The weeks that followed unfolded with a steady, deliberate rhythm.
They went from port to port, from mission to mission, with the quiet methodical approach of two people who knew exactly where they were going, even if the path to get there remained unclear. No grand battles, no spectacular confrontations. Just clean, well-executed work, patiently accumulated like stacking stones to build something solid.
An escort to Ferro Island—three days at sea, a group of bandits who tried to block their way midway through the journey and quickly regretted that decision. Two shuriken, one elbow strike from Shikamaru, and it was over before the merchant even had time to understand what had happened.
A retrieval contract on Sael Island—recovering a crate of medicine stolen by a group of small-time pirates camping in the hills behind the port. Elian took the tags, Shikamaru took the shadows, and they returned with the crate an hour after setting out.
A bounty on a local pirate named Dast, six million Berries, who had been terrorizing fishermen in a small archipelago for three months. Dast was big, loud, and convinced no one would dare face him directly. He looked genuinely surprised when Elian drove two shuriken into his shoulder before he had even finished speaking.
Mission after mission, the Berries piled up.
And mission after mission, Elian felt something changing in his body and in the way he fought. Not dramatically, not all at once. But his movements became more natural, his decisions faster, his calculations of distance and angles almost automatic. He thought less about what he was doing—and simply did it. It was subtle, difficult to name, but real.
Shikamaru noticed it too, in his own way.
One evening, while they were moored in a small port whose name Elian had already forgotten, the Nara simply said, without looking up from the map he was studying:
"You hesitate less."
Elian thought about it for a moment.
"Is that good or bad?"
"It's good. Hesitation costs time. Time costs mistakes." He paused. "You're not fast yet. But you're more certain. That's different."
Elian didn't reply. He looked out at the sea through the inn's window, the reflections of the harbor lanterns on the dark water.
It still wasn't enough. He knew that. But it was more than before.
***
It was during a stop at Porto Calmo, a month after their departure from Maren, that they heard about Voss for the first time since their encounter.
They were sitting in the same tavern where they had listened to conversations the first time, with the same coffees in front of them and the same appearance of two travelers of no particular interest. Shikamaru had his eyes half-closed. Elian was looking outside.
It was a conversation between two sailors at the neighboring table that caught his attention.
"Did you see the notice at the Marine office this morning?"
"No. What?"
"Voss, the representative from the eastern outpost. He sent a report to the main base. Two individuals—a kid with purple hair and a guy with some kind of buns." He lowered his voice. "Apparently they took out all of Crane's crew and killed the captain himself."
A silence.
"Crane? The one whose weapons didn't do anything?"
"The same. Voss doesn't understand how they did it. He talks about techniques he's never seen. Shadows moving on their own, metal stars." A chair scraped. "He didn't know what to make of it, so he forwarded the report to his superiors."
"Shadows moving on their own…" The other sailor exhaled slowly. "Those two aren't ordinary."
"No. And apparently the main base doesn't know what to make of it either. But they've got the file now."
The two sailors changed the subject.
Elian waited until their conversation drifted far enough before murmuring to Shikamaru.
"You heard."
"Yes."
"Voss sent our file."
"I expected that." Shikamaru took a sip of coffee, looking as unconcerned as if they were talking about the weather. "It's not surprising. A man like Voss doesn't let an anomaly go unreported to his superiors. That's how he works."
Elian looked at him.
"And that doesn't worry you?"
Shikamaru thought for a moment, eyes on his cup.
"No," he said at last. "Not yet. A report takes time to move up the chain. And in the East Blue, the Marines have other priorities than two unknowns dealing with pirates for them." He set his cup down. "What matters is what we do in the meantime."
"We keep going," Elian said.
"We keep going."
Elian nodded and turned his gaze back to the window. Outside, Porto Calmo was coming to life under the mid-morning sun. Ships entered and left the bay, carrying with them their cargo and their stories.
Somewhere in the East Blue Marine hierarchy, a file with their descriptions was beginning to circulate.
They didn't care.
Not because it didn't matter—but because worrying now wouldn't change what was already in motion. And the energy spent worrying was energy not spent moving forward.
***
Two weeks later, in a port whose name still didn't matter, Shikamaru counted it all again.
The pouches were heavier than they had ever been. Elian looked at them on the table between them with a feeling that was hard to name—something between satisfaction and impatience.
"Current total," said Shikamaru. "38 million Berries."
Elian remained silent for a moment. Then he made a decision he had been turning over in his mind for several days.
"This time it's different," he said. "I'm taking 30 million for the Shop. We keep 8 million for the road."
Shikamaru nodded without argument.
Elian closed his eyes and opened the Shop. The lines appeared, clear and precise.
40,000,000 – Elemental Affinity
30 million set aside for the system. He was still ten million short.
He closed the Shop slowly. The distance was real, measurable, frustrating in its precision. Ten million. Not an abstraction, not a distant horizon. One more mission. Maybe two.
"A little more," he murmured.
Shikamaru glanced at him.
"A little more," he confirmed. "And then everything changes."
Outside, night had fallen over the port. Lanterns reflected on the calm water, and the wind blew softly in from the open sea.
The affinity was almost within reach.
All that remained was to reach out and take it.
***
The next morning, they set off again without waiting.
Eight million in their pockets for the road. Thirty million set aside for the system. Ten million still missing for the affinity. The numbers turned in Elian's mind with almost mechanical clarity as he rowed, letting the wind push their boat eastward.
Shikamaru had unfolded his map across his knees and was studying it with his usual relaxed focus, eyes half-closed, back resting against the mast.
"There's an island two days from here," he said without looking up. "It's called Isla Verna. Small, not well known. But from what I heard in Porto Calmo, a group of pirates has settled there over the past few weeks. They're blocking fishing routes and extorting passing boats."
Elian kept rowing.
"A bounty?"
"Probably. The locals must have reported it. In places this isolated, the Marines take time to respond. They'll be relieved if someone deals with it first." He folded the map. "It's not a large operation. Five or six men, from what I was told. Nothing comparable to Crane."
"And the reward?"
Shikamaru gave a slight shrug.
"Hard to say without seeing the official notice. But for this kind of group, between eight and twelve million. Maybe more if the locals contribute."
Elian nodded and kept rowing. Eight to twelve million. Enough to reach forty million with what he already had set aside. Maybe even with a little left over.
The sea was calm beneath a uniformly gray sky, with no strong wind or significant waves. A transitional sea—neither hostile nor welcoming. Elian liked days like that in a way he couldn't quite explain.
They had something honest about them.
***
Isla Verna came into view the day after next, late in the morning, exactly as Shikamaru had said.
It was a small, low island, covered in dense vegetation that stretched almost all the way down to the water. The port was modest, with about a dozen houses visible from the sea and a few warehouses along the dock. Nothing remarkable at first glance. But Elian immediately noticed what was wrong. The fishing boats were all moored even though the sun was already high in the sky. At that hour, in a normal fishing port, the docks should have been half empty.
They approached slowly, without rushing.
"The boats aren't going out anymore," Elian murmured.
"No," said Shikamaru. "That confirms what we heard."
They moored their boat away from the main dock, behind an old fishing vessel whose hull needed caulking. No one came to greet them. No one came to question them either. The few inhabitants visible from the dock watched them from their doorsteps or from half-open windows, with that particular way of looking at strangers when you've learned that strangers can be a problem.
Elian and Shikamaru walked through the village without hurrying, observing. The streets were clean but silent. A supply shop was closed, even though it should have been open at that hour. In front of one house, two children played quietly, without the usual noise children make when nothing holds them back.
The tension in the air was palpable without being overt. It wasn't the sharp fear of immediate danger. It was something more worn, more settled. The tension of people who had grown used to being afraid.
Shikamaru noticed the warehouse before Elian did. It stood by the water, larger than the other buildings in the port, with a half-open door from which voices drifted out along with the smell of cheap tobacco. Two men were sitting on crates in front of the entrance, sabers at their belts, with the look of men who had been bored for far too long.
"Six men, from what I was told," Shikamaru murmured without breaking stride. "Two outside. Four inside, probably."
Elian nodded almost imperceptibly.
They kept walking without approaching the warehouse, heading in the opposite direction like two travelers simply looking for their way. The two guards watched them pass with the indifference of men convinced that no one posed a threat.
It was at the end of a narrow alley that opened onto a small enclosed garden that they found the village chief.
He was an elderly man, with a fisherman's hands and a tired expression that seemed to have been there long before the pirates arrived. He saw them approach and didn't move, as if running or hiding had long since seemed pointless to him.
Elian stopped at a respectful distance.
"How long have they been here?" he asked quietly.
The old man looked at them one after the other, searching for something in their faces.
"Three weeks," he said at last. "They arrived one morning. Six men. They said the island was theirs now and that the fishermen had to give them part of every catch." He paused. "Two of my men refused. They were beaten in front of everyone."
He said it simply, without visible anger. Like someone who had told the same story several times and had exhausted its emotion.
"Since then, no one goes out to sea," he continued. "We live off what we have stored. It won't last."
Elian looked at the old man for a moment, then at the warehouse visible at the end of the alley.
"We'll take care of it," he said.
The old man looked at him with an expression that was hard to read. Not relief yet. More the caution of someone who had learned not to hope too quickly.
"There are two of you," he said.
"Yes," Elian replied.
A silence.
"Stay inside tonight," Shikamaru said from behind Elian, his voice calm and drawling. "You and everyone else. We'll handle it."