The Striker was a ghost, but a ghost with a recognizable silhouette. To approach Leguman Island, a place of nobility within Totto Land, on a vessel of unknown origin was to invite scrutiny.
"We can't take this ship," Gunnar stated, his eyes fixed on the distant island, which from afar looked like a pair of impossibly long, upturned trousers. "It'll be flagged by the first lookout post."
"So we swim?" Ace deadpanned.
"Don't be an idiot," Gunnar shot back. He turned to their captive. "Pekoms. The port on Peanut Island. What kind of ships dock there?"
Pekoms, who had been nursing a growing sense of dread, gulped. "T-tribute ships, mostly. Small, fast cargo vessels used to collect ingredients and sweets from the other islands. They're common. They come and go all the time."
"Perfect," Gunnar said, a predatory grin spreading across his face.
Their new plan was as audacious as it was simple. Under the cover of a moonless sky, they left the Striker in its caramel-draped cavern and returned to Peanut Town. Isshin moved with the silence of a shadow, disabling the two guards at the tribute dock with precise, non-lethal strikes to the back of their necks. They stole one of the tribute vessels—a small, unassuming ship with a hull shaped like a peanut shell and a single, plain sail bearing the generic candy-stripe insignia of the Big Mom fleet. It was the perfect disguise.
As they set sail, the peanut-shell ship cutting through the juice-currents, Pekoms offered a piece of advice born from pure self-preservation.
"Gao! You can't just walk onto Leguman Island looking like… well, like you," he said, gesturing to the three cloaked figures. "The Long-Legs are proud. They're wary of outsiders. They'll see through those cloaks in a second."
"What's your brilliant idea, then?" Ace asked, leaning against the mast.
"You'll be my guards," Pekoms said, puffing out his chest with a flicker of his old authority. "I am a tribute collector for Mama herself. My position grants me access. If you are with me, you are extensions of my authority. No one will question three silent, hooded figures escorting a Big Mom officer on official business."
Gunnar considered it. The lion was a coward, but he wasn't stupid. "Fine. But one wrong move, one signal, and I'll personally introduce you to the inside of a volcano. Understand?"
Pekoms swallowed hard, nodding vigorously.
---
The port of Leguman Island was elegant and pristine. The docks were made of polished mahogany, and the guards were not brutish soldiers but tall, graceful members of the Long-Leg Tribe, clad in fine silks and armed with ornate, long-barreled rifles.
As their small ship docked, two guards approached, their long legs carrying them across the dock in a few swift strides.
"State your business," one of them said, his voice smooth and aristocratic.
Pekoms stepped forward, his sunglasses back in place. "Pekoms, of the Big Mom Pirates. Here on official business regarding the monthly tribute." He gestured dismissively at the three cloaked figures behind him. "My escort."
The guards eyed the trio suspiciously, their gazes lingering on Gunnar's imposing frame. But Pekoms' official bearing and the candy-stripe sail were credentials enough.
"Very well," the guard said, waving them through. "The Chieftain's office is in the main plaza. Do not deviate from the path."
They walked through the town. The architecture was as elongated as its people, with tall, slender buildings that reached for the sky. The central plaza opened up to a grand building shaped like a giant, ornate chocolate boot. This was the seat of power for the tribe.
As Pekoms led them toward the entrance, two more guards, these clad in gleaming, dark-chocolate armor, stepped forward to block their path.
"Tribute Collector Pekoms. The Chieftain will see you," one said. "Your guards will wait outside."
Pekoms hesitated, looking back at Gunnar.
"No," Pekoms said, surprising even himself. He found a sliver of courage, fueled by the terrifying heat he could feel emanating from Gunnar's cloak. "They stay with me. Security protocol. Orders from the top."
The guards exchanged a look. It was an unusual request, but challenging a direct order from a Big Mom officer was not wise. With a reluctant sigh, they stepped aside.
The main hall was grand and opulent. But as they approached the Chieftain's office at the far end, a smartly dressed attendant stepped out. "The Chieftain is with another important visitor. Please, wait here. Your guards must remain in the hall."
Pekoms opened his mouth to argue, but Gunnar had run out of patience. He strode past both Pekoms and the attendant, pushing the grand, dark-chocolate doors open and barging inside.
"Hey! You can't go in there!" the attendant yelped.
The office was lavish. A large mahogany desk sat at one end, and sitting behind it was a wizened, ancient man from the Long-Leg Tribe, his impossibly long legs crossed beneath the desk. His face was a web of wrinkles, and his long, white beard was braided with gold rings.
But it was the other person in the room that made them all freeze.
Sitting in a plush armchair, looking impossibly small and young, was a girl with soft brown hair covering one eye. Charlotte Pudding.
The old Chieftain, Long-John, looked up, his eyes widening in surprise at the intrusion. "Pekoms? What is the meaning of this?"
Before Pekoms could stammer an apology, Pudding spoke, her voice polite but firm. "Chieftain, perhaps your guards could show these men out. We were in the middle of a private discussion."
Pekoms, flustered, interrupted. "M-my apologies, Chieftain, Lady Pudding! I was just… Is this about Smoothie? I heard rumors, and since I was in the area…" He was trying to fish for information, his awkward attempt at nonchalance painfully obvious.
Pudding, seeing an opportunity to fulfill her mother's wishes, smiled sweetly. "Why yes, it is! Wonderful news! Mama wanted the Long-Leg Tribe to be the first to know. Our dear sister Smoothie will be having her baby soon! Perhaps in a day or two! It's all very exciting."
Gunnar's heart hammered against his ribs. A day or two.
"That's… wonderful!" Pekoms exclaimed. "Where is she? I'd love to pay my respects!"
Pudding's smile tightened. "That is a private family matter, Pekoms. You shouldn't pry. She is resting comfortably, that is all you need to know."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Then Gunnar moved. He strode across the room, kicked his feet up onto the Chieftain's priceless mahogany desk, and leaned back on the plush visitor's sofa, the springs groaning in protest. With a deliberate, almost lazy motion, he pushed back his hood.
Isshin and Ace, taking his cue, did the same, flanking the sofa like twin specters of doom.
Pudding gasped. Her eyes went wide with recognition, not from personal experience, but from the million-berry bounty posters plastered across the world. The stark red-and-white hair. The ice-blue eyes now burning with a cold fire. The scars.
"You… you're Edward Gunnar," she whispered, her face pale.
"That makes this easier," Gunnar said, his voice a low, rumbling threat that made the teacups on the desk vibrate. He looked directly at Pudding, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical weight. "You were saying something about my wife?"
The Chieftain slammed his hand on the desk. "How dare you! In my own office! You show disrespect to me, to the Charlotte family—!"
Gunnar didn't even look at him. "**Shut up, old man, before I break more than just your desk.**"
The sheer, unadulterated killing intent in his voice silenced the Chieftain instantly. The old man shrank back in his chair, his authority evaporating in the face of this monstrous presence. The room was thick with terror, a stark contrast to the sweet-smelling air outside.
Gunnar's gaze returned to Pudding. "You have five seconds to tell me where she is before I lose my temper. And trust me… you do not want to see me lose my temper."
Pudding was trembling, her mind racing. This was Whitebeard's son. The man who had started a war. He wasn't here to negotiate.
"She's… she's in the Queen's Chamber, at the very top of the Whole Cake Chateau," she stammered, her voice barely a squeak. "But you can't get to her! It's impossible! It's the most heavily guarded section of the castle. Mama is there. The Sweet Commanders are on high alert. One alarm, and the entire island will descend on you!"
"I'm not asking for a tactical assessment," Gunnar said, his voice dangerously soft. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I'm telling you what's going to happen. You are going to get us inside that chateau. You are going to lead us to her room. And you are going to do it without anyone knowing we are there."
"I can't!" she cried. "Mama would kill me!"
"And I," Gunnar countered, a terrifyingly calm smile touching his lips, "will kill you right now. Your choice." He stood up, towering over her. "You seem like a smart girl, Pudding. I'm sure you'll make the smart choice."
***
The air in the Chieftain's office was so thick with tension it felt like solid glass, ready to shatter. Pudding stared up at the mountain of a man before her, his ultimatum hanging in the air like a guillotine's blade. Her mind, a whirlwind of fear and familial loyalty, raced through a thousand doomed scenarios.
Finally, a tear slipped from her visible eye, tracing a path down her pale cheek. "I… I'll do it," she whispered, her voice trembling. The fear of immediate, volcanic death had won out over the fear of her mother's future wrath. "But I can't get all three of you in. It's impossible. The security, the Homies… they know every face. Three strangers appearing at the chateau, no matter who they're with, will trigger an alarm. I can maybe… maybe… get one person through."
Gunnar's icy gaze didn't waver. "I'm going."
"No way," Ace immediately protested, stepping forward. "You're the target. You're the one they'll recognize. Let me go. I'm faster."
"Your fire is not subtle, Ace," Isshin interjected, his voice calm and pragmatic. "My presence is quieter. I am the logical choice for infiltration."
"It's not a debate," Gunnar stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It's my wife. I'm going." He looked at Pudding, his expression demanding. "How?"
Pudding, seeing she had no choice, turned her pleading eyes to the wizened old Chieftain, who had been watching the entire exchange with a mixture of terror and morbid fascination.
"Chieftain Long-John," she said, her voice regaining a sliver of composure. "You… you are Smoothie's father. You have every right to visit your daughter, especially now. Mama would not deny you that. No one would question your presence." She took a deep breath. "He could go with you. As your personal attendant. A new recruit from one of the outer islands, perhaps. Your authority would be his shield."
A flicker of understanding passed through Gunnar's eyes. The rage subsided, replaced by a cold, calculating focus. He slowly withdrew his leg from the priceless mahogany desk, the thud of his boot on the floor echoing in the silent room. He stood up straight, ran a hand through his wild hair, and adjusted his tunic. The transformation was startling. The monstrous pirate vanished, and in his place stood a tall, imposing, yet somehow presentable figure. A rough-edged gentleman.
He turned to the old man, and for the first time, his voice held a measure of something other than a threat. It was a strained, almost painful, attempt at respect.
"Sir," Gunnar began, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "Chieftain Long-John. I would be… honored… to escort you to see your daughter."
The old Chieftain looked from Gunnar to Pudding, then back to Gunnar. He saw the barely contained violence simmering beneath the surface, but he also saw the desperate plea of a husband. He let out a long, weary sigh, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of centuries.
"He calls me 'sir' after threatening to break my desk," Long-John muttered to himself, a dry, humorless chuckle escaping his thin lips. "The boy has nerve, I'll give him that."
Ace couldn't help but snort. "You have no idea."
The old man looked at Gunnar, his ancient eyes filled with a deep, profound sadness. "My daughter… Smoothie. Linlin took her from me when she was just a girl, chosen for her strength. I never had a chance to be a father to her. I watched from afar as she was molded into a weapon, a general. I saw the loneliness in her eyes at every tea party, every political gathering." He looked down at his own frail, wrinkled hands. "I never once stood up for her."
He looked back at Gunnar, a flicker of resolve hardening his gaze. "She found you. A barbarian from the sea who threatens old men and puts his feet on their furniture… but someone who fights for her. Someone who crossed the world and declared war on gods to get her back."
A faint, sad smile touched his lips. "I am an old man. My time is near its end. Perhaps… perhaps this is the first and last fatherly act I will ever perform." He stood up, his impossibly long legs unfolding from under the desk. He was frail, but he stood with a newfound dignity.
"Very well, 'attendant'," he said to Gunnar. "You will accompany me. But I have conditions."
Gunnar raised an eyebrow.
"First, you will address me as Chieftain at all times. Second, you will walk two paces behind me and not speak unless spoken to. And third," he said, pointing a long, bony finger at Gunnar, "for the love of all that is holy, try not to punch anyone until we are inside her room."
Gunnar considered this for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "Agreed."
He turned to Ace and Isshin. "You two wait here. Pekoms stays with you. If we're not back in twelve hours, or if you hear the entire island screaming, assume the worst and get the hell out of here. Link up with Namur and get back to the Moby Dick."
"We're not leaving you behind," Ace stated firmly.
"That's an order, Commander," Gunnar said, his voice once again that of a leader. "Pops will need you. Now go. Hide the ship better. And try not to start any more brawls in alleyways."
With a final, meaningful look, Ace and Isshin slipped out of the room, taking a terrified Pekoms with them.
Gunnar was left alone with Pudding and his father-in-law. The old Chieftain retrieved a simple, dark attendant's cloak. Gunnar put it on, the heavy fabric doing little to hide his formidable size. He pulled the hood up, shadowing his recognizable face.
"Let us go," Chieftain Long-John said, his voice steady. "It is time I paid my daughter a visit."