Regan rolled the newspaper back up and threw it away. He sighed, wiping away some tears that had managed to escape from his eyes.
So I've like, what, transmigrated? This is crazy! It's like the stuff you read about on those webnovels.
Regan placed his thumb under his chin, his mind swimming in thoughts. From the newspaper and the picture, Regan concluded that he had spawned into the world after the end of the war at marineford.
Whitebeard was dead, and so was Portagas.D.Ace. Blackbeard was soon to be a major threat and opposition against the world government and the worst generation pirates, and Luffy was now training for two years under the tutelage of Rayleigh.
There was still much to figure out, however. He had many questions, questions that the children in front of him could possibly answer.
"Hey, you. Beet?" Regan said, pointing at her. "What sea are we in?"
"S-sea?" She blinked, turning to her brother and then to her cousin. They were equally as confused. "Uhm, we're in the north blue. Dantes are you feeling okay?"
The north blue. So I'm behind the grand line.
Regan paused for a moment, he thought it'd be too suspicious if he kept pressing them with questions that had answers a boy like Dantes would already be acquainted with.
Instead, he recalled what Izgrim had said earlier, something about duties and bar workers. Regan cleared his throat and began apologising for his outburst, and asked Izgrim to take him back to the father who had much need of his son, Dantes.
Izgrim cocked Regan a suspicious look, and then turned his back to return the way he came. Regan followed after him in silence, and his younger siblings had no mind to severe the silence either.
They had walked for what felt like an hour, climbing over logs that served to act as bridges, passing by streams, bushes, and sombre animals that watched them with curious eyes as they walked through.
When the woods were finally behind them, Regan had found something much too amazing to ignore. In the distance, where the sea separated land from the docks, were a myriad of ships with white or black sails.
The black sails had nabbed Regan's attention. He couldn't make out the jolly rogers on them, but they were there, large and foreboding.
"Holy shit! Are those pirate ships!?"
"Yeah? That's normal." Izgrim said, turning so that his eyes bored into the beaming transmigrater.
Normal!? They're pirates! Why aren't people getting raided!?
Regan allowed himself another moment to muse. Maybe, he thought, this might be a Water 7 situation. Strong men acting as the towns defence, and so pirates are generally welcomed without fear.
If that's so, who is protecting the town?
"Hurry up, this way." Izgrim said, walking past a large black gate that closed off the woods from the neighbourhoods that were now in front of them. There were a myriad of houses, some bigger than others, made of wood or stone.
There were people pulling along horses, some hauling crates or barrels filled with some strange concoction that Regan didnt think too hard about.
What had caught his eye were the pirates that littered the place, some were sprawled in the ground, inebriated or high out of their minds, swinging about their swords or flintlocks.
After walking another mile, the three had stopped by a busy district with an array of stores in front of them. Some were selling clothes, weapons, food, and there was one building in particular that stood out from the rest.
"We're here," Izgrim said, ignoring the giant, chewed-up sign on the roof that read 'The Premium Inn,' with the 'I' missing in the word premium, and the extra 'n' missing in the noun inn.
No way this place has customers
Regan couldn't be more wrong. As they entered the dimly lit building, the sound of booming laughter filled up their ears, drowning them in the deafening crescendo.
All around them, pirates were being served by food runners with huge platters that were laden by drinks and plates of food. There was a wooden counter where a handful of workers were taking orders behind them and sending them out to a crew that worked in the kitchen.
"Ahhh, they really do got the best booze around here! Gahahahahaha!" One of the pirates bellowed, gulping down a cup of mead.
"Best booze in the north blue, no doubt about that!" Another pirate yelled, his mouth stuffed with food.
Ah, so the thing defending the city isn't a person, it's the booze.
Regan deduced that the town had repute for producing the greatest alcohol, pirates from across the north blue often came to have a taste for themselves.
"DANTEEEEEEEEES!" Came a voice, loud and striking like thunder. The man it belonged to was now accosting Regan with anger dripping from his crystal-blue eyes. He was wearing an apron over a chef's outfit, fixing his hat to prevent it from falling. There was a bald patch on the crown of his head, separating his field of black hair like a natural lawn mower. "Where the hell have you been!?"
"Sleeping in the woods." Izgrim scoffed, his arms still folded.
"The what? Oh, you stupid, stupid son of mine!" The man roared, clouting Regan on the ear.
"Ow!" Regan cried, bringing about the laughter of his younger siblings and the merriment of his cousin. "Get yer ass in that damn kitchen, fool!"
Regan scowled, but djd as he was told, observing the world around him as he made his way behind the counter. One of the pirates had caught his eye, a single man with a wizened face that had faced the brunt of time. His hair was the same shade of black, with black, lifeless eyes that served to match.
He had a wine-red coat over his shoulders, partially hiding the muscular frame underneath it.
Now that's a pirate, Regan thought as he passed through the only door that allowed one into the kitchen.
The kitchen was even busier than the town, men and women were darting about the place frantically, screaming orders at the cooks and demanding the food to be brought to the myriad of platters.
"There he is, there he is!" One of the cooks roared, whipping up egg fried rice on a wok. "Head Chef, he's here!"
The head chef was a brawny man with arms as thick as a castle wall, so thick were they that they threatened to tear right through his white uniform.
His skin was olive-toned like Regan's own, and his bald head glistened underneath the light of the room. One could possibly see their own reflection.
"You enjoy your dawdling, ya little shit!?" He said, grabbing Regan's arm. "My damn brothers giving me grief about you. I'm only your uncle, fuck am I suppose to do when you go wandering off into the woods!?"
"Let go of my arm! You're hurting me." Regan complained, struggling in his grip.
"No can do, shithead. You've got cargo to unload at the docks."
"Cargo!?" Regan exclaimed, being dragged along to another door that took them to the backyard of the premium inn. There were various crates and barrels filled to the brim. Britons with manes the shade of rippling moonlight stood forlornly, thick and huge like bulldozers, sneering as some eneverated man loaded a crate of goods on a carriage that the horses were forced to drag along.
Once he finished loading them, he climbed onto the back of the horse and waited patiently as the head chef shoved Regan forward.
"Get on the damn carriage," his new uncle demanded. "Bayton, get his ass to the pier and make sure he ain't slacking when he's unloading the crates. He's slacked long enough today!"
"Got it, chef." The man nodded, running his hands through his mop of brown hair.
Regan grumbled and hopped into the carriage, allowing himself a moment to turn and glower at the chef. Bayton had caught the look and scoffed, pressing his boot against the side of his horse to begin their journey to the pier. "You gave your father quite the fright." He said.
"What's he got to be fearful of? I'm usually always in the woods, right?"
"Ah, yes. But you've been told not to go there numerous times, Dantes. That place is perilous, the deeper you go the worse it becomes."
Perilous, huh? That gives me an idea.
The horses moved quite fast despite the weight of the carriage. In no time they had entered the heart of the town, Alefield, where the pier and a plethora of ships beheld them on their right. Bayton kicked at the horse again and turned it towards their destination.
The trotting became a low clank as the horses's hooves reached the wooden pier. Bayton sighed as he took in the brackish air, disembarking from his horse where he then began unloading the crates.
Regan had no idea where the crates were going, but he had no mind to ask. He was focused on something else. Another thing that felt familiar to him.
There was a massive pirate ship, much bigger than the others, made from the flesh of some dead oak tree. Its sails were as black as night, embellished with a jolly roger that Regan swore he had seen before.
The skull was in the likeness of a horse, wearing a thin fedora with blue feathers jutting out of the fabric to accentuate the fashion sense of the captain. It was followed by two cutlasses, and Regan found the same kind of cutlass resting on the hip of a man who was standing listlessly on the deck of the ship.
He was garbed in a plain white shirt that was unbuttoned to reveal the chiselled abs underneath. His long blonde hair flowed like melted gold, its tresses billowing in the wind. Atop his head sat a black fedora, with blue feathers jutting out of it. His azure eyes were narrowed, focusing on nothing in particular, and Regans's eyes widened as he uncovered the identity of the man upon closer inspection of his face.
"Cavendish!" Regan yelled out abruptly, dragging the man's attention onto him. No doubt about it, Regan thought. It was him. The future first commander of the future pirate king, Cavendish of the White Horse, the pirate prince.