Captain Flint could scarcely believe it. The amount of Berries being thrown around left him reeling inside, and those Berries, that huge amount, it would be theirs. They were rich! Or they would be—it was their scroll up there on the stage. Never again would they want for Berries, at least not for the next few years. They could explore the four seas and maybe even the Grand Line without ever having to steal or smuggle or pirate again. Flint shared a look with his first mate, a smile splitting his face. His first mate grinned back, his smile maybe even wider than his own. Flint knew that Robert, as a former marine, loathed the pirating they were forced to do to stay afloat, and now, for the next few years, they would never have to pirate again.

“Three hundred million Berries from Booth 8! Do I hear three-fifty? Yes! Three hundred and fifty million from Booth 4! Do I hear four hundred?

That amount boggled the mind. Their own ship, the Dear Lady– a Brigantine–had cost him around 3 million Berries. He could buy at least a hundred Dear Lady’s with that amount of money! A hundred Brigantines! And Brignatines were not small ships, the Dear Lady for example had enough space to carry his crew of twenty-eight, and even came with four cannons on each side!

“Yes! Four hundred million from Booth 1!”

Even the royal had joined the fray, Flint looked up at Booth 3, hoping that he would also join and start another bidding war like they had for the seastone bullet. A bidding war that had reached the billions! Two billion berries, the things he could do with two billion berries! Yet the Booth did not join.

“To think some information is worth so much…” Robert mused to himself, Flint barely hearing his voice over the auctioneers rapid fire bid calling as his hand went to stroke his beard, only to stop. His beautiful blonde beard was gone. A necessary sacrifice, they said. But no, it wasn’t them sacrificing years of hard work, of care. No, only he had a bounty on his head, and without his blond beard, he was unrecognizable. He knew all this, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret as he brought his hand down.

Flint turned to him, face grim, “It might be too much,” then he looked up at Booth 9, at the crimson-robed figure that stood over the auction as if he were some kind of arbitror.

Robert nodded, and followed Flint’s gaze.

“True,” he said, as a frown settled over his features. “That man is bad news.”

“Four-fifty from Booth 4! Yes! Five million from Booth 1! Do I hear Five-fifty? Five hundred and fifty from Booth 2!”

Flint looked away from the large man standing above them and peeked at the scholarly-looking man who stood a few stands in front of them. The man who was the first to bid against the cloaked man. He wore a set of round glasses precariously perched on his nose and he constantly wrung his hands as he glanced up at the figure in Booth 9.

“Six hundred million!” Shouted the robed figure from above.

Flint looked up at him, expecting his red cloak to billow out as he gestured. But he was as still as a statue, only his gruff voice projecting across the hall.

“Six hundred million from Booth 9! Do I hear six-fifty?”

“Seven hundred million.” called the bespectacled man who stood in the stands before them, he adjusted his glasses and once more glanced nervously at Booth 9.

From this distance, Flint could see the droplets of sweat trickling down his brow, his eyes darting everywhere, as if looking for escape routes.

The crimson-coated man stiffened and Flint watched as his hand drifted to something under his coat. He grabbed something, probably a firearm, and sneered at them.

“One billion,” he said, that hand of his still hidden under his coat.

The scholar gulped, the sound loud in the sudden silence, then he ducked his head and dropped down to his seat.

Flint was instantly aware of his surroundings, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he spotted the glint of iron from amongst the scant bidders around them.

“We’re surrounded,” whispered his first mate, realising it (just as) at the same time) he did.

There was a commotion up above in the robed man's booth, and as if by some unspoken signal a few of the bidders around them and even more further away sprang forwards, weapons drawn. He could see pistols, daggers, cutlasses, even this enormous gun that Flint had no clue where it could have been hidden. His heart pounded in his ears as the trap became clear–this was no longer just a simple auction. It was a battlefield!

One moment everything had been still, the silence so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. The next, the room had exploded into motion. The auction guards at the edges of the stage surging forwards to meet the disguised pirates halfway.

Shouts and screams erupted as swords rang and shots were fired. Flint grabbed Robert by the arm and pulled him low. Eternally thankful that only his first mate was here, and not also his cousin. Agnes had insisted on coming as she had never been to an auction, but he had put his foot down. She was needed on the ship to monitor the waters. He was glad he had, he did not want to lose anyone, especially not his cousin.

“We need to move. Now.”

Robert nodded, his hand instinctively going for the dagger at his side. “Where? They’ve boxed us in!”

Flint scanned the room, his mind racing. The battle was happening from among the stands, the pirates having not yet reached the stage.The scholarly bidder that had been competing moments ago was huddled under his seat, clutching his satchel like a lifeline.The edges of the room nearest the walls were also free of any fighting. The lucky audience members who had escaped the initial clash pressing themselves against the walls, eyes wide with fear as the battle unfolded before them. How would they reach that area?

“We’ll have to fight our way out,” Flint said, his voice low but steady.

Before they could turn his words into action, Flint spotted how a guard hefted the glass case on the stage, barking orders for his comrades to cover his retreat. Only for the first pirate to reach the stage, a hulking man that lunged forward with his blade. Driving it into the guards side. The guard stumbled, the case slipping from his fingers and shattering on the ground. The pirate reached down and grabbed the scroll but another guard slashed at him, and he dropped it as he pulled back, clutching at his side.

This was the moment, as the room focused on the scroll, Flint signalled subtly. Robert nodded. The two of them burst from cover, their weapons flashing. Robert's dagger dug into the arm of a pirate who lunged at him, while Flint's blade met another with a sharp clang. His opponent stabbed at him with a dagger in his offhand and Flint jumped back. The dagger missing by a hair's breadth. He parried another slash as he tried to manoeuvre around the pirate, tripping over a body on the ground. The pirate lunged and Flint scrambled to the side. The blade digging into the dead body. He threw himself forward into a slash, and the pirate flicked his dagger with a deft wrist motion, parrying his blade with practised ease. Flint slashed again, and the pirate easily parried once more whilst pulling his blade from the body in one swift motion.

He smirked, “You’ve got some fight in you boy,” he stepped over the body, closing in as Flint clenched his teeth.

In one fluid motion, just as he took another step, the man pushed off the ground. His blade and dagger cutting arcs towards Flint’s chest. Flint sidestepped the dagger and barely deflected the blade, the impact sending a jarring vibration up his arm.

Now up close, Flint could smell the pirate’s stale breath and could see the gap in his front teeth. “How long can you last boy?”

“Captain on your left!”

Flint dropped to one knee, his body moving before his mind registered Robert's voice. A hatchet whistled over his head and dug deeply into his opponent's neck. Blood splattering all over his face, and in one eye. Half-blind, Flint drove his blade upwards feeling it sink into his new attacker. The attacker grunted, swinging a fist that impacted his face. The force sending Flint sprawling backward, his head ringing as he struggled to wipe the blood in his eye.

Through one eye, Flint could barely make out the pirate who’d ambushed him. The man staggered forward, a hand pressed to his stomach. Red blotch spreading over his shirt from between his fingers.

“You!” he snarled, “you–,” his first mate was suddenly there, slashing a dagger across his throat.

The pirate, as if he’d had his strings cut, collapsed to the floor clutching his neck.

“Get up, Captain!” Robert barked, yanking Flint to his feet. “We need to move!”

Flint finally managed to wipe the blood covering his eye with his sleeve, head still spinning as he stumbled after Robert. He felt numb inside. He’d just killed someone. A person. The man probably had a family, friends, a–

“Snap out of it Captain!” Robert spun around and grabbed him by the shirt, “it was you or him! Survive!”

He pushed him away as a shot rang out next to them, the bullet skimming past Flint and hitting Robert in the shoulder. The man simply grunted, his face stoic.

“Follow me Captain!” he roared, pressing a hand against his shoulder to stem the bleeding. He wove through the chaos. Pirates and guards clashing all around them in a violent swirl of steel and gunfire.

Flint chased after his first mate as another shot rang out. He felt the air ripple past his ear as the bullet narrowly missed him. He turned, spotting a short Auction guard aiming his pistol in their direction.

The guard pulled the trigger and Flint felt a searing pain across his midsection as the bullet found its new home.

“Captain!”

Robert was back at his side, firmly gripping his shoulder to keep him upright. He turned and hurled his dagger at the guard, it spun through the air as the guard threw himself to the side, the blade narrowly missing his shoulder.

“We’re nearly there Captain!”

Flint clutched at his stomach as he was pulled along. Feeling the wet, warm blood under his fingers, yet his body actually felt cold. A cold numbness that gradually spread outwards from the wound.

“I can still move,” he said through gritted teeth. “No need to carry me.”

“Of course Captain,” said Robert as he let go, Flint stumbling slightly but quickly righting himself.

They were close now, the edge of the hall just before them, as they neared it, Flint couldn’t help but wonder. Why did the pirates and guards attack them in the first place? They weren't fighting for the scroll. They had just wanted to escape.

The melee was sparser now, the chaos less intense. They rounded past groups of miniature battles, two sides clashing, guards against pirates; and they passed by cowering bidders until they finally reached the wall.

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Flint glanced back at the fighting happening behind them, having finally escaped the frantic melee, they now had a chance to catch their breath. The battle behind them was pure chaos, and just watching it from the relatively safe distance they were at. Flint understood. There was no plan, no organised defense or attack, the only thing differentiating friend from foe was their uniform, and some bidders were even fighting back against the pirates.

“Captain, look,” Robert pointed at the stage, where a guard and a pirate dueled over the scroll, their battle taking centre stage as they pushed each other back and forth.

“Swordsmen,” Flint gasped out. True swordsmen were nearly as rare as devil fruit users. Able to wield their swords like extensions of their bodies, the more advanced swordmasters could even perform superhuman feats.

They clashed in a flurry of blows, their movements looking more like a choreographed dance than an actual life and death battle. The guard, most likely the Captain of the guards as he wore a more embroidered uniform, was beginning to show his superior skill, as the pirate–a woman with blue-tinted hair that had been tied in a ponytail and wearing a tight-fitting martial robe–began to be pushed back to her side of the stage.

A wide berth had been given to their duel, their battle acting like the centre of a storm, free of any obstructions, and as the Captain of the guards pushed the pirate lady back from the scroll, a guard darted out from the melee around them, grabbed the scroll and retreated. Flint and Robert followed the guard with their eyes. Flint also catching how the Captain of the guards shifted to block the pirate’s view, such that she missed the disappearing scroll.

A pang came from his stomach, the wound reminding him of the blood trickling from his fingers, he glanced down at it. He felt nothing, only numbness, maybe he was still in shock? Blood dripped down on the floorboards, the quiet sound reminding him of the ticking of his grandma’s clock. His time was running out as his lifeblood slipped from between his fingers. Roberts worried frown, pushed itself into his darkening vision.

“Captain! We need to get out of here!”

Robert grabbed Flint's forearm and dragged him towards the nearest exit, other bidders pushing past them as they fled in the same direction. They reached the exit, a hallway clogged with people trying to escape. Their panicking voices drowning out the chaos of the battle happening behind them.

“Get me out of here! I’m–”

“Make way! Make wa–”

“Don’t push! You–”

“Out of the way! Move aside!” Robert’s grip on Flint’s arm was iron-tight, keeping the captain upright as they pushed forward. Flint stumbled, his boots dragging against the polished floorboards as his vision blurred at the edges, the faces of the bidders squeezed around them melting into a chaotic haze. Their shouting grew increasingly distant, as if coming from the end of a tunnel.

“We’re nearly there, Captain!” Robert growled, his voice strained as he pushed through the crowd.

The hallway narrowed ahead, funnelling the crowd into a desperate bottleneck. Flint's legs felt as heavy as lead, each step an incredible effort. He pressed his hand harder against his stomach, Robert continuing to clear the way, elbowing their way to freedom.

“You keep saying that,” Flint muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, much weaker than he wanted. He hated this—being the one carried instead of leading.

Robert continued to push through the crowd, having not heard Flint over the clamoring of the crowd around them.

They finally burst into a wider hallway, both of them stumbling away from the bottleneck. The bidders around them running as fast as their legs could carry them, their forms disappearing around the corner.

“We’re close, Captain,” said Robert, his face pale. “We’re close.”

Flint simply nodded, as he willed himself to move just a little faster. The muffled chaos of the battle in the auction hall faded behind them, leaving only the shouting of the crowd of bottlenecked bidders. Those able to finally escape, rushing past the pair whose progress was slow, agonizingly slow.

As Robert rounded the corner, he froze, his grip tightening on Flint’s arm. Flint followed after him, blearily curious as to what had caused his first mate to freeze. He halted abruptly as he spotted the group of auction guards rushing down the hallway ahead of them, the uniformed figures having emerged from another adjacent hallway. One of them clutched their scroll—his knuckles white around the rolled parchment, and face grim as his comrades surrounded him in a protective circle.

“Get them! They've got it!”

Pirates chased after the fleeing guards, hooting and hollering as they fired shots and hurled daggers at their backs, the guards returning fire as they kept ahead of them.

“They never sold the scroll,” Robert looked devastated, “we won’t get the Berries.”

“Seems so,” Flint focused on Roberts grip on his forearm as the ground tilted under him, it was his anchor. He straightened his spine and kept himself perfectly still, riding out the sudden wave of lightheadedness that overtook him.

After a few moments, Robert pulled him along around the corner, the last of the pirates having passed by. They stepped around the dead or dying bodies that had been left behind in the running battle’s wake. Flint swallowed as he heard the soon-to-be-dead pleading for help, or cursing at them as they rushed past them. So many dead, or dying, for what? The devil fruit wouldn’t even be theirs.

Bodies continued to litter their path, as they staggered towards the exit. Flint realized, with a detached fascination, how some of the motionless bodies he’d thought were dead were actually groaning weakly. He grimaced as they passed one pirate who leaned against the wall and clutched his stomach, the dying pirate flashed them a bloodied, grim smile; one of his golden teeth flashing in the light.

“Keep your eyes forward,” said Robert, his grip tightening on Flint’s arm. “It always helps.”

Ahead of them the hallway expanded into the main entrance. A large hall with glass walls facing the main street.

“You’ll hand it over,” a smooth voice said as they emerged into the hall.

“Or…I can just take it from your corpse,” the man wore a golden-rimmed monocle that glinted in the dim light shining through the window. The day was nearing its end, the sun finally setting. Flint grimaced, at least they had that going for them. It would facilitate their escape from this damnable island.

“Fool!” the guard holding the scroll spat out, his voice riddled with hate. “The marines are already on their way, you’ll never escape!”

The guards were surrounded, the monocled pirate and his small group of subordinates had blocked their exit to the street, and the pirates that had been chasing them cut off the way they had come.

“Do you need to fight so hard? This is not your battle, you are not marines. Will you throw your precious lives away? For just that?” the pirate adjusted his monocle as he gestured towards the scroll in the guards grip, his voice low and sad.

The guards hesitated, their weapons wavering.

“No!” the guard with the scroll pushed towards the pirate and pointed at him with the scroll. “Do not listen to the devil-tongue!” He stabbed the scroll forwards to accentuate his point. “Remember Graham! And Dan! And all the others that died for this!”

The guards around him firmed their stances, shoulders straightening at his words.

The monocled pirate sighed, “Well, at least I tried…” he shook his head in pretend remorse, then chopped his hand down.

The pirates charged, shots rang out as blades clashed. It was a wild melee, and both Flint and Robert wanted no part in it. They edged around the hall towards the exit, keeping their bodies as close to the wall as possible. They weren’t the only ones trying to escape unnoticed. Other bidders followed after them, their silks and finery splattered with blood.

Flint cast a glance at the monocled pirate, noting how he stayed back from the fighting, merely taking potshots with his two pistols. Only three of his subordinates had stayed by his side, the rest had eagerly dived into the battle.

A pirate with a monocle? It was a statement, that's for sure. It did make the man look more like a gentleman, more distinguished in a way. Flint pressed his hand against the wall as a new wave of lightheadedness hit him, but he pushed through, dragging his hand along the wall as Robert continued to lead him towards the exit. They were close now, the large open gate that was the exit just in sight as the sound of battle behind them ended. Flint risked a glance back, his head spinning and gut churning as bile rose up his throat, the movement too much for him. Yes, he was not feeling well at all. But once his vision cleared and he saw the carnage, he could no longer hold it in and he leaned forward, Robert patting his back as he puked. The bile coming out of his mouth an unhealthy reddish colour.

The auction guards hadn’t stood a chance. Surrounded and outnumbered as they were, they’d fought to the last, but it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. Their bodies lay haphazardly strewn around, as one of the pirates who’d stood beside their monocled leader throughout the fight strode forward and picked up the scroll that had rolled from the dead guard's grasp. The monocled pirate followed after the man and retrieved a pocket-watch from his person. Just like his monocle, it was golden. The pirate glanced at it and put it away, then he looked up at his subordinate who had picked up the scroll.

“We’re running out of time,” he reached out, “hand over the scroll.”

A few bidders overtook them as Flint spewed the contents of his gut on the floor, most of them too preoccupied to escape to spare them even a glance.

“Wait,” the monocled pirate froze as his subordinate took a hesitant step back. “Who are you?”

His face twisted with fury as he snarled, “you slimy little–!”

With a pop the monocled pirate vanished, the silver ring that had taken his place clinking softly with the floor.

“Get him! Before it’s too la–”

Another pop sounded as the pirate who began charging disappeared, replaced by a fine leather belt.

Flint, now leaning heavily on Robert watched as the pirates charged at the man with the scroll, and the man weaved through the pirates with incredible grace, dancing around their grasping hands as he made his way towards them.

There was another pop, and another, each accompanied by the sudden vanishing of one of the chasing pirates, and replaced with an item that fell to the ground: a silver flask that shattered as it fell, a gold-plated dagger that spun on its point before falling flat, a necklace strung with shark teeth, a single polished boot. It was an eerie scene and Robert, Flint and the bidders who had not yet left could only watch in uneasy, stunned silence.

One of the bidders, a rotund man with a bulbous nose pointed a trembling finger at the scene. “Sor–sorcery!”

The rolls of fat that made up his neck quivered as he staggered back, an expression of abject terror on his flushed face.

“No! He’s getting awa–” A pirate threw himself towards the fleeing thief, only to be replaced with a white glove that thudded noiselessly against the thief’s side.

“Get–” another pirate was cut short mid-lunge, a golden tooth clinked against the floor. One by one, the pirates met the same fate until only a handful remained.

Flint sagged heavily against Robert, as they watched the scene, “It's a Devil fruit power,” he said, breath ragged. “Not…sorcery.”

The fat bidder didn’t seem to hear him. He was now turned towards the grand entrance as he waddled away, only to stop and jab a pudgy finger towards a horde of figures beyond the glass.

“Yes! Marines! Save me!” The man bellowed, his voice shrill as he threw himself towards the gate. Closer to the marines that Flint could see rushing towards them. Robert saw them too and hastily removed his bloodied hand from his shoulder, wiping his face with the blood.

“Captain!” he said as he pulled Flint closer to the exit, “we need to make you even more unrecognizable!”

Flint nodded weakly and with a trembling hand, copied his first mate’s example and smeared blood across his face, the wet warmth dripping down in uneven streaks.

“No! The scroll!”

The thief behind them had almost reached them just as the last of the pirates was replaced by a pearl earring that clinked as it bounced off the ground. Opposite them, the marines were nearly upon them. Boots hammering the stone of the street as they surged towards the Auction hall.

They finally reached the exit, the fat bidder panting beside them as they stepped out of the hall and into the open air. Air that was cool, and salty. Air that did not taste like blood, or like sweat, or gunpowder. They were free. Or they would be, they had one final hurdle. The marines.

“Save me! Pirates and—”

The Marines were upon them now, but ignored the shouting bidder and their two bloodied forms as they surged past them and into the building. Weapons drawn and the white coats that hung from their shoulders fluttering behind them. The gold symbol of the marines, an eagle, a globe, and an anchor featuring prominently on their backs.

The thief with the scroll had stopped running towards the exit and was now calmly walking. He tucked away the scroll in a large inner coat pocket, and smiled at the marines who spread out and blocked his exit.

“Halt!” One of the marines stepped forward, pointing his gun at the too calm man.

The thief shook his head, still smiling. “There’s no need for that now,” he pulled out a crest and showed it to the marine, “is there?”

The marine who had spoken looked at the crest, bewildered. “Is that meant to mean something?”

The thief bristled. “You–”

“House Theoden,” said a deep voice as a towering man stepped into the auction hall. “I recognize it, what is the problem?”

He wore the insignia of a lieutenant, and carried himself like one.

“You see–”

“S–sorcerer!” The fat bidder interrupted as he pointed at the man. Hiding behind the wall of marines. “He has the scroll!”

The lieutenant raised an eyebrow at the allegation, “a devil fruit user? And a thief?”

“I am no thief! I represent the second prince! Prince Silas Theoden Briss!”

“Yes, yes, but if you are a devil fruit user…”

“I’m afraid I’m not. I swear this as a representative of House Theoden.”

“Okay…Well!” The lieutenant clapped his hands together, jolting the marines behind him. “That’s it then! Spread out boys! No pirate escapes tonight!”

Flint finally felt his knees give out, slipping from Robberts grip as he collapsed on the cold stone floor.

“We have an injured civilian here!” He heard someone shout as the edges of his vision darkened, a blurry female figure rushed towards their position, and kneeled over his prone form.

“Patient appears anxious and diaphoretic,” she said, checking his pulse, “weak pulse, with a single gunshot wound to the abdomen. There is significant internal bleeding. Hand me the prongs…”

Her words faded away, as Flint’s vision continued to blurr.

“Stay with us!”

He felt somebody slap his numb face.

“Will he live? Tell me!”

“There is a chance–”

Flint passed out.