They set out for Maren the following morning, as planned.
The merchant's name was Joris. He was a stout man in his fifties, with a poorly trimmed beard and sharp eyes that sized up everything around him with the precision of someone who had spent his life negotiating. His cargo filled almost the entire hold of his small sailboat: crates of medicine, carefully packed, bound for an apothecary in Maren who had been waiting for them for several weeks.
He watched Elian and Shikamaru come aboard with the usual expression—a mix of skepticism and pragmatic resignation.
"Daven tells me you're reliable," he said by way of greeting. "I hope he's right. My cargo is worth more than both your lives put together."
Shikamaru looked at him with his half-lidded eyes.
"Reassuring," he muttered.
Joris shrugged and turned back to his men.
***
The crossing to Maren lasted two days.
The sea was calm, the wind steady. Joris spent his days checking his crates, counting and recounting his stock with a quiet anxiety. His two deckhands worked in silence, efficiently. Elian and Shikamaru carried out their role without drawing attention, watching the horizon, keeping an eye on any approach.
Nothing disturbed the voyage.
It was precisely that calm that led Joris to speak.
The merchant was the kind of man who handled prolonged silence poorly. From the very first evening, sitting on deck with a cup of coffee in his hands, he began recounting his recent journeys with the eagerness of someone who hadn't had an audience in far too long. Shikamaru listened with half-lidded eyes, looking absent. Elian, on the other hand, was truly listening.
On the second evening, Joris spoke of Crane.
He didn't seem to realize how important his words were.
"Three weeks ago, I almost didn't make it through," he said, shaking his head. "His men boarded my ship two days east of here. They took their tax and let me go, but I saw something I won't forget anytime soon."
Elian fixed his gaze on him without moving.
"A cannonball," Joris continued. "Fired by another merchant who refused to pay. It hit Crane square in the chest." He paused, eyes unfocused. "And it bounced. Like a ball off wood. It bounced and went straight through the hull of the ship that fired it."
He slowly shook his head, like a man who still hadn't processed what he'd seen.
"Crane didn't even flinch. He was standing on the deck, arms crossed, and smiling. I don't know what it is. Some strange power, some odd technique—I have no idea." He drained his cup. "All I know is that normal weapons don't do anything to him. That's why I pay his tax and keep my mouth shut. Good night."
He disappeared below deck.
Elian and Shikamaru remained alone on the deck under a starry sky. The sea lapped softly against the hull. A long silence settled between them before Shikamaru spoke, his voice lower than usual.
"Everything that hits him bounces back. Projectiles, blades, direct physical impact." He paused. "Your shuriken would be useless against him."
Elian looked out at the sea, letting the information settle quietly in his mind.
"And your techniques?"
Shikamaru remained silent for a moment.
"The Shadow Possession Jutsu doesn't strike physically. It immobilizes. So it should work." He paused again. "But if his men surround us while he's still free, things get complicated."
"We need to isolate him," Elian said.
"Yeah. Isolate him first, immobilize him next." Shikamaru closed his eyes, hands in his pockets. "And I'll handle him."
Elian looked at him.
"His power reflects physical impacts. Not shadows," Shikamaru continued in his drawn-out voice. "While I immobilize Crane with the Shadow Possession Jutsu, you deal with his men. Keep them from interfering while I take their captain out."
Elian thought for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"How many men, usually?"
"From what we heard in Porto Calmo, about ten on deck at all times. That's a lot for you alone." Shikamaru closed his eyes again. "But you don't need to take them all down. You just need to slow them, create enough chaos so I can work without being bothered."
"The tags for that," Elian said.
"Exactly. You create confusion, keep them from regrouping, and watch my back." A pause. "That matters more than fighting Crane directly."
Elian looked at the sea for a moment. It wasn't the most glorious role, but it was the most logical one. And since Crystal Island, he had learned that logic was worth more than pride.
"Alright," he said simply.
The night was calm around them. The stars reflected on the dark water with unusual clarity.
Elian remained on deck for a long time after Shikamaru had gone to sleep, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He thought about the explosive tags in his inner pocket. He thought about the warmth of his chakra, about how he might channel it differently if blades became useless.
He thought about elemental affinity—still distant, but more necessary than ever.
***
They arrived in Maren late the next morning.
It was a smaller island than Porto Calmo, but with a surprisingly busy port for its size. Boats of all kinds were moored along the docks, and the market lining the waterfront buzzed with dense, noisy activity.
Joris unloaded his cargo with satisfied efficiency, shook Elian's hand and then Shikamaru's with unexpected firmness, and handed over their payment without argument.
"Safe travels," he said. "And if you're planning to deal with Crane…" He paused, looked at them for a second, then shook his head with a skeptical smile. "Good luck."
He headed back toward his ship without looking back.
Elian and Shikamaru remained on the dock, their coin pouches in their pockets, watching the activity of the port around them. People everywhere talking, bargaining, loading and unloading goods.
And everywhere, in the conversations, Crane's name kept coming up like a familiar shadow.
Shikamaru heard it three times in less than ten minutes, simply by standing still on the dock.
"He's well known here," he murmured.
"Feared," Elian corrected.
"It's often the same thing."
They walked away from the dock in silence, already preparing for what would come next.
***
They took a room in the only inn in the port, a narrow building wedged between a rope warehouse and a fishmonger's shop. The owner, a thin man with a scar on his chin, handed them a key without looking up from his ledger.
The room was even smaller than the one in Porto Calmo, but sufficient. Elian set down his bag and stepped back out almost immediately. Shikamaru followed without a word.
They walked along the waterfront in the opposite direction of the main dock, toward where the fishing boats were moored and men repaired their nets at the end of the day. It was the kind of place where conversations were freer, less monitored.
They did not have to wait long.
A group of three fishermen were arguing loudly near an overturned boat, their expressive gestures betraying a level of agitation that had nothing to do with the nets they were repairing. Elian naturally slowed his pace as he passed them.
He heard Crane's name before he had even passed them.
Shikamaru stopped a little further on, pretending to observe something out on the water. Elian leaned against a post a few meters from the fishermen, eyes on the sea, ears elsewhere.
The story was about a merchant ship that had left Maren five days earlier, carrying fabric and salt. It had never reached its destination. A fisherman had spotted it burning on the horizon the next morning, with debris drifting for hundreds of meters. Two survivors had been recovered by another passing ship. They had told the same story: Crane had demanded his tax, the captain had refused, and Crane had smiled before bouncing the merchant's cannonball directly back into its own hull.
One shot. The ship had sunk in under ten minutes.
Elian remained still, eyes on the water, letting every detail settle in his mind.
What interested him was not the violence of the account. It was the mechanics. Crane had not attacked directly. He had allowed the attack to come, redirected it, and watched the enemy destroy themselves. It was efficient, economical, and deeply calculated for someone operating in the East Blue.
He slowly walked away and rejoined Shikamaru a little further on.
"You heard it," Shikamaru said. It was not a question.
"Yes." Elian paused. "He doesn't just bounce impacts. He redirects them. He chooses where they go."
Shikamaru slowly nodded.
"Which changes everything." He fell silent for a moment, hands in his pockets, gaze lost on the horizon. "If your explosive tags create a blast wave and he can redirect it, you might end up in the trajectory of your own attack."
Elian had thought about that while the fisherman was speaking.
"Then I won't use them directly against him. I'll use them on his men, as planned. And I'll stay out of Crane's range while you deal with him."
"It's simpler than it sounds," Shikamaru said. "His men won't stay passive while their captain is immobilized. They'll react quickly and aggressively."
"I know." Elian looked at the port around them, the moored ships, the ropes snapping in the wind. "How long do you need to neutralize someone with the Shadow Possession Jutsu?"
"To immobilize them, a few seconds. To fully take them out…" Shikamaru exhaled slowly. "It depends on their physical resistance. If his ability extends to that, it'll take longer."
"Then I need to keep his men at a distance long enough."
"Yes." A pause. "And without getting yourself killed in the process."
Elian let out a short breath that sounded like the beginning of a laugh.
"That's the hardest part."
Shikamaru did not smile, but something in his half-lidded eyes softened slightly.
They stayed a while longer on the waterfront, watching the evening light fall over Maren. The sea took on that golden, calm shade Elian now knew by heart, the one that always came before nightfall and everything it brought with it.
"We leave tomorrow morning," Shikamaru said at last. "We locate his ship, observe his habits, and act when we're ready. Not before."
Elian nodded.
"And if we're never truly ready?"
Shikamaru glanced at him sideways, with that unreadable expression of his.
"Then we go anyway," he said simply.
They returned to the inn in silence, under a sky slowly turning violet. In Elian's mind, the pieces of the Crane problem kept turning, searching, slowly fitting together.
He did not yet have the full solution.
But he was getting closer.