Chapter 23: Treasure Tree Adam
Roger stared at Tom, his grin undimmed. "We'll get the wood. Just tell us where."
Tom laughed, then grew serious. "Adam wood doesn't grow in markets. It's held by those with power. The World Nobles, mostly. Or sold at black market auctions where the starting price could buy a small island."
The crew's excitement deflated. They had no money. They had no connections to the underworld. What they had was a leaky ship, a growing crew, and a captain who wouldn't take no for an answer.
"There's a shipment coming," Mu Gulian said quietly, exhaling smoke. "A World Government fleet. Escorting tribute from an affiliated nation. Gold, jewels, and—according to rumor—special building materials for a Celestial Dragon's new palace."
Silence fell across the deck.
Robbing a World Government tribute ship meant declaring war on more than just the Marines. It meant putting a target on their backs that would never go away.
Roger's grin widened. "Kuhahaha! A Celestial Dragon's building materials? Sounds like exactly what we need."
Jabba cracked his knuckles. "Been wanting to hit something important."
Rayleigh adjusted his glasses. "We'll need a plan."
Kyle moved to the chart table, already calculating. "The fleet will be slow. Escort ships will screen for pirates, but they won't expect anyone to strike directly at the tribute ship. If we hit fast, hit hard, and don't linger…"
"We'll need a distraction," Rayleigh said.
Kyle nodded. "I can manage that."
---
Three days later, the fleet appeared on the horizon.
Three Marine warships flanked a larger, more ornate vessel—the tribute ship. The formation was tight, disciplined. This wasn't a random patrol. This was a message: touch this, and the full weight of the World Government falls on you.
Kyle stood at the bow, his vibration sense stretched to its limit. He could feel the ships, the sailors, the weight of their weapons. And in the tribute ship's hold, something dense, heavy, old.
"Ready?" Roger asked, sword drawn.
Kyle nodded.
He placed his hands on the rail and pushed. A low‑frequency vibration traveled through the water, invisible, silent. The sea began to churn. Waves built, not crashing yet, just a steady rise that made the escort ships roll.
"Now," Kyle said.
The Roger Pirates surged forward.
---
The battle was chaos.
Kyle focused on disruption. He sent shockwaves through the water, throwing off the escort ships' aim. When cannonballs came, he used his vibration sense to track them, calling out directions for the crew to dodge. He didn't try to block them—he wasn't strong enough for that. But he could make them miss.
Roger, Rayleigh, and Jabba cut through the Marine defenders like a blade through silk. Roger's Conqueror's Haki swept across the deck of the tribute ship, dropping the weaker guards where they stood. Rayleigh moved through the remaining resistance with his sword, precise, unhurried. Jabba cleared the path to the hold.
Kyle followed, his naginata ready, but the fight was already over.
The tribute ship's hold was not what he expected.
There was gold. There were jewels. But there were also cages.
Hundreds of them. Men, women, children, packed into the dark like cargo. Their clothes were rags, their faces blank. The smell was overwhelming—sweat, fear, human waste. Kyle's stomach turned.
Roger stood in the doorway, his grin gone. His hand tightened on his sword.
"These are the 'tributes,'" Rayleigh said quietly. "The Celestial Dragons demand them. People, to be slaves."
Jabba's knuckles went white around his axe. "We're taking them."
Roger moved without a word. He walked to the nearest cage, knelt, and sliced the lock with a single stroke. The door swung open.
Inside, a woman clutched a small girl, her eyes wide with fear. Roger didn't reach for her. He just waited.
"You're free," he said. His voice was soft, nothing like his usual laugh. "We're going to get you out of here."
The woman stared at him. Then, slowly, she began to cry.
---
The rest of the crew found them soon after. Miller's laughter died when he saw the cages. Mu Gulian's cigar fell from his lips. Nozdon stood frozen, his huge frame trembling with anger.
"We need to move fast," Rayleigh said. "The Marines will regroup."
Kyle's mind raced. The adam wood was there—several massive planks, faintly glowing, stacked at the back of the hold. But the people came first.
"Half the crew gets the wood and the jewels," he said. "The rest help the prisoners. We take them to the nearest island with a Marine base."
"A Marine base?" Nozdon asked, confused.
"The Marines can protect them," Kyle said. "We can't. We're pirates. If we keep them, they're still prisoners, just on a different ship."
Roger nodded. "Do it."
---
The escape was tense.
Kyle used his vibration sense to track the Marine patrols, guiding the crew through gaps in their formation. When a search party got too close, he sent a low pulse through the water—a false reading that sent them chasing shadows.
On the island, Rayleigh and Jabba led the freed prisoners ashore, leaving them near the Marine outpost with enough gold to start new lives. Kyle stayed on the ship, maintaining the illusion that the Roger Pirates were still fleeing.
By the time the Marines found the prisoners, the ship was gone.
---
On deck, the crew was quiet.
The adam wood gleamed in the moonlight, stacked beside boxes of gold they'd taken as compensation. But no one celebrated.
Kyle sat apart, watching the island shrink on the horizon. He thought of the woman's face when Roger opened the cage. The way she'd clutched her daughter. The deadness in her eyes that had taken too long to fade.
Roger appeared beside him, silent for once.
"You knew," Kyle said. "About the slaves."
"I'd heard rumors." Roger's voice was low. "Didn't want to believe them."
Kyle looked at his hands. They were steady. "What happens when we go back? When the World Government realizes who hit that ship?"
Roger's grin returned, but it was different. Harder. "Then they'll know someone's willing to fight back." He rested a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "We did good tonight, little Kyle. We got the wood, and we got those people out. That's worth the trouble it'll bring."
Kyle nodded slowly. "Next time, we take more than wood."
Roger laughed—a real laugh, the one that filled the night. "Kuhahaha! That's the spirit."
---
When they returned to Water Seven, Tom was waiting at the dock. He saw the adam wood, saw the faces of the crew, and said nothing about the gold or the blood still drying on Jabba's axe.
He ran his hand over the wood, his expression reverent. "You really did it. DON."
"Kuhahaha! We said we would." Roger leaned against the railing. "How long until it's ready?"
Tom measured the planks, calculated. "A ship of this quality? With wood this old? You'll have it in six months. Maybe less."
"Six months," Roger repeated, grinning. "Then we sail."
The crew dispersed to explore Water Seven. Kyle stayed behind, watching Tom work. The fishman handled the adam wood like it was sacred.
"You've seen this before," Kyle said.
Tom glanced at him. "Few times. Always leaves a mark on those who carry it." He set down his tools. "That ship you're getting—it's not just wood. Adam wood remembers. It remembers what it's carried, what it's protected. Your captain's got a good heart, boy. That ship will serve him well."
Kyle looked at the wood, glowing faintly in the afternoon light. It would become the Oro Jackson. It would carry Roger to the end of the Grand Line. It would outlive him.
And somewhere in its planks, maybe, it would remember this night.
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End of Chapter 23
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