Chapter 7: An Unexpected Encounter and the Weight of a Name
The crimson sails of the approaching ship grew larger with each passing minute, the distinctive figurehead – a stylized lion with flowing red mane – becoming increasingly clear against the horizon. Regulus watched from his rocky vantage point, his senses straining to glean every detail of the vessel and its occupants. There was an undeniable aura of power emanating from the ship, a palpable energy that spoke of seasoned fighters and grand adventures. His heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and an almost desperate longing for connection after five years of solitude.
As the Red Force drew closer to the island's shore, Regulus could make out the figures moving on deck. They were a boisterous-looking bunch, their laughter and shouts carrying across the water. He observed their easy camaraderie, the way they moved with a confidence born of experience. This was a pirate crew, no doubt, but there was a distinct lack of the menacing air he had often imagined surrounding such groups. Instead, there was a sense of laid-back strength, a quiet confidence that hinted at a power held in reserve.
The anchor dropped with a resounding splash, and smaller boats were swiftly deployed, ferrying the crew towards the beach. Regulus remained hidden amongst the rocks, his amber eyes narrowed as he observed their movements. He recognized the red-haired man standing at the forefront of the first boat – the one he had sensed earlier. Shanks. The name echoed in his mind, carrying the weight of legend.
As the crew disembarked, their eyes scanned the seemingly deserted island with casual curiosity. They were a diverse group, a collection of unique individuals with a relaxed yet alert demeanor. Regulus watched them spread out, some gathering firewood, others simply stretching their legs after their time at sea.
Deciding that remaining hidden would serve no purpose, Regulus stepped out from behind the rocks, his thirteen-year-old frame now tall and well-muscled. He held the "Fang of Fenrir" loosely at his side, its dark surface gleaming in the sunlight. The sudden appearance of a youth, armed with such a formidable-looking weapon, immediately drew the attention of the pirates.
A hush fell over the beach as all eyes turned towards him. A burly pirate with a wide grin and a bandanna tied around his head was the first to speak. "Well now, look what we have here! Didn't expect to find anyone on this old rock."
Before Regulus could respond, another pirate, lean and wiry with a mischievous glint in his eyes, rushed forward, drawing a rusty cutlass. "Looks like a feisty one! Let's see what you've got, kid!"
The pirate, whom Regulus later learned was called Goro, lunged with surprising speed, his cutlass aimed at Regulus's side. Years of relentless training kicked in. Time seemed to slow as Regulus's Observation Haki registered the trajectory of the blade. With a fluid movement, he sidestepped the attack, his own blade flashing out in a swift arc. The "Fang of Fenrir" met the pirate's cutlass with a resounding clang, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through Goro's arm. Before the pirate could recover, Regulus followed through with a lightning-fast kick to his chest, sending him sprawling back onto the sand, gasping for air.
A collective gasp rippled through the Red-Haired Pirates. They had clearly underestimated the seemingly unassuming youth. Shanks, who had been observing the exchange with a thoughtful expression, let out a low whistle. "Not bad, kid. You've got some speed and power there."
Before Regulus could process Shanks's words, the legendary pirate moved. It wasn't a rush or a charge, but a simple step forward, yet the very air around him seemed to thicken with an almost palpable pressure. His presence was overwhelming, a silent declaration of power that dwarfed Regulus's own considerable strength.
"Now then," Shanks said, his gaze sharp and assessing, "let's see what you're really capable of." In the blink of an eye, he drew his own sword, Gryphon, the blade appearing as if from thin air. The movement was so fast that Regulus barely registered it.
Shanks moved with deceptive casualness, his sword aimed in a swift, controlled strike at Regulus's shoulder. Regulus reacted instantly, his Observation Haki screaming a warning. He brought the "Fang of Fenrir" up in a desperate block, but the force behind Shanks's blow was immense. It felt like being struck by a charging bull. The "Fang of Fenrir" held, but Regulus was sent flying backward, skidding across the sand for several yards before coming to a jarring halt.
The sheer power of the attack left him stunned. He was strong, he knew that, but Shanks was on an entirely different level. The gap between their abilities felt like a chasm. Frustration and a burning sense of inadequacy welled up within him.
Shanks sheathed his sword, a thoughtful look on his face. "Interesting Devil Fruit," he commented, his eyes lingering on Regulus. "That speed and ferocity… and that blade is quite something too."
Over the next few hours, an unspoken challenge hung in the air. Regulus, his pride wounded but his determination unwavering, engaged Shanks in a series of impromptu duels. Each time, the outcome was the same. Shanks, despite often fighting with seemingly minimal effort, would effortlessly parry his attacks, anticipate his moves, and ultimately overpower him. Yet, with each clash, something within Regulus began to shift. He focused intently, his Observation Haki working in overdrive, trying to decipher Shanks's movements, to predict his strikes even a fraction of a second earlier.
He began to instinctively coat the "Fang of Fenrir" with Armament Haki, the dark blade briefly taking on an even deeper, almost black sheen. His attacks gained a fraction more weight, a hint of resistance finally meeting Shanks's blade. Shanks would simply smile, his own Haki flaring in response, easily overpowering Regulus's still-developing technique.
Duel after duel, Regulus pushed himself harder, his frustration slowly giving way to a fierce determination to learn. He analyzed every parry, every feint, every subtle shift in Shanks's stance. He could feel his Haki growing stronger, solidifying with each exchange.
By what Regulus estimated to be the sixtieth duel, something remarkable happened. As Shanks's blade came whistling towards him, coated in a powerful aura of Armament Haki, Regulus met the blow head-on, his own Haki-infused "Fang of Fenrir" clashing against it with a resounding boom. For a fleeting moment, their blades remained locked, a visible shockwave rippling outwards. It was a brief stalemate, but it was enough. A collective murmur of surprise went through the Red-Haired Pirates.
Shanks stepped back, his usual relaxed demeanor replaced by a look of genuine intrigue. "Incredible," he murmured, his eyes fixed on Regulus. "Your Haki has bloomed in just a few hours. You're a natural."
He regarded Regulus with a newfound seriousness, his gaze piercing. "That Devil Fruit… the fighting style… and that name… Regulus M. Figarland." He paused, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago." He didn't elaborate, but the implication hung heavy in the air.
Then, with a warm smile that seemed to melt away the earlier tension, Shanks extended a hand towards Regulus. "You've got incredible potential, kid. How about you join my crew? With your power, you could go far."
Regulus stared at Shanks's outstretched hand, his mind racing. Join a pirate crew? Especially this pirate crew? It was an unexpected offer, one that held both immense opportunity and a significant shift in his carefully planned future. He had always envisioned forging his own path, reaching the pinnacle of power on his own terms. But the sheer strength and experience of the Red-Haired Pirates, especially Shanks, was undeniable. What could he learn from them? How much faster could he grow?
He looked at the faces of the crew, their expressions ranging from curious to welcoming. They seemed like a strange but undeniably powerful family. He looked back at Shanks, the legendary pirate captain, his hand still extended, his eyes filled with a genuine invitation. The weight of the offer settled upon him, a crossroads in his young life. What would he choose?