laborers."
"Skip them," Uma instructed. "Show me the rest."
The guide nodded eagerly. They reached the end of the corridor. The guide unlocked a heavy, reinforced iron door. The smell of fear hung thick in the air.
Uma stepped into the room. A dozen young children huddled together in the far corner. They clutched each other, shivering on the cold stone. Iron collars hung loosely around their small, fragile necks.
Uma stared at them. The memory of the beaten children held by the Celestial Dragon flashed in his mind. The memory of his sister from his past life surfaced instantly. The cold disgust in his stomach ignited into a blinding, white-hot rage.
The guide stood next to Uma, rubbing his hands together.
"These are our specialty," the guide whispered, a vile, greasy smile spreading across his face. "Children are highly sought after by the Nobles. They are young and soft for any type of pleasure you might-"
Uma moved his right arm. He grabbed the side of the guide's head with his large hand. He twisted his wrist violently.
CRACK.
The guide's head snapped completely upside down. The cervical vertebrae severed instantly. Uma let go. The limp body crumpled to the stone floor like a discarded rag.
The children in the corner gasped. A few squeezed their eyes shut, waiting for violence.
Uma took a deep breath. He suppressed the homicidal aura radiating from his muscles. He knelt on the stone floor, bringing himself down to their eye level.
"I will help you," Uma said softly. "Stay in this room. Do not make a sound."
He stood up. He turned his back to the children and walked out of the cell, pulling the heavy iron door shut behind him. He had a compound to clear.