Grand Voyage- Log 3

Log 3: D'Artagnan Arc Part 3
“This is so troublesome~,” Sieghart moaned as he and his two teammates walked out of Hammer’s office, and made their way towards the small cantina within headquarters where they often regrouped to rest after missions, “Why can’t he get Zombi or Grim to do this?”

“Zombi-san point blank refused,” Kinan replied, lifting up her ever-present clipboard and flipping through several pages, “and Grim said he was busy and left.”

“Tch,” Sieg muttered, his lower lip jutting out, “why do I always get the boring jobs?”

“Maybe it’s because you never get up till past 9 in the morning?” Gerard snarled, “or maybe because you consistently fail to perform certain duties whenever you’re sent on a mission?”

“You shut up!” Sieghart growled, entering a chibi-state and flushing violently.

“Make me,” Gerard replied, a smug, sh*t-eating grin crossing his face.

“Why you-” Sieg barked dangerously.

“Quiet, both of you,” Kinan said quietly, whilst a aura filled with killing intent seemed to wash over the two men, who promptly fell silent for the rest of the trip to the cantina.

Silence filled the air following the leader of the gangster’s proclamation. D’Artagnan let a small bit of sweat fall down his face, his hands gripping the hilts of his knives tightly, his eyes never blinking, staring straight ahead at the gangsters, their pistols pointed towards them.

Sadly, the same could not be said for the money lender’s new friend, as Knave quietly struggled to stand up, but only managed to, after several minutes of fierce movement, to roll over, so his face faced the aggressors.

“Who are you again?” Knave asked simply, causing D’Artagnan to smash his head against the floor in exasperation. The leader of the gangsters snarled, cocking his pistol once more.

“I’m da right-hand man of da right hand man of Don Cazzuto-sama ‘imself, Ice John!” he cried, “and I wanna know why ya went and ate all teh food at de cafe.”

“Oh, you were there too?” Knave asked excitedly, “can you tell them that I’ll take a bit longer to pay them for the food?”

“ARE YA EVEN LISTENIN’ TO ME?!” the gangster yelled, before firing off a shot with his gun. The bullet struck the sand right beside Knave’s head, causing the youth to release a small “Meeh!” before going quiet.

“Now, ya listen to me!” the gangster growled angrily, “yer gonna hafta die, now, keed. ‘Cause you’ve pisshed me off, and NOBODY pisshes off the right hand man of the right hand man of Don Cazzuto-sama, Ice John! Get me?”

There was another long pause, as D’Artagnan slowly unsheathed the first of his knives. Just one more, and then he could do something....

“You can’t kill me,” Knave said cheerily, giving a toothy grin, “I’m waaayyy stronger than you guys!”

The veins on the gangster leader’s forehead reached their boiling point, as a large snapping sound was heard and blood shot out from where the veins had exploded. “I’LL KEEL YA!” the gangster cried, before firing off three shots directly at the youngster.

Knave responded by bringing his legs forward, then forcing them to propel himself to his feet, his muscles straining. He then neatly spun to one side, allowing the bullets to harmlessly cleave through the ropes binding him, allowing them to drop to the floor.

“Eh?” the gangster leader cried in shock.

“Ciaosususususu! Thanks!” Knave grinned toothily again, then slammed his knuckles against each other. A white aura swirled around the marimo boy, as the ground around him cracked. The boy laughed again, a pleasant, piping laugh that sounded very similar to the traditional Italian greeting: “Ciaosusususususususu!”

D’Artagnan took this opportunity to unsheath his second knife, quickly assuming his traditional fighting position. “Two Knife Style...” he began, as he seemed to teleport behind one of the peon gangsters who stood behind the leader. “...Bleeding Willow Cut!”

Blood spurted in a x-shape along the gangster’s chest, as he let out a gurgle and dropped to the floor. “What the-?!” another gangster yelled before the remaining peons raised their own pistols at the money lender/knife user.

“Two Knife Style: Blood Meadow!” D’Artagnan cried, spinning both knives around, releasing a circular compressed air slash, swiftly cutting the gangsters’ guns to pieces. They let out a yelp and started to run away. Smiling at his work, D’Artagnan turned back to Knave and the leader.

The white aura had left Knave, and now a glowing white energy with an almost flame-like texture wrapped itself around Knave’s hands, as he clenched them into fists. The leader, fast losing his nerve, raised his pistol, and, with a cry, opened fire.

“Naga Naga no....” Knave began, quickly whipping both arms around himself, leaving a trail of the mysterious energy, vaporizing the bullets, “Circle Shield!”

“Eeeeeeh?!” the gangster leader cried, dropping his gun and whipping around, attempting to flee, his feet skidding on the sand and dirt.

“Two Knife Style: Infamous Fading Slash!” came D’Artagnan’s voice as he flashed past the gangster, his knives cutting into him at the same time. With a groan of defeat, the gangster leader dropped to the ground, a small pool of blood forming where he landed.

D’Artagnan sighed, placing both his knives back in their sheaths and then pulling his robes over them, obscuring them from view. “Why didn’t you stop him?” he asked the green-haired boy in front of him.

“Because I trusted you to beat ‘em,” Knave replied simply.

“Ah, I see,” D’Artagnan said, walking up and reaching out, as if to grasp Knave by the shoulder, “you were just WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” He suddenly cried, delivering a smashing punch onto Knave’s jaw, sending the boy skidding backwards.

“YOU IDIOT!” the money lender yelled, his eyes having gone blank with rage, “WHAT KIND OF PERSON JUST AUTOMATICALLY TRUSTS SOMEONE THEY JUST MET TODAY?!”

“I do,” Knave replied, whistling cheerfully as he seemed to almost pop straight up from his laying down position.

D’Artagnan sighed, still a bit annoyed. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

“Finish what you were saying,” Knave suddenly demanded, his finger jabbing at D’Artagnan’s chest. “About the One Piece.”

“Er,” D’Artagnan stammered, gently pushing Knave’s finger away, then dropping down in an Indian sitting position. “Alright then.”

Knave dropped down on his knees, still staring intently at D’Artagnan.

“Well,” D’Artagnan said, “what I was about to say was.... Well, once I find the One Piece, I’ll have enough money to do whatever I want. I won’t have to do anything involving money ever again, ‘cept for buying things, of course.”

“But I thought you were good with money,” Knave replied, tilting his head, “why do you want to get rid of that?”

“I’m only good with money because that’s how I was raised,” D’Artagnan answered, “not because I ever wanted to be good with it. It’s part of the reason why I left my home.”

“Your home?”

“Sahara Island, my home. Home of my people, the Majin.”

“Majin?”

“They’re desert dwellers,” D’Artagnan continued, “we all have the pointy ears-” He pointed at his own “-and we’re used to rough survival and conditions.”

“That sounds cool!” Knave replied, “but... why did you leave, if your people are there?”

“We’re all divided into castes. Each caste performs its own duty in maintaining Majin society. I was born into the Merchant caste, one of the highest and richest, only eclipsed by the Nobility in status. I was trained to be a good merchant since the day I was born-”

“Still not seeing why you left.” Knave butted in.

“THEN SHUT UP AND LET ME FINISH!” D’Artagnan barked, and then resumed. “Even I’m not sure what happened. As long as I could remember, I just... didn’t want it. Didn’t want a part of any of it. I didn’t want to stick to a caste, to only specialize in a handful of things. I wanted to do whatever I wanted. Not many people seemed to agree with me though.” A smile crossed his face. “So, when I turned 18, I left. I’ve only been away for a year, but I already know I have no desire to go back. I want to travel, to see everything. With the One Piece, I’ll be able to do it. With all that treasure, I can do whatever I want, not worrying about anything. With the One Piece I can be free.”

The money lender took a deep breath, then glanced up. Knave appeared to be thinking, his eyes staring off into space. Silence reigned between them for a few moments. Knave finally seemed to come to a decision, nodding to himself. He stood up, grinning down at the Majin.

“I’ve decided,” Knave declared proudly, “you’re gonna join my crew!”

“They what?!” came the deep, basso roar from within Don Cazzuto’s concealed chambers. Ice John trembled at the voice, from his kneeling position on the floor right outside them.

“Yes, Don Cazzuto-sama,” he continued, “those two apparently defeated an entire cadre of our men.”

“Two?” Don Cazzuto asked, his voice deepening with rage, “you said earlier that there was just ONE!”

“I’m very sorry, Don Cazzuto-sama!” Ice John panted, sweat dripping down his brow, “shall I rectify this?”

“Yes...” purred the voice, “send some more skilled men this time. And in the meantime, that cafe.... burn it to the ground.”

“But sir-”

“DO IT! Running out of food is an act of defiance to me! I won’t stand for it!”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Good. Go then.”

~End of Log~

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter