A scorching heatwave choked the air, carrying with it the nauseating stench of burning corpses and smoldering debris. The lifeless faces scattered across the ground seemed turned toward the Kingdom of Goa, as though silently condemning those who had orchestrated this atrocity.
"Those who live within the city enjoy fresh air, clean water, fine clothes, abundant food, and beautiful art," Sabo said, his voice steady but heavy. "Yet they never see those outside the walls as their own people. Instead, they treat them as filth—something to be erased."
"Most of them aren't even nobles," he continued bitterly. "They're tailors, bakers, coachmen—ordinary citizens. And still, they support this cruelty without question."
"The Kingdom of Goa is rotten."
"From top to bottom… it's beyond saving."
Atop a mound of garbage, four boys stood side by side.
The firelight flickered in Sabo's eyes—not only from the blazing inferno consuming the Gray Terminal, but from the anger and defiance burning deep within him. Though born into nobility, he felt no pride in his heritage—only shame.
His voice carried the weight of a tragic tale, like a bard recounting the fall of a broken kingdom.
Ace and Luffy clenched their fists so tightly their nails bit into their skin.
Damon listened in silence, his mind sharp and unclouded.
He understood something clearly: even without the Bursam Pirates, others would have come. Different names, same cruelty. The outcome would not change.
Such was human nature. As long as others bore the cost, people would gladly enjoy the benefits.
It wasn't just the Kingdom of Goa that was diseased.
The rot ran through the entire world.
Kings and nobles ruled absolutely, holding countless lives in their grasp. The common people struggled endlessly, barely surviving under the weight of a system designed to keep them in place.
The sons of nobles remained nobles.
The sons of officers became officers.
The sons of farmers remained farmers.
An unbreakable cycle.
At its head stood the World Government and the aristocracy—a privileged few. The Navy acted as the machinery that kept everything turning. And the rest? They either accepted their fate… or risked everything to become pirates and escape it.
But those who tried to defy the system were hunted down without mercy.
Only a handful could rise above it all—those powerful enough to stand against the world itself.
The rulers of the New World… the Emperors.
Damon's hand tightened around the hilt of the blade at his waist—a weapon borrowed from Dadan's family.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he drew it.
The steel gleamed coldly, its edge razor-sharp.
"Ace. Sabo. Luffy… let's move."
His voice cut through the air.
Without hesitation, Damon charged down the garbage slope toward the Bursam Pirates.
Sabo's words had struck something deep within them all—a weight called fate, and the crushing force of power. Beneath it lay the suffering of countless people.
And they refused to bear it any longer.
The pirates had noticed the boys earlier but dismissed them as insignificant.
Now, as the four approached with unmistakable intent, Bursam sneered.
"A bunch of brats who barely know how to walk, and you want to play heroes?"
Laughter erupted around him.
It was the careless, arrogant laughter of the strong—mocking, dismissive, and cruel. The kind that trampled over the dignity of the weak without a second thought.
Bursam raised his flintlock pistol.
"Flash," Damon whispered.
In an instant, he vanished.
Bang!
The shot rang out—but hit nothing.
Before Bursam could react, Damon reappeared at his side, blade already in motion.
The strike came down like lightning.
Bursam's instincts screamed. Years of battle forced his body to move before his mind could catch up—he stepped back.
That single step saved his life.
The blade sliced across his face in a blur.
Blood sprayed into the air.
"AAARGH!"
A horrific scream tore from his throat.
A deep gash ran down his face, his left eye ruined beyond saving. Though he had narrowly avoided decapitation, the damage was devastating.
Clutching his face, half-blinded and shaking with rage, Bursam roared:
"Fire! Kill them!"
"Shoot the little bastards!"
Gunfire erupted.
At that exact moment—Luffy arrived.
The instant Damon landed, he rolled behind him. The coordination between them was flawless, clearly practiced.
In the past months, they had fought side by side countless times—though until now, their enemies had only been wild beasts.
Luffy inhaled deeply.
His body expanded as air filled him, swelling like a balloon.
Bullets struck him—
—and bounced off harmlessly.
His rubber body absorbed and redirected the shots, sending them ricocheting wildly in all directions.
Chaos exploded across the battlefield.
Even the pirates couldn't avoid the storm of stray bullets. One after another, they fell—wounded or worse.
Two collapsed instantly, struck in the head.
Bursam wasn't spared either. A stray bullet slammed into his knee, forcing him to the ground.
Clutching his bleeding face, he glared at the boys with bloodshot fury.
"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"
"I'm acting under orders from a noble of Goa! This place is meant to burn!"
"You think you can stand against me—and the man behind me?!"
It was less a threat… and more the desperate howl of a wounded animal.
He had underestimated them.
And now, he would pay the price.
In Goa, nobles were like mountains—untouchable, suffocating. Even meeting their gaze was considered a crime for commoners.
Bursam had believed that invoking their name would be enough to break these children.
With his free hand, he quietly raised his pistol again.
A final, desperate gamble.
Damon saw it.
And ignored it.
Instead, he looked at the man before him—not with anger, but with cold clarity.
Then he spoke, his voice low and steady:
"There will always be those who dare to stand against the storm."
⸻
"Ding."
"Congratulations. You have triggered a reward condition."
A calm, mechanical voice echoed in Damon's mind.
"You have earned one draw. Activate?"
The oppressive heat seemed to ease, if only slightly.
Damon raised his blade just in time to block Bursam's desperate strike.
Steel clashed.
The impact forced his arms downward—Bursam's strength, honed through years of combat, was overwhelming.
The shock traveled through the blade, numbing Damon's hands. His grip nearly failed.
Then—
Ace and Sabo struck.
Their interference forced Bursam back, buying Damon a moment to breathe.
The battle intensified.
The pirates had the advantage in numbers—and weapons.
Damon's side was clearly outmatched.
In that brief opening, his gaze shifted.
A wheel appeared before him.
It spun silently.
The rewards were varied:
Summoned allies. Relics. Items. Skills. Skins.
The possibilities were vast—
—but the odds were terrible.
One in ten thousand.
Damon sidestepped an incoming attack, narrowly avoiding a blade.
The wheel slowed.
Stopped.
Item acquired.
A small weight appeared at his waist.
A pendant.
At its center—a crimson gem, engraved with a symbol of flame.
A Vision.
A gift said to be granted only when a person's will reached its absolute peak.
When faced with despair… when all seemed lost… when the heart burned brightest—
The gods answered.
Damon looked at the burning wasteland around him.
At the people who had been abandoned.
At the cruelty of a world that allowed this.
His anger… resonated.
The gem pulsed.
"Boom. Boom. Boom."
His heartbeat thundered.
The flames surrounding him began to shift.
Then—
they answered him.
Fire gathered along his blade, drawn as if by an unseen force—like birds returning home.
In an instant—
his sword ignited.
A blade of pure flame.