"What? He's dead!?" Saint Garling sat on his sofa, visibly shocked as he listened to the report from his butler.
"Yes, Saint Garling. Judging from the body… it appears he angered that Lord. His head exploded," the butler replied quickly.
Those words made Garling's expression grow even heavier.
Bazar had been summoned by Saint Saturn to report on the Roger Pirates.
That much Garling knew.
But now Bazar had gone in—and died. Not executed by decree, but killed personally by Saturn.
That carried a completely different meaning.
What kind of status did Bazar have? Was he even worthy of being personally killed by Saturn?
"Valthior…" Garling immediately thought of that name.
Damn it. Within the Roger Pirates, the only one who could provoke Saturn to personally kill someone in anger… was Valthior.
What had he done?
Or rather—what had happened?
Originally, Garling had planned to continue investigating whether that rumored infant aboard the Roger Pirates was Shanks.
But now, he didn't dare act rashly.
"Forget it. I'll wait until things settle down… or ask Valthior directly if I get the chance," Garling muttered to himself, abandoning further investigation into the Roger Pirates.
As for whether he had Valthior's Den Den Mushi contact?
He did.
But he had called several times—whether it was poor signal or not, Valthior had never answered.
Perhaps Saint Garling simply didn't understand the ways of the world. If an adult's Den Den Mushi fails to connect several times at different hours, it usually means the other party simply has no desire to answer.
...
Meanwhile, at Nanohana Port in Alabasta.
The travel-worn Roger Pirates had arrived the previous night.
Early this morning, they were already preparing to depart.
As the Oro Jackson's sails unfurled, Roger gazed at the receding port and sighed, "This is the first time I've shaken off Garp so easily after running into him. Looks like if you want to deal with the Marines, you've got to rely on Valthior."
"Oh? If you're not used to it, we can drop you back off at the port," Rayleigh teased with a grin.
Gaban, meanwhile, was directing the crew to set their course. From Alabasta to Jaya, under normal conditions without storms or disasters, it would take about a month and a half at standard speed.
That was the normal pace.
According to Gaban, for newcomers to the Grand Line, traveling from a starting route all the way to Sabaody Archipelago could take nearly a year.
Which was why Sommers had said sailing was incredibly boring—and why he was convinced Rayleigh must have gotten Shakky pregnant.
After all, during long voyages, most of what you see is nothing but endless ocean. Who wouldn't get bored?
Well—Rayleigh wouldn't.
As the only member of the Roger Pirates with a partner, he was living his best life. Over the past two years, he'd gone through seven beds.
Every time Roger saw him smugly hauling another wrecked bed out of the cabin to toss overboard, he would fall into silent despair, staring out at the sea with bitter tears in his eyes.
He swore that once they came down from the Sky Island, he would definitely head to Amazon Lily and send Shakky back home!
...
Also on the deck—
Valthior watched as Doringo lifted little Shanks into the air, playing with him. With a mischievous grin, he strolled over.
Honestly, the little guy was pretty adorable.
Or rather—human babies in general were quite cute.
And Shanks was well-behaved. Unlike the babies Valthior remembered, who cried endlessly and got on people's nerves, this little guy mostly just ate, slept, and smiled happily for no reason.
He rarely caused trouble.
Except when he pooped randomly…
But since Valthior wasn't the one changing his diapers, it didn't bother him.
As Doringo lifted Shanks high, making him giggle,
"Hahaha!" Valthior laughed. "Don't forget to give me a copy of the photos you took of Shanks later!"
Doringo loved photography and was always snapping pictures. He used to love landscapes; now, he mostly photographed Shanks.
It could be said that, aside from Shakky, Doringo spent the most time taking care of the child. Once Shakky left, he'd probably become the ship's full-time babysitter.
"Why do you want so many embarrassing photos of Shanks?" Doringo asked with a chuckle.
Unlike him—who liked documenting Shanks' growth—Valthior only collected the kid's most embarrassing moments.
Bedwetting. Soiling himself. Tripping and getting bumps all over his head. Even grabbing bird droppings off the deck and trying to eat them.
Valthior had it all.
"I've got a feeling this brat's going to become something big," Valthior said with a grin. "So I need some dirt on him. If he ever stops respecting me in the future, I'll just publish these in the newspapers! Hahahahaha!"
Setting aside the fact that he was part of the Roger Pirates and had helped raise Shanks—
Based on his complicated family ties with Garling, Valthior could indeed be considered of the same generation among the Celestial Dragons.
Calling himself Shanks' "uncle" wasn't wrong at all.
While Valthior was busy teasing little Shanks, Gaban approached, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
"Hey, Valthior. Have you ever seen giants before? You must have, right?" Gaban asked.
"Giants? Of course. I've even ridden one," Valthior replied casually.
"R-r-r-ridden!?" Gaban stuttered, suddenly getting excited. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes lit up, his breathing growing heavier.
He grabbed Valthior and dragged him to the railing, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention. Then he swallowed and asked, "Master… teach me. How does a normal human ride a giant?"
"Hm?" Valthior smoothed his neatly styled silver hair, looking puzzled. "You capture a giant, put a slave collar on him, whip him brutally, starve him, torture him until his mind breaks and he submits. Then you train him into a slave. Once he's obedient, you make him crawl on the ground. After that, you build a properly sized saddle and lock it onto him. Boom—you've got yourself a giant mount. What's the issue?"
"…What?" Gaban stared at him in disbelief. "Listen to yourself. Are you even human?"
"That's normal. I grew up in that kind of environment," Valthior said calmly. "Though I don't have any giant slaves myself, and I'm not into slavery. I've just seen others do it. The Satchers Family loves giant slaves. In the God's Residence, there's an ancient giant who's been enslaved for nearly a century—far larger than ordinary giants. We call him the 'Elysium Train Tavern.' Do you know why?"
Gaban hesitated for a moment, but couldn't resist asking, "…Why?"
"That was over a hundred years ago," Valthior said lightly. "When he was captured, he had a family—wife and daughter. Later, because he resisted the Satchers Family, his wife and daughter were thrown into an arena in front of him. They were forced to fight, over and over, against sea beasts and giant monsters injected with massive doses of aphrodisiacs… until the end."
"After that, he was still alive—but his soul and consciousness were gone. He was trained into a slave that could only crawl endlessly along the widest circular road in the God's Residence."
"About fifty or sixty years ago, his body deteriorated—especially his limbs. So the Satchers Family modified him, turning him into a half-cyborg. Now, with just minimal energy input, he can crawl endlessly without eating, drinking, or excreting."
"They even built a luxurious tavern on his back. Many Celestial Dragons love holding parties up there."
Valthior smiled faintly.
But that smile was cold—chilling to the bone.
Gaban looked at that expression and found it… unsettling.
After a moment, he patted Valthior on the shoulder and sighed. "Coming out of that kind of environment and still turning out half-decent… that's not easy."
Valthior froze for a second—then snapped angrily, "What do you mean 'half-decent'? The hell are you saying!?"
...
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