Capítulo 174: Drems of Wood and Steel #174
Amidst the sprawling expanse of the dry docks, where the scent of salt lingered in the air and the symphony of hammering echoed against the backdrop of the sea, Iceburg stood with an air of contemplation. His eyes, a mixture of scrutiny and pride, were fixed upon the near-completed ship before him. The vessel stood as a testament to craftsmanship, each plank and rivet a reflection of the skill that had gone into its creation.
A hand rose to his chin, fingers rubbing thoughtfully against the well-groomed beard that adorned his features. His mind was a whirlwind of ideas, contemplating the ship's design with a discerning eye. Could there be anything more, a touch that would elevate Cedric's creation from remarkable to extraordinary? The dry docks had always been a canvas of innovation for Iceburg, and he reveled in the challenge of perfection.
Yet, the tranquility of his musings was disrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The distinct cadence of boot-clad feet upon the wooden planks heralded the arrival of Duval. Iceburg turned his expression a mix of curiosity and mild exasperation. "What is it this time?" he queried, a knowing undertone in his voice.
Duval's presence was accompanied by a strange aura, a hint of unpredictability that made Iceburg raise an eyebrow. His gaze held a question as he peered at Duval, the lines of his face etched with a blend of amusement and curiosity. "Chased away another pirate crew, have you?" he mused, the corners of his lips curling into a wry smile.
The look Duval returned was an awkward one, a sheepish gesture as he scratched his head. His response came with a touch of defensiveness. "No. That was mostly Kieran's doing, not mine!" His words carried an air of protest, a subtle shifting of responsibility. A sigh escaped him as he added, "And, well, no more pirates had shown up since he took care of the last bunch."
Iceburg's head shook a mix of bemusement and exasperation in the gesture. "Maaa, At least Kieran's efforts had a positive outcome," he remarked, a hint of appreciation in his tone. His shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug as he continued, "Donating a portion of their loot to the city as compensation for the disruption in business was a considerate gesture."
A curious tilt of his head accompanied his next question, his voice tinging with genuine interest. "So, what brings you here today?" The dry docks seemed to envelop them in an air of industrious energy, the ship-in-progress standing as a tangible manifestation of their shared dedication.
Duval's grin was wide, a signal that he bore interesting news. He held up the suitcase in his hand, presenting it as if unveiling a treasure. "The captain's returned," he announced, his voice carrying a touch of excitement. He extended the suitcase toward Iceburg, an unspoken message in the gesture. "He sent me to deliver this to you."
The suitcase was accepted with a nod, the weight of its contents a mystery that beckoned him to unveil its secrets. "I take it your captain's little expedition went well, then?" Iceburg inquired.
Duval's grin was an answer in itself, a gesture that spoke of triumph and accomplishment. With a flourish of his hand, he indicated the suitcase, a silent invitation for Iceburg to explore its contents. "See for yourself..." The words carried an air of anticipation.
Responding to the unspoken request, Iceburg found a suitable spot on the nearest table for the suitcase. With deft fingers, he unclasped it, allowing the lid to open and reveal the treasure held within. Stacks upon stacks of Beri gleamed in the light, their metallic glint a testament to their worth.
Duval's grin widened, the pride in his voice unmistakable as he declared the impressive sum. "50 million, not one Beri less." The words carried a note of triumph, an affirmation that their endeavors had yielded more than just material gain.
As Iceburg prepared to respond, the scene was joined by another presence. Den approached them, his movements seemingly weightless as he floated with the aid of the ring bubble attached to his tail. His gaze shifted from the money to Duval, a question forming on his lips. "I take it that Cedric's back?" he inquired, his voice carrying an air of assurance and curiosity.
Duval's nod served as confirmation, prompting a smile to grace Den's lips. The relief in his expression was evident as he stated, "Good... now we can finish the ship without delay." His gaze shifted toward the expanse of the sea, a wistful note in his voice as he added, "I was starting to miss Fishman Island already..."
...
Amidst the dignified ambiance of Marineford, the fleet admiral's office served as a bastion of authority and decision-making. The air was charged with a sense of purpose as Garp reclined on a couch, his demeanor far from formal, as he casually indulged in Sengoku's rice crackers.
The contrast was stark between his nonchalant posture and the stern expression etched onto the fleet admiral's countenance as he absorbed Rear Admiral Sicily's report.
The office was a space that held the weight of responsibility, its walls lined with maps and memorabilia that bore witness to the history of the Marines.
As the rear admiral provided a comprehensive account of the situation unraveling in Alabasta, Sengoku's gaze was steady, his attention entirely devoted to the details being laid out before him. The tale of Crocodile's arrest, a former Warlord of the Sea, held ramifications that reverberated across the seas.
With Sicily's briefing concluded, he excused himself from the office, leaving a vacuum of silence in his wake. However, that silence was quickly shattered by the booming sound of Garp's laughter.
It was a hearty, genuine laugh that filled the room, echoing against the walls as if Garp's mirth couldn't be contained within the confines of the space. "As expected of my student!" he exclaimed with an undertone of pride, his voice a mixture of amusement and familiarity. "Even as a pirate, he's still taking out the trash!"
Sengoku's reaction was a stark counterpoint to Garp's amusement. His teeth clenched in exasperation and frustration, his stern expression marred by irritation.
"You think this is funny?!" he retorted, the edge in his voice slicing through the laughter that had permeated the room. The loss of a lost Warlord of the Sea amidst the rise of a new emperor in the New World was a sobering reminder of the shifting tides of power.
The fleet admiral's finger pointed accusingly at Garp, his voice carrying a blend of reproach and incredulity. "In the first place, why does everyone remotely involved with you turn out to be a pain in the ass?!" The words were a testament to a recurring pattern that seemed to follow in Garp's wake, a sequence of events that defied the expected norms.
A vein bulged on Sengoku's forehead as his tirade continued, the words spilling out in an unfiltered torrent of frustration. "First, it was Dragon, then Cedric, and now even your grandson has turned to piracy!" The litany of names was accompanied by a sense of exasperation, a cascade of instances that defied convention.
The recent revelation that Garp's own grandson had acquired and consumed a Logia-type Devil Fruit and started making a name for himself as a pirate added a layer of complexity to an already convoluted situation.
Clearly stung by Sengoku's pointed words, Garp's voice rose in protest, his tone carrying a mix of feigned outrage and genuine affront. "Hey! I resent that!" he retorted, his finger jabbing the air in emphasis. With a smirk that hinted at mischief, he threw a counterargument in Sengoku's direction. "I trained that brat Kuzan, and he turned out to be the only half-decent admiral out of all the three!"
Sengoku's response was swift, his eyes twitching with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. The words he spoke carried an undercurrent of exasperation, as if the mere mention of Kuzan stirred a range of emotions within him.
"But you didn't even want to train him in the first place, did you!?" he shot back, his own finger jabbing the air as he mirrored Garp's gesture. His voice took on a hint of mock disbelief as he continued, "And he turned out to be a lazy bastard who can barely function without 18 hours of sleep!"
Within the confines of the office, the banter continued to flow, an intricate interplay of personalities and histories that had shaped the Marines. The two old friends volleyed their arguments, their words carrying a sense of familiarity that bespoke years of shared experiences. The banter seemed to serve as a release, a momentary diversion from the weighty matters that typically occupied their roles.
Meanwhile, in a different corner of the vast world beyond Marineford, Admiral Aokiji found himself roused from his slumber by an inexplicable itch. His nose twitched, a sensation that demanded his attention, and he couldn't suppress the sneeze that erupted from him. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he contemplated the sensation, "Ararara... who's badmouthing me behind my back, I wonder..."
Aokiji's musings were as fleeting as the sensation that had disrupted his sleep. The idea was brushed aside as quickly as it had come, replaced by the allure of sleep's embrace. With a languid stretch, he settled back into his slumber, his thoughts returning to dreamscape territories.
...
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