Info The World Economic Times

[Ziosa]

Eshen, island in the Grand Line

The land of black sand, ash and volcanoes is rarely visted by anyone; it has no villages or even wildlife and is a barren hellscape broken up by volcanic mountains and rivers of lava. Pirates or other people traveling through the Grand Line via Log Pose generally just stay on their ship until it magnetizes to the next island, as there is no need to risk trying to walk on even just the coast of the island.

A small boat made of an odd metal makes it way to the Eastern part of Eshen, undeterred by the danger and barren landscape. A mechanical arm comes out of the side of the ship as it gets close and helps to dock, burrowing into a cliff-face and shortening the gap between the land and the vessel. Another part of the ship opens up into a doorway and a few people get out, the ash and black sand crunching under their shoes.

"Well what do we think?" The first figure speaks up, his voice slightly muffled as he was wearing a cloth facemask over his mouth. He looks around, his eyes behind a set of sophisticated-looking googles.

The easily tallest member of the small group just grunts in response, his entire body covered by a very bulky set of armour. Holding a double-sided lance that was taller than even he was, they go back onto the ship and brings out some large wooden boxes, carrying multiple ontop of eachother on one shoulder and just holding them with one hand.

"I think it's perfect~" A long-haired beautiful woman stands slightly away from the others, staring at a nearby volcano that was loudly erupting lava. Her white dress and jacket stands out against the black and gray of the island.

Snorting with a bit of laughter, the last member rolls her eyes without looking up from the small device she is fiddling with. A young girl wearing overalls that has tools sticking out of the various pockets, she was sat crosslegged on a floating robotic cube; hot air coming out of the bottom keeping it airborne. "You just want somewhere you can set your beasts free without worrying about them eating people Estisa"

With a scowl, the woman called Estisa looks at the girl and taps her fingers against her leg in annoyance several times "Don't call them beasts Bekka, they are perfect specimens not wild animals that go around killing and eating"

"Stop bickering you two, can we try going 10 minutes without this?" The man with the facemask shakes his head and looks up at the massive figure in armour "G, activate Accel"

"I thought you wanted our opinions?" Bekka spins the robotic cube she is sitting on so she is looking at the masked man with the goggles "All you have heard so far Hash is Estisa's, G and his grunt doesn't count"

Lifting his goggles up and revealing eyes that are a deep blue with no pupil, Hash sighs "It doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks, we are setting up here regardless as it is very isolated and has no population. Plus the geothermal energy will be good to power most things without needing our usual large generators and machines"

Behind them, the armoured man just called G walks back to the ship and takes a circular device out of a hidden compartment on their chestplate. Pressing a few of the buttons in a particular order, the ship suddenly has various gaps appear with multicoloured light inbetween and various gears pop out the sides. In just a few seconds every part of it moves, twists or transforms until it has become a giant robot that actually towers over some of the smaller volcanoes on Eshen. Accel crouches down until it is half sitting in the water and can see the small group.

A large noise comes from one of the robots arms and a hatch opens up to reveal a very disheveled figure that could be male or female that immediately starts shouting "Who transformed Accel?! I was still asleep!"

Ignoring Bekka's laughter and Estisa's smirk, Hash doesn't turn around "We are here, time to get to work. Also it is late afternoon, even for you that is excessive so you should be awake anyway Obon"

Looking around as they were too busy being annoyed and angry at being woken up, Obon sees they are at Eshen and gets a bit sheepish "Oh, nevermind then..." Going back into the hatch, they fly out with a set of wings made of light and lands next to where G is now opening the wooden boxes he brought off Accel earlier.

Setting to work, the small group and giant robot start to build structures and buildings hidden under the ash and black sand of the volcanic island. All of them were scientists and they were an offshoot of a certain illegal organisation that had plans that won't come to fruition for years.

 

[Magimasterkarp]

Marine Base I-4 Arrest Report

On the morning of 24.xx.1539 KY., a suspect was brought in by Captain Colin III. The suspect was identified as Johnny Brathering, a resident of Éire Kingdom. For physical identification it was noted that the suspect is 1,74 meters tall, has red hair and fair skin. Further identifying features are a prominent rope burn scar on his left arm and blue discoloration below both eyes, exaggerated by blue face paint.
The suspect presented with a concussion and bleeding cuts all over the body, which Captain Colin III. attests resulted from the suspect resisting arrest.
Captain Colin III. intends to charge the suspect with Highway Robbery, Association with Criminal Elements, Banditry and General Criminality. Colin III. testified that he himself had been robbed by the defendant, and it was in the course of retrieving his stolen belongings that he came to arrest Brathering. The Captain refused to produce the retrieved loot into evidence.
The subject was booked into the jail for processing.


Marine Base I-4 Prisoner Intake Form

Inmate Name: Johnny Brathering
Hair Color: Red (Inmate claims it's green)
Age 25
Birthday: 17.03.1514
Residence: Kingdom of Éire
Reason for arrest: Highway Robbery, Association with Criminal Elements, Banditry and General Criminality
Relatives: Gars Brathering (Father), Saoirse Brathering (Mother), Major Patrick Brathering (Brother), Kelly Brathering (Brother), Ronan "Rory" Brathering (Brother)

During his arrest, the following possessions were taken into custody:
- One (1) pistol, defunct
- One (1) comb
- Four (4) empty bottles, liquor
- One (1) empty jar
- One (1) Shirt, blue/white
- One (1) Vest, red
- One (1) tub of facepaint, blue
Prisoner was not wearing pants.

On 26.xx.1539 a visitor brought one (1) rapier, belonging to the inmate, that was taken into custody. Rapier is of expensive make, with a heart shaped tsuba, and a gold plated J forming the hand guard.
Captain Colin III. expressed interest to buy the rapier at a prison auction in the case of the inmate's death.


Marine Base I-4 Interrogation

As a follow up to his arrest from the 24.xx.1539, Johnny Brathering was interrogated regarding his involvement in the robbing of Captain Colin III. Interrogating officer is Ltn. O'Neill. Below is the transcript of the interrogation.

O'Neill: Top of the morning. For the record, it is 08:55 on the 26th. Have you been instructed about your legal situation? You are being charged with robbery...

Brathering: I have, I have. This is a setup! I'm innocent!

O: Then why were you arrested?

B: Because Threes has it out for me! This is pure discrimination!

O: Threes?

B: You know, Captain █████. It's been his name since the academy.

O: So you've known Captain █████ III. for years? Is there history between you two?

B: Sure there is. You may think he's a good guard, on the up and up, from a good family, but us gurriers know he's a snake. That money I'm supposed have taken, where do you think he took it from? He's a bold de-

At this point, Captain Colin III. interrupted the interrogation to take over. He later testified that the suspect had confessed to all his crimes to him. The suspect was taken back to the jail.


Marine Base I-4 Detention Medical Report

At 09:33 on 26.xx. inmate Brathering presented to jail medical staff with severe injuries consistent with a beating. The inmate refused to disclose, which fellow inmate had given him these injuries. The inmate's bruises showed a pattern that suggested the assailant wore a signet ring on his right hand.
Inmate Brathering was escorted back to his cell by ██████████.


Marine Base I-4 Call Logs

24.xx.1539 12:32 Captain Colin III. places call to ████ ████. Call lasts 10 minutes.
26.xx.1539 11:10 Captain Colin III. places call to Inmate Brathering's family, to notify about his arrest.
27.xx.1539 18:45 Inmate Brathering's mother calls, clearly distraught. Asks about funeral arrangements. Appears agitated when told her son is alive. Indicated █████ III. told her her son was deceased.
28.xx.1539 10:05 Inmate Brathering recieves call from someone identifying as "Bill". Call lasts 35 minutes.
28.xx.1539 21:42 Jail security officer O'Henry takes call from "an old shipmate". Call lasts 45 minutes.

Marine Base I-4 Visitor Logs

26.xx.1539 14:23 Visitor for Inmate Brathering. Jenny Sporting, 24, resident of Éire Kingdom. Inmate denied visitation. Visitor brought a rapier that belongs to the inmate. It was taken as evidence.
27.xx.1539 12:00 ████ ████, an associate of Captain █████ III. arrives at jail, asks to see guard payroll data.
28.xx.1539 17:39 Visitor for Inmate Brathering, Mola O'Finnegan. Claims it is Inmate's birthday, she is to bring him a cake. Cake tested for poison. Visitor thorougly patted down for contraband.



Marine Base I-4 Incident Report

On 28.xx.1539 before 22:27 an incident occurred in the cell of inmate Johnny Brathering while the security officer on duty was distracted. First on the scene was ████ ████, who called the security officers to the cell. At that point, officers noted the length of bedsheet in ████ ████'s hands. When they opened the cell they found a half eaten cake on the floor. The bars on the cell window had been filed open, and Inmate Brathering was no longer in his cell.
Escape Protocols were immediately implemented. Officer O'Henry reported seeing Inmate Brathering fleeing inland, where he was later also spotted running past a bakery.
Inmate Brathering's possessions were taken to the K9 squad to get them on the fugitives scent by Officer O'Henry.
The search eventually ended unfruitfully. A small rowboat was later found missing in the harbour.

On 30.xx.1539 the search was called off. Multiple members of the Detention facility and adjacent Marine Regiment called for █████ III. to be investigated for his role in the events and ties to organized crime.

Captain Colin III. was reported as saying "Brathering didn't escape by himself!". He is currently placed under administrative leave.

 

[Ziosa]

Only for the eyes of World Nobles

The Gods of the World Internal Mailing
Subject Matter: The Forgotten Family of ███████
Written By: Saint Bavette Bevem​

After much discussion and debate, the day has arrived. It is my role for better or worse to reveal that a Forgotten family has now regained it's status as World Nobles.

It is very rare for this to happen so I will explain the process to anyone who doesn't know how it works. When Forgotten a family loses all it's rights as World Nobles and generally become less than even slaves. The name is stripped from all books, records and major institutions; never to be mentioned and anyone who does are immediately executed or become Forgotten like them. Any members who survive for a certain amount of time are allowed to remain in the Hinterlands of the Red Line but do so at the whims of us Celestial Dragons. This is a brief overview and is well known.

What isn't as well known is the fact that it is possible to become 'un-Forgotten'. This is only possible by the vermin that live on the Red Line, any former-World Nobles who leave and go into the lower world, by choice or force, are not allowed to return under any circumstance. It is extremely rare for an individual to get enough status to be close to a God and is rarer for them to be considered anything but less than even a slave. To go from that to becoming a Noble again is so uncommon that most reading this will think it doesn't actually happen, and this is only for a individual. An entire family regaining their former status has only happened a few times in history, usually after a big event that requires it for some reason. A situation like this is unheard of and is only possible because of the push and support of the Gorosei themselves.

After decent work over the years since they became what they are now and dedication to Celestial Dragons, the former family was given the chance to atone by the Five Elders. Although details are not known, they passed after losing several members and an appeal was sent to the major families of World Nobles. Despite being met by scorn and ridicule, the family were somehow allowed to rejoin as Gods of the World and will be arriving in a few weeks time; guarded and escorted by Paladins and Knights of God.

For the first time in centuries it is time to reveal the name of the family that was Forgotten over 230 years ago. Welcome back to the Holy Land of Mary Geoise:

###########################
~~~~~ Gavahorn ~~~~~
######################​

 

[The Fool]

​

In the shadows beneath the Grand Line’s chaos, deeper than the black markets of the Underworld and quieter than Cipher Pol’s whispers, there exists a name spoken only in fragments.

The Tarot Club.

It is not a crew. It is not a kingdom. It is not an empire. It is an idea.

An organisation whose members are known only by titles drawn from tarot arcana. No birth names. No past allegiances. No flags. When one enters the Club, they do not simply swear loyalty. They rewrite their own fate.

At its centre sits The Fool.

Not a fool in ignorance, but in paradox. The one who steps forward when others hesitate. The one who begins the journey with nothing and walks toward everything. To the world, he is unknown. No bounty poster bears his face. No Marine report lists his crimes. No Emperor has confirmed his existence.

Yet the underworld trembles at subtle shifts that trace back to him.

Trade routes collapse without battle. Information leaks that no spy could have gathered. Assassinations occur without witnesses. Ancient texts vanish from vaults that were considered impregnable. Always, there is a pattern. Always, there is a hand unseen.

And always, above them all, sits The Fool.

"𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘𝖓'𝖙 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖊𝖗𝖆, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖞𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖞 𝖋𝖔𝖌; 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖄𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖜𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉𝖘 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖑𝖚𝖈𝖐."​

 

[The Fool]

Intercepted chatter from West Blue underworld brokers suggests Mr. Error has already begun laying groundwork prior to ascent. False cargo manifests, fabricated trade disputes and anonymous testimonies regarding “illegal airspace violations” have been quietly circulated along known sky-current routes. Analysts suspect he intends to ensure that when he breaches Valkyrie airspace, his capture appears not accidental, but procedurally justified. By entering as a lawful offender rather than an invader, he positions himself within the very framework he seeks to study.

Psychological projection models indicate the subject will likely present himself as cooperative, articulate and intellectually deferential during trial proceedings. This behavioural pattern has historically allowed him to redirect scrutiny toward inconsistencies within governing bodies rather than toward his own actions. Valkyrie Island’s pride in its advanced societal standards may, paradoxically, present the precise vulnerability he requires. A single procedural contradiction, if exposed publicly within their Sky Court, could trigger internal debate regarding legal precedent, authority hierarchy or technological jurisdiction.

It is therefore the assessment of this division that Mr. Error does not seek immediate escape, nor direct sabotage. Instead, he is expected to remain within containment long enough to map institutional weaknesses, identify ambitious officials and determine which ideological fault lines can be widened over time. Should Valkyrie Island experience administrative delays, divided rulings or public dissent following his detainment, such outcomes are to be treated not as coincidence, but as confirmation that the subject has successfully embedded himself within their system.

 

[Ziosa]

The drip of water is the only sound in the darkness, an infrequent noise that just makes everything seem emptier. How long have I been waiting? Months? Years? Decades? When will it be my time...

When can I feel the sun and wind on my skin again. Smell things like food cooking and the scent of early mornings or late evenings. Hear children laughing and playing or the indistinct conversations and hustle of a busy market. I would even settle for tasting any sort of food again, as long as it was actually edible I could eat anything...

Why am I even here again, alone in the dark and surrounded by walls with words and symbols in my head that I don't understand. There is no real difference between having my eyes open or closed, endless black that makes me feel empty if I look and nonsensical script that hurts my body and soul if I don't.... Oh that's right that's why I am here. If I concentrate hard enough I can remember but it's hard to stop it from turning into the symbols.

Maybe I should try and leave. It has to have been long enough by now and if not I can just return and start waiting again. No I can't, it will all be for nothing if I don't do what I am suppose to. A while longer won't hurt I just need to find something to distract myself again. Maybe Mother? She was always telling me things and trying to get me to understand the beyond, it's not like I can confuse my brain more than the symbols are already doing. But that might be too difficult to keep going for a long time so I should probably pick something different. Like Brother and his weapons. He was always so proud of them and loved to show me and anyone else who would come with him. The way those people would scream and sounds they would make when dying... Nevermind let's think of something else again... Sister would be trying to improve herself even in a situation like this. She would settle for nothing else but perfection so I should at least try and train something if I can. Father would think it was waste of time and effort but he isn't here, that is the whole reason I am doing this.

...Is that light? Is it finally time? Maybe I have just gone mad and I am seeing things.

It really does look like light though.

Couldn't hurt to get a little close just to see...

Right?

Oh yeah noone will answer.

Let me just move these bones.

Are these bones? They feel a bit fragile.

What was I doing again?

Is that light?
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How long have I been here?

 

[Ziosa]

Kingdom of Malia, South Blue
The World Watches, The World Stares back As the man looks down at his handywork from a small hill while he smokes an expensive looking cigarette, he suddenly remembers something his mentor used to say. Shrugging and ignoring the screams from the burning buildings and violence still going on, he turns to look at the sky.

Thousands of swords made of green light light up the sky and begin falling down on the city. Large buildings that weren't already on fire or damaged crumble and collapse under the onslaught. Anyone outside are cut to shreds and die in pools of their own blood. A wicked laughter echoes around the area and a small man with a smaller top hat 'skips' across the air to land next to the first man. Still slightly giggling they watch a tall tower fall over and shake the ground with it's impact.

"Going a bit overboard again, Seno" Taking the cigarette out of his mouth but not looking away from the city, he talks to the smiling top hat-wearing man.

"They all need to die anyway, what's the harm in rushing it a bit?" Seno dismisses his concerns with a wave of his hand and then tilts his slightly "Was this part of the plan Deputy Leader?"

The sound of people moving in armour and carrying weapons comes from behind them but neither turns around. The Deputy Leader puts out is cigarette on his palm "No it was not". Seno does nothing as his companion takes a unique-looking spear off his back.

"W-who are you people and why have you destroyed our city?" One of the people looking at their backs speaks up but doesn't seem to have much confidence. The Deputy Leader finally turns and sees about 25 people with knight-like armour and swords/other weapons.

Having enough of watching the carnage or perhaps just thinking that this will be more interesting, Seno also turns to look and grins at the people aiming their weapons at them "Oh look, pointy things. Those can be dangerous-" He grins wider as he says the next few words "-in the right hands"

Giving him a look that makes him stop talking, the Deputy Leader sighs and brings the spear up "You have been targeted by the World Government for various crimes and your city was chosen at random to be purged. I would apologize but none of you will be surviving another 10 seconds" Before any of them can react to his words and figure out what he just said, the spear comes up and in a blink of an eye he appears past them.

Sprays of blood go up in the air as all their heads fall off in sync, their bodies toppling a few moments later. Flicking his spear to get rid of the crimson liquid on the tip, the Deputy Leader walks back to Seno. An explosion levels most of the remaining structures and the sounds of screaming gets noticeably quieter as the number of survivors are drastically lowered.

"Tell Windflower we are done" The two of them start to walk away from the destroyed city and both casually sidestep several bullets. Almost absentmindedly, Seno brings up his rapier and sends a simple air slash in the direction of the shots. A few seconds later there is a large boom from the slash impacting the shooter or where they were hiding.

Seno raises an eyebrow as he slightly looks at the other man "Sorry, did you want to kill them too?" He puts the rapier back in the sheathe on his hip and takes out a Den-Den-Mushi from the pouch on the other hip.

"It's fine as long as they are dead" The Deputy Leader either didn't understand sarcasm or was just deciding to match it with seriousness anyway.

Skipping ahead and activating the snail, Seno ignores the bodies and destruction they pass "Mission accomplished, heading to rendezvous point". Putting the Den-Den-Mushi away again, they make casual conversation despite the surroundings "How does it feel to be the new and youngest ever Deputy Cadain?"

Initially just shrugging in response, Cadain answers after a few moments "About what you might expect, or at least what someone normal might expect"

Laughing and letting the insult pass over like someone used to it, Seno replies and they keep talking as they pass through what used to be a city about 2 hours ago.

 

[The Fool]

Along the quieter waters of the West Blue, a lone figure travelled without name or reputation. He was often seen only as a silhouette standing at the edge of a small, weather-worn vessel, his posture relaxed yet strangely deliberate, as if he were studying the sea rather than simply sailing upon it. Most who noticed him remembered very little afterwards. A tall shape against the fading light, a pair of calm eyes that seemed to take in more than they revealed, and a silence that never felt empty but measured. He spoke little in the ports he passed through, asking only simple questions before moving on as if the answers were pieces of a much larger puzzle.

He carried no banner, no crew, and no story worth telling yet. To the world he was just another drifter wandering the lesser-known waters between islands. Yet there was something unusual in the way he looked at the horizon, not with the hunger of a pirate chasing treasure, nor with the discipline of a marine chasing justice. It was closer to curiosity, the quiet desire to see what lay beyond the next island, and the next after that.

For now, the sea had no name for him. But the waters of the West Blue have a habit of carrying small ripples far beyond where they begin, and somewhere in the distance the first stirrings of something larger were beginning to take shape.

 

[The Fool]

The small vessel eventually drifted into calmer waters as the wind eased, leaving the sea rolling in slow, steady breaths. The man at the bow shifted slightly, stepping forward so that the light of the late afternoon finally reached him. The shadow that had long obscured his features gave way to a quiet, unassuming face. He looked young, though the stillness in his expression suggested a patience beyond his years. His hair fell in loose strands shaped by sea wind rather than careful grooming, and his eyes held a steady, thoughtful look, the sort that lingered on distant horizons and passing islands alike as if each held something worth understanding.

His build was lean rather than imposing, shaped more by travel and movement than brute strength. The clothes he wore were practical and worn from salt and long days at sea, a dark coat draped loosely across his shoulders, shifting softly with the breeze. There was nothing particularly grand about his appearance at first glance. No flashy weapons, no grand ornaments, no sign of rank or title. Yet the way he carried himself gave the faint impression of someone quietly confident in his own balance and awareness.

He rested one hand along the railing of the vessel, watching a distant island slowly grow from the haze. His gaze sharpened with quiet interest, not the excitement of someone chasing fortune, but the calm curiosity of a traveller turning the page of a story he had only just begun to read.

 

[The Fool]

[Debut, The Trickster]​

Deep within the silent administrative arteries of the World Government, far beneath the veiled authority of Cipher Pol, reports drifted like forgotten whispers.

Paperwork, coded transmissions, fragments of field intelligence pulled from the farthest Blues. Most were routine. Petty pirates. Minor disturbances. Names destined to vanish without consequence.

One such report arrived without ceremony.

A nameless individual.
No bounty.
No affiliation.
No confirmed threat level.

Only irregularities.

Witnesses who struggled to describe him. Encounters that ended without violence, yet left behind a quiet sense of unease. Small, insignificant incidents that meant nothing in isolation, yet when placed together formed something far more deliberate. Still, no one cared enough to look twice.

The report was stamped, categorised, and set aside. Overlooked. Forgotten. As intended. Until a hand reached for it.

The motion was unhurried. Not driven by urgency, nor by idle curiosity. Simply precise.

The air in the room seemed to settle as the figure turned the first page, the faint ambient chatter of den den mushi fading into irrelevance. Agents stationed nearby did not speak. Some did not even dare to look directly.

He stood with quiet authority, the kind that did not need to be announced. Tall and slender, his posture relaxed to the point of indifference, as though nothing in the world demanded haste. His attire was immaculate, dark and refined, carrying the subtle sharpness of someone accustomed to control.

His face was youthful, almost scholarly in its refinement. Smooth features. A straight nose. Calm eyes that carried the faintest glimmer of amusement.

And over his right eye rested a monocle. Simple. Unadorned. Yet, upon him, it became something else entirely. A lens through which the world was not merely seen, but understood. His gaze moved across the report, not reading, but dissecting. Each line, each inconsistency, each absence of information was weighed and repositioned with quiet precision.

Silence lingered.

Then, a soft breath escaped him, something just short of a laugh. “…How curious.”

His voice was measured, composed, touched with a subtle amusement that did not quite reach warmth. He turned another page, the faint smile at his lips sharpening ever so slightly. “No name. No presence. No weight in the world’s eyes…”

A pause.

“And yet… consequences follow in his wake.” He adjusted the monocle with a slow, effortless motion. “Not through force… but through design.” The words were not spoken as speculation. They were conclusions.

Around him, the agents of Cipher Pol remained still, acutely aware that what they were witnessing was not mere interest. It was recognition. He lowered the report slightly, as though it had already revealed everything worth knowing. “Most would discard this.” A brief silence followed.

His smile lingered, faint and knowing. “That would be a mistake.” The file closed with a soft, deliberate sound. For a moment, it seemed as though he might return it to the pile, allow it to be buried once more beneath irrelevance. He did not. Instead, he kept it.

Tucked beneath his arm with quiet certainty. “…Let us see” he murmured, almost absent-mindedly, though his eyes had already grown distant, as if watching threads yet to tighten, “whether you are coincidence…” A faint pause. “…or intention.”

He turned to leave, his presence withdrawing as smoothly as it had arrived, yet the weight of it remained long after he was gone. Among the agents, no one spoke. No one questioned. They did not need to. There were only whispers, spoken later, carefully, and never too loudly.

Two names. Two titles. Given not out of familiarity, but quiet understanding.

“The Trickster.”
“The Monocle.”

The report, once meaningless, had found its observer. And somewhere out in the vast, indifferent sea, a game that no one realised had begun… had just gained its first true spectator.

 

[Gambit]

Spoiler

@Ichimonji @Kaka @Larsi @Ziosa @Emperor Cross @The Fool @Aro @Lamby @Einsauer @Kallavan

To the captains, monsters, kings, fools, dreamers, marines, revolutionaries, and wanderers of the seas—
I suppose every voyage, no matter how grand, eventually reaches the horizon where the sails must finally rest.

And after ten long years beneath these skies, I think mine has.

For a decade, this place was more than a forum to me. It became a second world. A sea stitched together by imagination, sleepless nights, absurd wars, endless laughter, rivalries forged in fire, and stories that somehow became more real than we ever intended them to be. I arrived here as a younger man carrying fragments of ideas and departed as someone shaped by every island, every conflict, and every person I encountered along the way.

There were nights when the sea never slept.
Threads moved faster than storms.
Wars shook entire eras.
Characters died. Empires collapsed. Alliances rose from ashes.
And somewhere between all of that chaos, we unknowingly built memories that would outlive the stories themselves.

I still remember the excitement of crafting a new chapter before dawn, waiting for replies like cannonfire across the horizon. The tension before invasions. The pride of introducing a new technique. The madness of world wars where every post felt like another heartbeat in a collapsing universe. Those moments were not merely roleplay to me. They were living theater. Collaborative mythology. A constellation of countless writers pouring fragments of themselves into fictional souls.

And through all of it, you allowed Landayan Morrow to exist.

You allowed Gambit to laugh, rage, conquer, grieve, and evolve across ten years of seas and bloodshed. From a reckless prince chasing glory to the man who buried comrades beneath the roots of memory and wandered the world searching for purpose beyond war.

Every rivalry sharpened me.
Every alliance strengthened me.
Every crewmate who sailed beneath the banner of the Vampirates gave life to something far greater than I could have written alone.
To those who fought me—you made every victory meaningful.
To those who wrote beside me—you made every journey unforgettable.

To those who once clashed with me beyond the stories themselves, know this: time softens even the roughest waters. Whatever storms once existed, they have long since drifted into the distance. What remains now is gratitude. Genuine gratitude. Because every conflict, every disagreement, every collision of egos was still proof that we all cared deeply about this strange little world we built together.
And perhaps that is the beauty of storytelling.

For all our different lives, beliefs, countries, and circumstances, we met upon the same sea beneath the same imaginary moon.
I have watched writers grow here.

I have watched shy newcomers become monsters of creativity. I have seen people discover confidence through characters they once feared to write. Some became my crewmates. Some became my enemies. Some became legends in their own right.
And to know that I inspired even a few of them—
that some people saw Gambit, saw my prose, saw my worldbuilding, and found motivation to sharpen their own craft—
That is an honor greater than any bounty or title.
Being named Character of the Year for three consecutive years was surreal to me. Not because of pride alone, but because it meant the stories resonated. It meant the sleepless nights, the effort, the passion, the obsession with detail, rhetoric, atmosphere, and emotion reached people beyond the screen.

For that, I thank all of you.

Truly.

There will never be another era quite like ours.

The old seas are quieter now. Many names have vanished into inactivity. Many legends retired long ago. But somewhere in the archives of this world remain the echoes of everything we created together. Threads frozen in time like old ruins waiting to be rediscovered by another generation.

And perhaps one day, years from now, someone will stumble upon our stories and wonder what it must have felt like to live through those wars, those rivalries, those golden ages of writing.

The answer is simple.
It felt alive.
As for me—
I think the tides are finally carrying me elsewhere.
Beyond the final island. Beyond the maps. Beyond even the old legends whispered by pirates beneath drunken tavern lights.

So allow me this final indulgence.

"This is Landayan Morrow.
The Gambit.
The Prince of All Pirates.
Former Emperor of the Silver Vampirates.
The man who challenged gods, walked through the underworld, and sailed storms that swallowed entire generations whole.
And now—
I traverse the seas beyond Laugh Tale.
Where the Log Pose no longer spins.
Where comets drift endlessly across the interstellar dark.
Where the void between celestial bodies hums forgotten hymns of old worlds.
Where Polaris no longer guides the lost, and Cassiopeia watches silently from afar like a queen upon her cosmic throne.
Where even the distant lights of Andromeda resemble nothing more than memories scattered across eternity.
Perhaps that is where all pirates eventually sail.
Beyond the final page.
Beyond the ending.
Into the endless horizon where stories never truly die.
Thank you for ten unforgettable years.
And to all of you still sailing—
Build your own legacy.
Let them remember your names.
Make them immortal.
To glory."

"MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

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