Meanwhile, on the other side….the air in Mock Town was thick with the usual miasma of cheap rum, unwashed bodies, and desperate ambition.
Pirates from across the Blues congregated in the squalid shantytown, their dreams of glory slowly curdling in the tropical heat into petty thievery and drunken brawling.
The names "Ragnar" and "Sea Scourge" had become a recent addition to the slurry of boasts and threats, a new legend whispered with a mixture of skepticism and fear. It was into this den of vice and violence that Admiral Aokiji arrived.
He didn't make a grand entrance. There was no fanfare, no Marine warship looming off the coast. He simply pedaled his bicycle down the main dirt track, his immense frame and stark white coat making him an impossible figure to ignore.
The lazy click-clack of the bike chain was a strangely mundane sound amidst the chaos. He came to a stop in the center of the town, one foot planted on the dusty ground, and let out a long, weary sigh that condensed in the humid air.
The clues from Smoker's spies in mock town had been sparse, Jaya, a man named Montblanc Cricket, and talk of a sky island. It was a thin lead, but it was all he had.
For a moment, there was a lull. Drunken pirates squinted at the giant in their midst, their alcohol-addled brains struggling to process the sight. Then, recognition dawned, first in a few, then spreading through the crowd like a contagion. Whispers turned into gasps.
"It's… it's him…"
"A Marine Admiral!"
"Aokiji… the Ice Man…"
Fear was the first reaction, a cold dread that sobered men up instantly. But for some, the baser instincts of greed and stupidity overpowered survival.
An Admiral's head would fetch a bounty beyond their wildest dreams. A large, brutish pirate with a cutlass stepped forward, a dangerous glint in his eye.
"Boys!" he roared, spittle flying. "Look what washed up! A big, fat promotion for all of us! Get him!"
That single, idiotic cry was the spark. A wave of pirates, emboldened by numbers and liquid courage, surged towards the solitary Admiral. They were a motley crew of cutthroats and brawlers, their weapons ranging from polished flintlocks to rusted meat cleavers.
Aokiji watched them come, his expression one of profound boredom, as if he were watching ants swarm a dropped crumb. He didn't shift his stance. He didn't raise his hands. He simply sighed again, a puff of frosty air.
"Ice Age."
The words were spoken softly, almost lazily, but the effect was instantaneous and absolute. A wave of cold so intense it stole the very sound from the air erupted from him.
It wasn't a blast of wind or a shower of ice; it was the sudden, violent imposition of absolute zero. The wave washed over the charging pirates, and where it touched, life ceased.
The roar of the mob was cut off mid-scream. Men were frozen solid in mid-stride, their faces locked in snarls of avarice and rage, their weapons forever poised to strike.
A thick layer of rime coated the wooden buildings, silencing the raucous music from within. Puddles of spilled grog became sheets of pristine ice. The humid, sticky air of Jaya was replaced by the dry, brittle cold of the polar caps.
In the span of a single heartbeat, the heart of Mock Town had been transformed from a sweltering pirate haven into a silent, frozen diorama of foolish ambition.
Aokiji didn't even glance at his handiwork. He pushed off on his bicycle, the wheels crunching softly on the newly formed frost, and pedaled slowly through the macabre ice garden.
Statues of pirates surrounded him, a gallery of final, fatal mistakes. He proceeded with a methodical, unhurried pace, his Observation Haki stretching out like a net, searching for any signature that matched the description of Ragnar or his crew, a powerful, unique presence, the lingering aura of the swordsman who had carved up Smoker, the distinct energy of a diverse and dangerous group.
He searched the frozen taverns, the iced-over gambling dens, the silent brothels. He found nothing but fear and cheap liquor. He cycled to the outskirts, to the more ramshackle huts where the truly desperate holed up.
His Haki probed every structure, every hidden cellar. He found cowards hiding under beds, petty thieves trembling in closets, but no Vortex Pirates.
Hours passed. The sun began its descent, casting long, distorted shadows from the frozen figures in the town square.
Aokiji stood at the edge of the jungle, looking back at the silent, glittering town. His search had been comprehensive, relentless, and utterly fruitless. There was no trace of them.
No lingering scent of power, no rumor whispered by a survivor, no clue left behind. They had been here, of that he was certain, the story of Cricket and the knock-up stream was too specific, but they were gone.
"Arara," he muttered to himself, the sleepy exclamation sounding particularly heavy in the twilight. "It's troublesome. Am I going to run around until I find them?"
They hadn't just left the island. They had ascended. The sky island was not a myth. It was their destination, and now, he couldn't do anything.
He was an Admiral of the Marines, a man who could freeze oceans, but even his power had its limits. He couldn't pedal his bicycle into the sky island.
A deep fatigue settled over him, less physical and more existential. The world was getting stranger, more chaotic.
Pirates like this Ragnar weren't just strong; they were paradigm-shifters. They operated on a level that defied conventional tactics. Chasing them was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.
With another resigned sigh, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a simple black sleeping mask. He slipped it over his eyes, blotting out the world.
The search for Jaya was over. There was nothing more for him here. He needed to think, to reassess. And for Kuzan, thinking was often best done while asleep.
He found a relatively clean, flat rock overlooking the sea, well away from the frozen horror show of Mock Town. He lay down on his back, his massive frame making the rock seem like a child's bed. He folded his hands over his stomach. Within moments, his breathing deepened, becoming slow and steady. To any observer, he would have looked like a giant taking a nap, utterly vulnerable.
But it was a deceptive peace. Behind the blindfold, his mind was anything but still. He was processing the data: Smoker's devastating loss, the confirmed existence of a sky island, a crew powerful and elusive enough to vanish from the face of the earth.
The Vortex pirates had been a concerning anomaly for every marine and world government soldier recently.
This Ragnar was a full-blown cataclysm in the making.
The gears of the World Government would need to turn faster, and the responses would need to be more decisive. His "Lazy Justice" allowed him to pick his battles, but this… this felt like a battle that would pick him.
As he slept under the emerging stars, the frozen pirates in Mock Town stood as a silent, chilling testament to the power that had passed through, and a grim warning of the escalating conflict brewing just beyond the clouds.
The Admiral had come, and he had found nothing. And in the vast, empty silence of his failed search, the threat of the Sea Scourge grew infinitely larger.
And it made him uneasy, as such a huge threat is running around free.