章 37: Chapter 37: Stranded at Sea and an Island’s Embrace
The Grand Line was no place for a lone man at sea. Vulcan stood at the helm, trying to steer the large ship that once belonged to the pirate Grint. His hands gripped the wooden wheel tightly, muscles tensing as he fought against the waves that tossed the vessel about like it was nothing. Days of constant sailing had begun to wear on him, and the unpredictable weather of the Grand Line was proving to be a much bigger challenge than he'd anticipated.
"Damn it, why did I think I could do this alone?" Vulcan muttered to himself. The ship's sails creaked ominously as another gust of wind blew hard against them. He could feel the ship resisting his control, as if it had a mind of its own.
The sun burned hot one day, scorching the deck and leaving Vulcan drenched in sweat, only for the next day to be drowned in storms, the sky a blanket of dark clouds, lightning flashing in the distance. There was no break—no rhythm to the weather. And without a proper navigator, Vulcan had no idea where he was or where he was headed.
Each night he found himself staring out into the abyss of the sea, speaking aloud to no one but himself.
"Great idea, Vulcan. Just sail blindly through the Grand Line without a crew. Brilliant. Maybe the wind will just... magically take you somewhere safe," he muttered, a sarcastic laugh escaping his lips.
It had been a week since he'd left the last island, and it was becoming painfully obvious that sailing alone was far more difficult than he had imagined. With no one to rely on, Vulcan had to adjust the sails, steer the ship, and check the supplies all by himself. His food rations were running low, and the constant shifting weather made him wonder if he'd ever see land again.
The storms were the worst. Giant waves that nearly swallowed the ship whole, fierce winds that threatened to tear the sails apart, and the unrelenting rain that pounded against the deck. And during the calm moments, there was only silence—an eerie, unsettling silence broken only by the sound of the water lapping against the hull.
There was no escaping the solitude.
On the seventh day, Vulcan sat by the ship's mast, his back against the wood as the sun began to set on the horizon. He stared at the dwindling supply of rations—a few pieces of stale bread and half a bottle of water.
"Is this it? Is this how it ends?" Vulcan muttered. He clenched his fists, shaking his head. "No... no, I won't go down like this."
Just as his despair started to creep in, a glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon. A small speck in the distance. He squinted, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
"Is that... land?" Vulcan whispered, disbelief washing over him. He scrambled to his feet, rushing to the helm. His tired body screamed in protest, but his adrenaline kept him going. He turned the wheel with all his might, adjusting the sails to catch the wind just right.
The ship groaned as it turned toward the island, fighting against the last vestiges of the storm, but it moved.
The closer he got, the clearer the island became—a sanctuary in the middle of the unpredictable seas. As the ship neared the coast, Vulcan steered it into the nearest harbor. The ship's anchor dropped with a heavy splash, and the sound of it settling into the water was like a song of salvation to Vulcan's ears.
He jumped off the ship the moment it stopped moving, not even waiting to lower the gangplank. His boots hit the sand with a thud, and for the first time in days, he felt solid ground beneath him.
Vulcan fell to his knees and pressed his hands into the dirt, breathing in the smell of the earth. His lips trembled, and before he knew it, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
"I made it..." he whispered. Then, louder: "I MADE IT!"
He kissed the ground, his face pressed against the sand as if the island itself had saved him. His chest heaved with emotion, his body trembling from the sheer relief of survival. After days of drifting at sea, unsure if he'd ever find land again, the feeling of solid ground beneath him was overwhelming.
But he wasn't finished. With renewed energy, Vulcan stood up and ran toward the nearby town, his stomach growling in protest. He needed food—desperately. He could see the town's buildings in the distance, and his legs carried him faster than he had moved in days.
As he entered the town, his eyes scanned the streets for any sign of an inn or a restaurant. His gaze, however, was caught by something else—something he hadn't expected.
A Marine base.
The Marine flag flew high over the base's towers, and Vulcan's heart skipped a beat. His fatigue was momentarily forgotten. He straightened his posture, walking toward the base with purpose.
Inside, he found a group of Marine ensigns in the courtyard. As he approached, they glanced at him with a mix of confusion and suspicion.
"I need to speak to the person in charge here," Vulcan said, his voice firm.
One of the ensigns, a cocky young man with a sword at his side, stepped forward. "And who might you be?"
"I'm a Marine trainee, and I need to speak to your superior officer," Vulcan said. His patience was wearing thin after the long week at sea.
The ensign sneered. "A trainee? You don't look like one. If you were a Marine trainee, we'd know about it."
Vulcan's brow furrowed. He didn't have time for this.
"I don't have time to argue. Get your captain or your Rear Admiral, whoever's in charge," Vulcan said, his fists clenching at his sides.
The ensign laughed, crossing his arms. "What makes you think we're just going to let some random guy like you waltz in here and demand an audience?"
Vulcan's patience snapped. Without another word, he lunged forward, grabbing the ensign by the collar and tossing him to the side with ease. The other Marines scrambled in confusion as Vulcan turned toward them, fire in his eyes.
"I said, get your commanding officer!" he roared.
The Marine captains in the base were quick to respond. Within moments, Vulcan was surrounded by several mid-ranking officers, all brandishing their weapons.
"So, you think you can just barge into a Marine base and start a fight, huh?" one of the captains growled.
Vulcan didn't back down. "I didn't come here to fight, but if you're not going to listen to me, I don't have much of a choice."
The captains attacked in unison, but Vulcan was faster. Using his Rokushiki techniques, he dodged their sword strikes with Soru and countered with powerful blows, sending one captain flying into a wall with a single punch. Another tried to attack from behind, but Vulcan quickly shifted and swept his leg out, knocking the captain off his feet.
The skirmish ended as quickly as it had begun, with the Marine captains lying on the ground, groaning in pain.
Before Vulcan could catch his breath, a voice boomed from the upper levels of the base. "What is going on here?!"
A Rear Admiral, a towering man with a scar across his face, descended the stairs, his eyes locking onto Vulcan. His presence alone was enough to command attention, and Vulcan felt a shift in the air.
"Who do you think you are, attacking a Marine base?" the Rear Admiral demanded.
Vulcan straightened, his fists still clenched. "I'm not attacking. I'm a Marine trainee."
The Rear Admiral's eyes narrowed. "You? A trainee? Don't make me laugh. You're under arrest for attacking Marines."
Anger surged through Vulcan. "You're making a mistake."
"Am I?" The Rear Admiral cracked his knuckles. "We'll see about that."
Without warning, the Rear Admiral charged at Vulcan, moving faster than the captains before him. Vulcan barely had time to react as a powerful fist came flying toward his face. He blocked the blow, but the force of it sent him skidding back, his boots digging into the dirt.
This man was strong. Much stronger than anyone Vulcan had faced before.
Vulcan gritted his teeth, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't back down now. If this was the test he needed, then he would face it head-on.
The fight was on.
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