The Underworld Ferry had flown for three days and nights before arriving at the Devil's Triangle, where the Thriller Bark awaited.
During this time, Bailey had only consumed the Arms-Arms Fruit three days earlier.
Despite Maude's patient guidance, the limited time meant Bailey could only master two of the simplest weapon transformations: a smoothbore flintlock and, as of now, a longsword.
The blade was named White Weasel.
Its body and guard were entirely white, gleaming with a faint jade-like luster.
The hilt was wrapped with layers of white silk ribbons, appearing messy and haphazardly wound, as if for efficiency rather than aesthetics.
At the end of the hilt, an extra strip of ribbon fluttered gently in the cold mist.
Bailey's inexperience was evident—the longsword he transformed into was rough in its details.
However, given time, he would surely refine aspects like the blade's texture, the guard, and the spine, polishing them to perfection.
To Maude, proficiency could be honed gradually. What mattered was avoiding the errors of Baby 5's use of the Arms-Arms Fruit.
A weapon should simply be a weapon.
If its purpose was to be wielded by others, then the transformation should be complete.
Baby 5's habit of transforming into a giant blade while retaining features like eyes, a mouth, and even the lower half of her human form, was absurd.
Most outrageous of all was the cigarette dangling from the mouth etched into the blade.
It was like playing around with the fruit's powers—a misuse, in Maude's opinion.
Holding the White Weasel horizontally before him, Maude smiled and said, "The zombies on this island aren't very strong. They'll be perfect for testing the blade."
These words were directed at Bailey, though he couldn't reply.
One of Maude's rules for Bailey was silence while in weapon form.
"Philo, let's move."
Lowering his arm, Maude strode toward the dense forest ahead.
Philo jogged to catch up, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
Their figures gradually disappeared into the thick mist.
The forest grew darker, the mist carrying a chilling dampness that thickened with every step.
As they moved through the woods, no zombies appeared to confront them.
Instead, Philo spent much of the journey foraging for peculiar-looking plants, causing occasional delays.
If Maude hadn't stopped her from testing toxins on the spot, they would've been held up even longer.
After about ten minutes, they emerged from the forest into an open graveyard.
The mist was lighter here compared to the dense forest.
The graveyard was enclosed by a rusted iron fence, and beyond it, skeletal trees stood barren, their branches clawing at the sky like ghostly silhouettes.
A straight, crumbling path led from the center of the graveyard to a rusted gate at the far end.
On either side of the path, crooked tombstones and crosses were scattered haphazardly, their numbers vast.
After surveying the eerie surroundings briefly, Maude stepped onto the path, heading for the gate.
From this vantage point, the outline of the castle was visible through the thinning mist.
Once through the iron gate and past a few hundred meters of forest, they'd reach the castle.
Philo followed closely behind, curiously inspecting the tombstones as they passed.
Having spent much of her life traveling, Philo had often ventured into cemeteries to investigate outbreaks. She was no stranger to these environments.
However, this graveyard gave her an unsettling feeling.
"Because of the zombies…" she mused silently.
Had she not been briefed about Thriller Bark beforehand, she wouldn't have guessed that the strange atmosphere was due to the undead buried beneath the tombstones.
As they reached the middle of the path, a sudden noise came from either side.
The crooked tombstones and crosses toppled onto the soft soil as bandaged arms burst from the ground.
Maude and Philo turned calmly toward the source of the disturbance, watching as the hands clawed at the air.
"Roar—!"
A low, guttural growl echoed through the once-silent graveyard.
Slowly, the zombies began to emerge, their bandage-wrapped bodies rising from the dirt.
Clumps of wet soil clung to their grotesque hands as they reached hungrily toward Maude and Philo.
"Philo, the ones on the left are yours."
"Got it."
Philo rolled up her sleeves and removed her poison-ring gauntlets, pressing a layer of sea salt into her palms.
Prepared, she sprinted toward the undead crawling from the ground.
A massive zombie over three meters tall stood in her path. She crouched low, hands outstretched.
Joint Technique: Thousand Leaves Blossom.
Her movements were fluid, her hand brushing against the zombie's elbow with precision.
Crack!
The zombie's bandaged arm bent sharply into a triangle.
In the same instant, Philo's legs tensed and propelled her upward. As she flipped over the zombie's head, her hands wrapped around its neck like a tightening noose.
Snap!
Before the zombie could react, its neck twisted violently. Its sparse hair and skull slammed backward against its body as it collapsed, releasing a shadowy wisp from its gaping mouth.
With the largest threat down, Philo launched herself at the remaining undead.
"Number 711 has fallen!"
"It's the salt—be careful!!"
The other zombies, seemingly capable of speech, charged toward Philo in unison.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the path, over a hundred zombies emerged from the soil, their lifeless eyes fixed on Maude.
Before they could act, Maude strode forward, blade in hand.
The zombies hesitated, exchanging glances.
"This isn't right…"
Their usual tactic—appearing in numbers to frighten intruders—had always worked. Yet this time, it failed.
Seeing Maude step into their range, the zombies abandoned hesitation and rushed at him with enhanced speed and strength, powered by the shadows animating them.
"Let's start with a basic slash…"
Maude watched them approach and swung White Weasel.
The blade carved a radiant crescent of light through the air, slicing through the necks of the closest zombies.
In a single breath, sixty-seven heads soared skyward.
The headless bodies collapsed in unison.
The remaining thirty or so zombies froze mid-step, stunned by the devastating precision.
Maude sheathed his blade and spoke softly, "Twin Pistols."
Upon hearing Maude's command, Bailey's thoughts shifted, and its form began to change.
The White Weasel longsword in Maude's hand transformed at a visible speed into two flintlock pistols, both pure white in color.
At the bottom of the grips, white ribbons fluttered in delicate connection.
With a pistol in each hand, Maude quickly raised them, aiming at the thirty or so motionless zombies.
Bang! Bang!
Maude's fingers danced on the triggers, unleashing a continuous burst of white flashes from the muzzles.
The lead bullets, carrying intense heat, streaked through the air and targeted the zombies' necks, forming a dense barrage of fire in an instant.
In less than two seconds, the remaining zombies were completely shredded by Maude's rapid and overwhelming firepower, collapsing to the ground.
Infinite ammunition...
This was one of the key advantages of transforming weapons through the powers of the Arms-Arms Fruit.
"Accuracy's better than that of an ordinary smoothbore pistol, but the power leaves something to be desired," Maude muttered, holstering the twin flintlocks without returning Bailey to its original form. He hung the pistols at his waist instead.
"Step by step... Once Bailey's proficiency improves, I'll have him try transforming into a Desert Eagle."
These thoughts lingered in Maude's mind as he turned to check on Philo.
Philo, however, had just finished taking down her fourth zombie.
The group of zombies surrounding her quickly took notice of the untouched Maude and the hundreds of downed corpses behind him.
"???"
In less than five seconds, a sound like firecrackers filled the air, and their comrades—hundreds of them—were wiped out by this single man?
The remaining zombies were utterly dumbfounded.
Far in the distance, shrouded in mist, a figure stood on the high balcony of the castle, overlooking the source of the dense gunfire—the graveyard.
"Heh heh heh…"
Eyes glinting faintly red, the figure seemed to see the lone man standing among the graves.
First, their ship had landed directly within the Triple-Mast Ship's docking waters. Now, this newcomer was casually wreaking havoc in the graveyard.
So brazen...
This figure was none other than Gecko Moria, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.
"Heh heh heh, an overconfident rookie…"
A cold glint flashed in Moria's eyes.
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