The Swordfish left Twin Cape and Laboon far behind.
Ever since Sammy had descended from Reverse Mountain, the Grand Line had shown them nothing but an eerily peaceful sea.
The water was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the brilliant blue sky above so perfectly that the scenery almost felt unreal.
But that peace lasted less than two hours after they sailed away from Twin Cape.
Without the slightest warning, the clear sky vanished.
Dark clouds rolled in from nowhere, swallowing the sunlight in an instant.
The calm, windless sea suddenly erupted into chaos.
The wind struck like an invisible giant hand, violently clawing at the ocean and raising waves as tall as mountains.
“Quick!
Hold the helm steady!
Reef the sails!
MOVE!”
Hans’s roar was almost completely drowned out by the howling wind.
And yet, that sudden storm was only the appetizer.
Over the next several hours, the weather changed so wildly that it felt as though some bored god was playing with the sky.
One moment, the Swordfish was struggling desperately through towering waves.
Just when everyone aboard became convinced they were about to be swallowed by a terrifying storm, the suffocating black clouds inexplicably scattered.
Sunlight poured across the deck again.
But the warmth didn’t last.
The gentle sunshine suddenly became scorching, beating down on the ship with the intensity of midsummer.
Before the crew could even wipe the sweat from their faces, huge snowflakes began drifting from the sky.
Snow.
Under a blazing summer sun.
The freezing flakes landed on the burning deck and melted almost instantly.
“W-What the hell is this place…?”
A young pirate held out his palm and stared dumbfounded as a snowflake landed on his skin and immediately dissolved into a drop of water.
While most of the crew could only stare in disbelief at nature seemingly losing its mind, Sammy strode toward the bow.
He spread his arms wide and faced the chaotic sky head-on.
“Hahahahaha!”
His laughter rang out over the wind.
“THIS is what I’m talking about!
An adventure isn’t legendary unless it’s completely insane!”
Sammy threw his head back and laughed even harder.
“This is the kind of adventure worth telling stories about!
Hahahahaha!”
His captain’s enthusiasm quickly infected a large part of the crew.
Everyone except Hans.
For years, Hans had been considered an excellent navigator in the West Blue.
Here?
Almost everything he had learned felt useless.
The expensive Grand Line sailing journals and climate records he had purchased before their departure were certainly helpful, but understanding them in theory and actually using that knowledge in the middle of this madness were two completely different things.
By West Blue standards, weather followed patterns.
Clouds meant something.
Wind direction meant something.
Temperature changes meant something.
But the Grand Line?
There seemed to be no logic at all.
Its climate was wild, temperamental, and utterly unreasonable—as though the gods themselves were amusing themselves by tormenting ordinary sailors.
During the first few days, Hans practically lived in the crow’s nest.
His eyes became bloodshot from staring at the constantly changing sky and sea for hours without rest.
He was exhausted beyond belief, but he barely dared close his eyes.
He was terrified that the moment he blinked, a sudden cyclone or whirlpool would appear and swallow the Swordfish whole.
The merciless winds at that height weren’t helping either.
They seemed determined to steal what little hair Hans still had left.
“Hard to port!
QUICK!
Get us away from there!”
Hans’s voice had already become hoarse from shouting.
He wasn’t one of those legendary navigational geniuses who could supposedly “hear” the voice of the wind.
He was simply a good navigator from the West Blue.
So if natural genius wasn’t enough, Hans had only one answer.
Two hundred percent concentration.
And a ridiculous amount of sweat.
It wasn’t until the seventh day of their voyage that Hans finally began to understand the Grand Line’s vicious temperament.
By studying the color of the seawater, the shape and thickness of the clouds, and the moisture carried by the wind, he gradually managed to make predictions with a slightly better chance of being correct.
Slightly.
If three or four predictions out of ten turned out to be right, Hans was already thanking every god he could think of.
Most of the time, the crew still had to remain constantly alert and ready to react to whatever insanity the sea decided to throw at them next.
Sammy became genuinely worried that his precious navigator might work himself to death before they even reached their first island.
So he assigned a quick-witted young sailor to stay beside Hans.
Officially, the boy was there as an apprentice to learn navigation.
In reality, his most important job was making sure Hans ate, slept, and didn’t suddenly collapse from exhaustion.
Whether the kid actually learned anything could wait until later.
After successfully predicting yet another bizarre weather shift and guiding the Swordfish away from a sudden hailstorm beneath a perfectly clear sky, Hans leaned heavily against the railing of the crow’s nest.
He stared at the relatively calm waters ahead and slowly released a long breath.
Then he climbed down.
With enormous dark circles beneath his eyes and the exhausted expression of a man who hadn’t properly slept in days, Hans went straight to Sammy.
“Boss…”
He looked half-dead.
“This damn place…wasn’t made for humans.”
Sammy almost laughed.
Hans continued before he could.
“I still don’t understand the climate here.
Not really.”
He rubbed his exhausted eyes.
“But I’m starting to get a feel for it.
Sometimes I can almost guess what’s coming before it happens.”
His expression became slightly more determined.
“Give me a little more time, Boss.
I’ll figure this place out.”
Sammy patted him firmly on the shoulder.
“You’ve worked hard, Hans.”
His voice softened.
“Once we reach Whisky Peak, we’ll stay there a little longer than usual.
Get some proper rest.”
Finally, on the tenth day after entering the Grand Line, a distinctive coastline appeared on the horizon.
Whisky Peak.
“LAND!”
A lookout’s excited scream tore across the deck.
“WE MADE IT!”
The Swordfish erupted into deafening cheers.
Over the past ten days, the crew had endured more violent and bizarre weather than they normally encountered during an entire year in the West Blue.
The Grand Line’s infamous nickname—the Pirate Graveyard—was no longer just a frightening story to them.
They had felt it firsthand.
In their bodies.
In their nerves.
And in their complete lack of sleep.
Right now, almost everyone aboard wanted only one thing.
Solid ground beneath their feet.
Despite its cheerful name, Whisky Peak didn’t look particularly impressive from the sea.
Instead, the settlement appeared fairly ordinary—even a little barren.
Small buildings were scattered among strange rocky formations, and compared with the bustling ports of the West Blue, the town looked almost humble.
None of that mattered to the Jellyfish Pirates.
This was their first island in the Grand Line.
That alone was enough.
“WE’RE DOCKING!”
The Swordfish had barely settled against the pier when the gangplank began lowering.
Before it had even fully touched the ground, nearly every crewman who wasn’t assigned to remain aboard charged toward shore like horses finally released from their reins.
Their faces were filled with curiosity and excitement.
They looked like country bumpkins visiting a massive city for the first time.
Every rock seemed fascinating.
Every cactus deserved to be stared at.
Even the buildings somehow looked exciting simply because they were Grand Line buildings.
Sammy watched their excited backs disappear into town and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“SECOND SQUAD!”
His shout chased after them.
“DON’T FORGET YOU’RE TAKING OVER GUARD DUTY TOMORROW!”
“YES, CAPTAIN!”
A messy chorus of replies drifted back from somewhere in the distance.
Within minutes, the normally quiet little town had been thrown into chaos by a group of overly energetic outsiders shouting and marveling at everything they saw.
Sammy and several of his officers walked behind the rest of the crew.
Aldo watched one group of sailors spend an embarrassingly long time admiring an ordinary cactus.
He covered his face with one hand.
“Boss…”
His voice was filled with secondhand embarrassment.
“These idiots are humiliating us.”
Sammy only laughed.
His gaze moved across Whisky Peak’s unusual rock formations and distinctive low buildings before finally settling on Hans, who was already comparing his sea charts with the actual landscape around them.
“Let them enjoy themselves.”
Sammy smiled faintly.
“After all, this is our first real step into the Grand Line.”
Then he turned toward the ever-reliable Isaac.
“Isaac.”
The large officer immediately straightened.
“Follow the supply list and buy everything we need.
Don’t hold back.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Sammy lowered his voice slightly.
“Little Garden might not sound far away, but…”
His eyes moved toward Hans.
“We have no idea how long it’ll take him to truly understand the weather here.”
Sammy’s expression became serious.
“So we’re not taking any chances.”
He looked toward the town.
“Stock up on more supplies than usual.
Food, fresh water, medicine—everything.”
Isaac nodded.
“Understood, Boss.”
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