Chapter 4

Grand Line

Pop-Rock Candy

Nightmares often lacked a sense of surgical consistency characteristically possessed by the waking world. The topography of nightmares featured the erratic as the air, the asinine as trees and dirt, the petrifying and soul-clenching as the wildlife. Amongst which, one's own horrors silently straggled through the forests as whimsical predators awaiting inebriated prey.

"Dodge."

Her mind understood that she was not experiencing a nightmare. No, for the world was too vivid, the procession of events too fluid, and regardless of how much her beating heart demanded to burst from every close call with the supersonic projectiles that blurred past her body, there was the overwhelming realization: this was real.

"Dodge."

The tiny boom followed, a pebble of rock propelled itself from a casual finger flick at rates that would send bullets into chronic bouts of depression. Her body, light enough for every movement of her feet to glide across the air, twirled away from the projectile. She focused on her power, focusing on her fingernails, and only her fingernails, and the increased weight of beautiful ornaments on her phalanges prevented her from soaring away from the gust of wind that accompanied the pebble.

"Attack."

She did not run. Running would imply that her feet departed from the surface and her body resisted gravity. No, she drifted. A mere step, focusing on her toenails, boosting the weight of just those tiny parts of her body, while everything else remained. The transition did not bode well for her mind. Drifting, as she called it, often left her disorientated, especially now, when she appeared before the stoic dark-skinned man without as much as a blur to accompany her motion.

Her right hand was extended, the weight changed, accompanied by the speed of her drift. The hand possessed a dangerous amount of force, should it connect. A comparison would be to load an elephant within a bullet.

The attack never connected. Literally, it never connected. With god-forsaken reflexes that often left her questioning the mortality of the man before her, he casually side-stepped. Overextending, one part of her body weighing more than the other, she grit her teeth as she braced herself for the consequences of yet another failed assault.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Her cheeks burned. The ones on her face from indignation, the ones on her derriere from the stinging consecutive spanks that brought her to the floor.

"You fail."

She dropped to the deck of the boat, both her hands immediately grasping her behind and desperately rubbing them, to the ever-constant amusement of her torturer. "Not everyone has the reflexes of an explosion!"

"Increase the weight of your cheeks to prevent yourself from taking damage." He said, as though it wasn't one of the more ludicrous notions.

Yet, when he'd suggested only increasing the weight of her fingernails and toenails while reducing the weight of the rest of her body, she'd considered it another ludicrous idea as well. The ideas that sparked from the brain of the Bomb-Bomb human were often revolutionary, often awe-inspiring, often made her question why she had failed to utilize her power in such manners before. None of his suggestions so far failed to possess some merit, and she could see the exponential rate at which she grew.

A mere four weeks ago, the concept of dodging bullets would have left her laughing at the idiot who tried to pull off such a feat. Now, she was dodging projectiles shot at rates faster than normal bullets. Her speed… dear god her speed… she never once contemplated that reducing her weight to One Kilogram and accelerating herself, could make her this fast. She was nowhere near as fast as he was, the bloody bomb-man who could move at the speed of detonations, but she was capable of crossing short distances faster than the blink of an eye.

That was literal, of course, as the monster before her did not let her rest until she could move from one end of their boat to the other end, and tag him before he could blink.

"As it is you should be potentially faster than Soru users but… it's still too slow."

"Too slow?" said Valentine, almost laughing. Almost.

"Yes."

"I move faster than the eye can blink."

"Too slow."

"I can dodge bullets."

"Too slow."

"What is fast then?"

He paused. Silence, audible. "Light." Said V. "Light is fast."

She pursed her lips. Her head shook to the side slowly. "You're crazy." The epiphany was not novel. "I can't move as fast as light."

"Won't."

Shaking her head, faster. "I can't. Physically."

"You said the same thing when I told you to cross the deck before I blinked."

"This is different." She stressed. "The Kilo-Kilo no Mi can't drop my weight to zero kilograms just as it can't make me any heavier than ten thousand kilograms."

He stared at her for a short moment. "Decimals."

She'd heard the word before. Who hadn't? Basic knowledge of mathematics was needed to survive in the world, and even if most bounties didn't have decimals, she knew what they were. She also immediately realized what he was talking about.

"Decimals." She repeated.

"You can't reduce your weight to exactly zero kilograms, fine. Put it marginally above that. Zero-point-one. Zero-point-zero-zero-one. Zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one."

His lips parted. An ungodly caricature of a smile slapped itself on his face. Shivers traversed her spine. "Light as a feather on the wind. As a mote of dust. As a single, falling snowflake." With his eyes ever obscured behind either dark shades or blindfolds, she could not gleam the slightest of hints as to what foul machinations lay behind his gaze.

"Up." Said V. "Our lesson continues."

XXXXXXX

The pitter-patter of raindrops against the exterior of the Pop Rock Candy served as the buffer between thought and reality. Rare was it that the rains on the Grand Line were light, refreshing and calm. The sea's tranquility was a flighty mistress prone to random moments of wanderlust. She gripped her parasol, staring out into choppy waves and ripples across water. To the bright sheen of the wet wooden deck and the puddles reflecting ashen-gray clouds above sea.

V's still form remained motionless underneath the drumbeats of rain. Shirtless, sitting, his legs crossed and his back straight, he appeared a statue decorated across the stone steps of temples than he did a human being. Steam rolled off his body in dancing wafts that coiled into the cold air and died as they were sniped by raindrops. His dark skin blistered a steady red, like a piece of unfettered steel emerging from a forge, hammered by a blacksmith.

She approached him. Her feet slid across the slick-wet deck, in a smooth motion, she stood behind him. Her parasol leaned to the side neither casting shadows nor offering protection.

"Training?"

A dull grunt, a slight inclination of his head. Her own head once more found itself making motions identifiable to every individual who had either heard an absurd idea or witnessed grand acts of folly.

"Why do you bother?" Said Valentine. "You're strong enough as it is."

His response was a deep exhale. Almost condescending, she thought. The manner in which he breathed, like a father whose child had asked another bothersome, irking question.

The light-clinking and ladylike-pitters of rain increased in tempo. Lackadaisically, seemingly grudgingly, the breeze followed, and thunder and lightning trailed after them like desperate middle-born children. The sea's tranquil mistress was gone. In its place, a volatile, fickle-minded wench shrieking desperately for their attention demanded her due.

As always, V remained unperturbed. Through storms that would send sailors praying to their deities and hardened pirates soiling their breeches with patches of yellow-and-brown, the Bomb Human was a mountain. His ever-constant response to the sea's desire to swallow them in death's calm embrace, were two words:

"November Fifth."

Storm after storm had found themselves slaughtered, questioning the significance of the fifth day of the eleventh month. She'd asked him, time and again, why he named his attack such, only to get a cryptic answer, each and every time.

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and plot."

He was never forthcoming about what plot, nor what treason, and the amusement that danced on his lips whenever he abstained from explanation continued to vex her. Regardless, she would not deny that it was a beautiful thing, no, it was a magnificent thing, to watch the sight of storms blown away from the sky.

The ear-numbing booms could perhaps be the only negative. The sight of clouds racing, of wind and water galloping away like a nomadic clan fleeing from invading barbarians often left her breathless. In the day, it was as though a blanket had been pulled away from the heavens in order to let the sun's rays bathe the world. At night, it was like a silken dress slipping off the shoulders of a young maiden to let the moonlight trickle downwards unto the sea.

His boots connected softly against the deck of the ship, and she glanced upwards, unable to rein in her surprise. The storm was gone, the moon lay brightly in the night sky, but one vital element was missing.

"That – just now –" he turned, vaguely, in her direction. "Just now. I didn't hear anything."

"Good."

"Good?" Was that the appropriate response? "You blew away the clouds without making a single sound?" She did not expect her voice to have increased in pitch. "…you made an explosion without any sound."

"Yes."

"How?"

He proceeded to sit back on the deck, crossing his legs as he had before. "Training."

XXXXXX

"Captain V! Land ho!"

It was odd, calling him Captain. He was, of course, her Captain, because she had accepted to be his First Mate. "Accepted" being a rather euphemistic term. She could not deny the potential benefits, numerous as they were, it would be both stupid and moronic of her to do so.

He emerged out of the cabin, his iconic dark shades obscuring his eyes as he glanced in the direction of the visible green-and-brown speck that hung on the edge of the horizon. It was getting increasingly harder to know what he was thinking, but she assumed he felt satisfied.

"That island…"

"Little Garden." Said Valentine. "It doesn't look so little from here though."

V's lips seemed to twitch at something. "It took us a month and some days from Whiskey Peak to get here." He walked forward, silently moving across the deck, he turned his attention to her. "A month."

"The Grand Line is vast, and the Pop Rock Candy isn't exactly the fastest sailing vessel."

V was not mollified. "Voyages by ship take long amount of time, I expected this… but if the distance between nearest islands on the Grand Line constitute entire months…" he reached for his nose, his index and middle fingers trailing softly against it. "Utterly nonsensical…" he muttered.

"What is?"

"Assassinating the Princess."

"Princess?" Valentine's nose furrowed. "You mean the Princess of Alabasta?"

"Mr. 0 could, will accomplish his goals before she could possibly return to hinder his plans." He crossed his arms, tapping his foot against the deck. Notably, there was no noise from the impact. "Infiltrating Baroque Works, her odds of dying against pirates were higher than her odds of gaining any intel from the organization. What was she thinking?"

"She's dead so it doesn't matter now does it?"

V paused. "Yes," he said, unfolding his arms. "I suppose it doesn't."

There was not much else to be said. V, oddly, had become a man of fewer words than he had when he first awoke. Than he had before he 'lost his memory,' an excuse with a veracity that was thinner than string. Amnesiacs did not suddenly become hyper-competent mavericks.

"I think we can restock some supplies on the island." She turned her gaze to the kitchen. "I'd like to eat something other than roasted fish and Sea-King meat for a change." She bit at her lip. "If we're going to become an actual Pirate Crew… a chef would be nice."

"You can't cook?"

She straightened up. "I'm the First Mate aren't I?"

"So you can't cook."

Heat assaulted her cheeks. "I can bake. Cookies. Cakes. Brownies. Sweet, sugary snacks and even make some ice cream." Her gaze fled from his direction. "I just… have some issues with adding sugar to everything I make."

"Everything?"

Her cheeks scorched. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"…is that why all the fish –" he stopped. "You told me that fish on the Grand Line tasted naturally sweet."

"…"

"…"

"The water on the Grand Line isn't naturally sweet either, is it?"

"…"

"Valentine?"

"Yes Captain?"

"You're barred from the kitchen."

XXXXXXX

Grand Line

Little Garden

"I said I'm sorry!"

He ensured the anchor was properly placed, preventing the ship from moving away from the green-lined shores of the island. The sails, he double checked, ensuring they were unfurled. The helm, he ensured was locked in place. Careful and precise, almost to the degree of obsession, she watched him tick items on his list one after the other before jumping off the vessel and landing silently on cool blades of grass.

She followed after him, floating up, moving herself forward until she hovered down beside him, but refrained from touching the earth. A human balloon, she walked by his side.

"I really am!"

The forests shook with a large, resounding growl. Numerous growls echoed afterwards, like a fusillade of beasts, each and every one growing with further intensity. She glanced out into the forest, her lips contorted into a displeased frown. She disregarded the noise, turning her attention back on to her Captain.

"I didn't mean to trick you." She floated in front of him, hovering out of his distance with her hands behind her back. "I wanted you to like it. Didn't you like it?"

He diverted, turning down a path on his left. She followed after him, her floating gait and attempts to appease him eerily mirroring an invisible ghost haunting an occupied traveler.

"People always tell me it's weird. Why do I add sugar to my water? It makes it sweet! It's refreshing, and sweet! I mean, I like my ale like everyone else, but some of the beer I've tasted made me wonder if someone collected horse piss and gargled it in the mouth of a donkey before bringing it to the bar." She dodged a vine without looking, bending her head to avoid a branch. "The sweet stuff is rarely ever found. If it is, it costs a fortune. I mean, why can't I just get a drink of something that's sweet and can get me wasted? Or, if I'm not in the mood to drink, something that tastes sweet and is refreshing?"

V's hands brushed against offending vines, the objects burning into ash at the contact. Thorns likewise met their grey-demise as the Bomb-Human proceeded through the shrubbery. Valentine weaved and floated away from objects before they could touch her. Subconsciously, she attained a sensitivity to the wind that could only be brought by a person who was nigh-weightless. A person who was a leaf, a mote of dust, a single, falling snowflake.

"Cola."

Valentine perked up. "You've forgiven me?"

"Cola," continued V. "I remember that there's cola somewhere out there. If you hate alcohol, just drink cola."

"I don't hate alcohol."

"You don't love it."

"It's tolerable." She twirled out of the way of an incoming fly. "Mostly good for the buzz. It'd be better if it tasted sweet. Like chocolate. Imagine that? Chocolate booze. Or – or maybe vanilla? Vanilla ale… of if I could get my hands on some strawberry… oh – yes – yes – the flavors."

"When you get your bounty," said V, "Your epithet should be 'Sweet Tooth' Valentine."

"Hey – that's not funny." She watched a small horde of mosquitoes vaporize on contact with him. "We don't choose what they call us. The Marines do." She dodged six of the blood-suckers. "What makes you think we'll get bounties?"

His hand reached out, snatching a beetle in the air, the creature turning to cinders within his palm. His general stare was in her direction, although she could not tell with his shades. His body turned away, his head following, marching unfettered through the forests.

"We're pirates."

"We haven't done anything remotely pirate-y."

"We will."

"When?"

"Soon."

"What will we do?"

"What pirates do best."

The sun's rays failed completely to penetrate the thick foliage. Trees continued to grow outward, obscuring the sky in a blanket of green. The mud was rich-brown, a shade favorable to plants and worms. Repeats of growls and roars bounced from tree to tree, a song seemingly set with neither a start nor beginning. They approached a clearing, or rather, what resembled a clearing. A large, thick imprint left on the earth, shattered rock and crushed branches buried underneath. The curvature and shape of which resembled a humanoid foot. A humanoid foot capable of imprinting on the earth a space fit to be reworked as a swimming pool.

V examined the 'clearing', taking in the sight. She hovered in the air beside him, sitting on nothing, crossing her legs and placing her chin within her palm.

"What do pirates do best?"

A particularly large growl drew their attention. The creature emerged from the darkness. Thick, heavy striped furs, long, protruding fangs from both side of its jaw. Voluminous nails, raked against the earth like a farmer desperately tilling for sustenance. It slowly circled them, paws striking in rapid movements, tail swishing back and forth, the beast's snarls increasing in tempo.

Valentine switched from her hovering position. Laying, peacefully in the air, she made exaggerated breaststrokes, swimming towards the creature. "Do you think it's edible?"

"As long as you don't bathe it with sugar."

"Everything tastes better with sugar."

"Even you?"

She paused her strokes. "I can't tell if you meant that in the cannibalistic way, or –"

The creature pounced. Roaring, irked at being ignored, it took several powerful strides, leaping into the air with claws outstretched and fangs bared. It landed, confused, when its floating prey apparently disappeared from its sight.

"Oh! The furs are so soft! I'd love a coat to be made out of this!"

"You're skinning it yourself."

The beast stood, confused, as its prey sat on its back, yet, it could feel nothing. It shook, jumping and pouncing about, to no avail. The prey was not moved, the prey was not bothered, the prey continued to rub its fur.

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"But you're so much better at skinning things than I am! With all the Sea Kings you skinned with your explosions."

"No."

"Pretty, pretty please?"

"No."

The beast growled. Annoyed at being unable to take down the prey on its back, it turned its attention to the other prey. The one in red. It lunged for his prey, charging in a straight path –

A foreboding, unwelcoming feeling crashed into the beast's bones. Its hairs stood on end, each and every stride toward the 'prey' felt like a stride toward certain death. Its charge stopped, its gaze glanced upwards, meeting the dark reflective lenses that obscured the eyes of its pre – predator –

The beast's legs felt weak. Its strength left it. It collapsed, consumed under the weight of a power vastly superior to its own. Underneath the might of a pressure that tore asunder its sense of self. Consciousness and will vanished, and it toppled to the ground, motionless.

"Captain…" Said Valentine. "What was that?"

"…killing intent."

"I've never heard of it."

"I didn't think it would work." It was a rare admission, to hear him say that. "To overwhelm your opponent with your desire to kill them, that it can make them freeze or stop their heart."

"The tiger isn't dead."

"It isn't?"

"It's unconscious."

"…it's a start."

"So, about that fur coat…"

"No."

XXXXXX

"Y'know, pirates are supposed to be fun." She wiped the blood from her hands with a dusty rag. "I mean, I've killed my fair share since joining Baroque Works, and before I killed them, I noticed one thing that they had in common."

"Being weak?"

She stuck out her tongue at him. "They threw great parties."

"You hate parties."

"No I don't."

"You hate alcohol."

"That has nothing to do with hating parties."

"Earlier you said alcohol was tolerable."

"I know what I said."

"Which is it?"

"Hating something and finding it tolerable isn't mutually exclusive." Said Valentine. "I hate the taste. I like the buzz. I find it tolerable overall." The blonde woman tore the skin from the back of the dead creature, grunting. "And – I – don't… ugh – hate… parties!"

The sound of flesh departing brutally from skin echoed through the forest. Valentine rose up her prize. "Where else would I get to show off my clothes and figure?"

"Are we talking about the same type of parties?"

"A party is a party."

V did not bother correcting her. The man marched, deeper into the foliage, the sounds of insects and predators having long since died out into tiny whimpers. In lieu of their presence, the savagery born from Mother Nature was found wanting.

"Do you think Mr. 3 and Miss Goldenweek like parties?" Valentine hovered in front of him again, her previously pristine yellow dress splattered with red. "We rarely ever meet the other Officer Agents. I wonder what they're like?"

"It doesn't matter."

Valentine sat on his shoulder. Her trophy hung off her shoulders. Light as she was, V continued moving, unbothered. "Are we going to kill them?"

"If necessary."

"What'll make it necessary?"

V's left hand cut across shrubbery. "If their stupidity is irredeemable."

Valentine crossed her legs. "You're planning on recruiting them."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't deny it."

V pushed further against the undergrowth. Sitting in the middle of the dense jungle, as appropriate as finding a polar bear in the middle of the Alabastan desert, a small white building could be located. It sheened a bit with a few stray rays of sun that pierced the undergrowth, and even possessed two windows and an ornate looking door.

"Is that… wax?"

"Mr. 3 ate the Doru Doru no Mi. He's a Candle-Human."

Miss Valentine turned her lips into an 'o', before turning her attention back to the wax house. "So he can make anything out of wax?"

"Theoretically, yes." Said V. "From houses, hammers, clubs, and maybe, if his imagination is precise enough, guns and boats."

"That's amazing."

"He prefers to encase himself in a suit of wax and fight hand-to-hand."

"And… that's stupid."

"Coming from the woman whose main attack was to jump on people?"

She did, manage to allow a small dusting of redness on her cheeks. She coughed into her hand. "Do we knock?"

"They have no reason to believe that we're enemies. We shouldn't know about the kill order on us, so act normally." V paused. "Normally than you're usual normal."

They approached the door, slowly, only for V to stop, raising his hand to stop her as well. "Something's wrong."

"What is it?"

"There's no one inside." V rapidly turned around. The ground began shaking, reverberating violently as massive, heavy impacts struck the earth repeatedly.

"They didn't."

"They didn't? They didn't what?"

"This island is also home to two rather… large… residents."

The ground shook as creatures fled haphazardly, monstrous booms sharply dwarfed every other audible sound. Entire trees and mountaintops seemed to be pushed or squashed effortlessly by something of gargantuan size, and both V and miss Valentine could only look up, their barely capable of crossing past what was clearly a colossal kneecap, the likes of which belittled mountains.

"Have I ever mentioned," said V. "That this world is insane?"

I ~ A ~ M ~ F

I was one of the few individuals fortunate enough to have seen the Cristo Redentor statue in my lifetime. The sight of a giant reminded me of it, except, it was moving, animated, breathing, exuding heat and sound and the numerous other characteristics of living things which the famous Christ the Redeemer statue did not possess. The term "giant" seemed too easy to overlook, the sight seemed effortlessly tiny when one pictured it within the panels of a black and white book.

Standing before one, it was another sight entirely. His feet was larger than my entire body. My gaze, staring at those shoes was like the gaze of a small chipmunk gawking up at The Mountain from Game of Thrones. Instincts in my body screamed at me that I should be fleeing, running, racing in the other direction in lieu of the titan before me. Titan, being used in a sense that I perhaps now understood firsthand the sheer terror inspired by creatures of inimitably great sizes.

"GEGYAGEGYAGEGYAGEGYA!"

The bellow was at an octave that hurt my sensitive hearing. I could only make sense of the nonsensical because I remembered that both giants possessed rather odd manners of laughing. At the same time, my mind was telling me that if he was laughing, it meant things were still positive. Part of me anticipated or expected that Mr. 3 would have gone and done something stupid like attempt to take down both giants on his lonesome. The duo, whilst seemingly good-natured, had casually admitted to effortlessly killing the hapless pirates who believed themselves idiotic enough to challenge giants and survive.

Canonically, Mr. 3 could only take them down because of Mr. 5 (me) planting explosives into the barrel of wine provided by the Straw Hats. However, things were different now. Much different. Had Mr. 3 considered a different plan? Gone with a different approach?

"GEGYAGEGYA! More people have come to the island!"

I could not even see his face, but I could, however, make out the long, elegant beard that fell from the heavens like a waterfall dripping unto hell. From the beard alone, I believed this giant, was clearly Dorry, the Blue Ogre.

With a burst of movement that surprisingly belayed speed that a being of his size possessed no right to have, Dorry crouched to our levels, confirming that it was indeed Dorry, the smiling large giant, whose eyeballs and teeth were the full length of my body, and the man smiled genially at us.

"Are you the friends of the humans who were staying in this tiny hut?"

I contemplated my answer. "We… are acquainted." I said simply. "Do you know where they are?"

"GEGYAGEGYAGEGYA!" Dorry let out a large bellow of laughter, one that literally shook the trees and created gusts of wind. "They said they were after my bounty and attacked me at night."

I did not know whether to applaud Mr. 3's courage, or berate his stupidity at such an endeavor. "I take it they did not succeed."

Dorry's smile sent a small shudder down my spine. "No."

There was no need to ask if they were alive or dead. The answer was self-explanatory at this point. Something within me questioned if I possessed the strength to succeed where they failed. Whether or not I could take down the Great Warriors of Elbaf. The power of my explosions… I knew that they could hurt Brogy, I'd seen it before. In fiction, however, and fiction was a far, far different game than reality.

This was my reality now, as I itched my palms threatening to ignite, and took small, slow breaths. Would I make my attempt here and now, take down a giant for no other reason than because I wanted to know if I could, or would I instead, potentially, find myself making unwitting allies instead?

Silence seemed unsteady, uneasy, as Dorry regarded both of us, the same kindly smile upon his gigantic face. Miss Valentine was watching, sharply, waiting to know my decision. Attack or don't. Attack or don't.

The decision was taken out of my hands with the sharp rumble of the earth, a plume of smoke breaking into the sky as a volcano gave birth to magma and molten rock. The eruption shook the small island in a manner more volatile than the ever repeating steps of the giant, and Dorry reared up, standing straight, his smile ever present on his face as he brandished his weapon and shield.

"GEGYAGEGYAGEGYA! Looks like it's time again!" Dorry's muscles bulged, rippling with exertion and strength, his eyes sharpening and a foreign look entering into those orbs.

…Of course.

I settled my hands down, placing them into my pockets, as I shook my head in the direction of Miss Valentine. Stand down. She gave me a peculiar, slightly surprised look, although she did not question it, and Dorry as well seemingly realized the decision I'd come to.

I increased the sound of my voice as much as I could. "Do your best."

The Giant, seemingly surprised, stared at me, and then laughed. "GEGYAGEGYAGEGYA! Of course!"

He charged off into the distance, footsteps echoing and thudding away underneath the background noise of an erupting volcano. Miss Valentine, a bit jittery, moved to my side, taking a deep breath.

"That was tense…"

I didn't say anything. I found that fewer words made me cooler. Or at least, I was going to speak far less than I should. In the long run, a Bomb-Human who was quiet was ultimately going to be more terrifying than one that talked too much. Still, I couldn't help but nod at her words. It had been tense.

"I thought we were going to attack him?"

"So did I."

Valentine's lips curved. "Why didn't we?"

The answer was obvious, when I thought about it. Obvious, when I realized that I couldn't hold this world to the same standard of its fictional counterpart. Actions did have consequences, and there was one action that had the most of all.

"We would have died."

100 years. For one hundred years, two giants engaged in daily combat against each other, non-stop, for one-hundred years. If this was an RPG, their levels would be through the roof from the constant "grinding" as it were. It didn't matter that they were the same opponents, the amount of battle skill and strength gathered in such a huge amount of time was incomparable to the one month and change that Valentine and I spent training.

Dorry and Brogy were sailing the Oceans since before the Pirate King was born, and they were fighting here while the man died. In the era before the Great Pirate Age, their bounties were 100 Million Beri each. There was no way they did not have Haki. There was no way they were not ridiculously powerful. They were older than most, if not all, the current pirates alive.

Oda was on crack if he believed someone like Mr. 3 and even Luffy, could be anything more than a trifling annoyance to them.

"Miss Valentine let this be one of the first rules of our crew." I said to the woman. "If you value your life... do not fight Giants."