Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Neither Fate/Zero, Nor OP, nor the verses from any sea-shanties used. They belong to their respective creators. Mutual Funds are subject to market risks. Please read your offer documents carefully before investing.

A/N at the end. Gives the background on some stuff, so read it.

'That's a juicy steak': mental thought

"That steak is juicy!": spoken words

'Weigh, hey and up she rises! Early in the morning!": Sea shanty or an invocation, chapter quote, footnote

-=Folio Beta: Long Live the King=-

'In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed.'

As I recovered from my near-fatal injuries, I learned two important things. One, I still healed faster than a regular human, and with proper medication, I could regenerate very quickly indeed. Two, Physicians will be my death one day.

I remember lying on my deathbed in Babylonia, weakened and feverish, and all I wanted was some soothing wine to slake the thirst my aching throat. But of course, seeing how these Doctors think themselves so great that they cannot listen to what the dying man is seeing. Egoistic, self-righteous bastards.

'I am dying with the help of too many Physicians', I had remarked as I had lain wasting away, and I was absolutely right. Like, right now…

"Mrrph! Bmmt Imm fmmmlng mmmch bmmtr nw!" I mumbled with my mouth stuck sideways on the filthy floor, slavering under the boot of this particular old doctor.

Old? Oh, who am I kidding? She is a witch made flesh; a vile sadistic hag that survives on the misery and tears of her victims.

"Hah! I am the doctor here boy! And I am the one who will decide when you are feeling better!" the vile hag cackled, grinding her heeled boots on the back of my head with each pointed exclamation.

Giving up the ghost, I slackened and craned my neck to stare beseechingly at Silvers, who looked entirely too amused at my predicament.

Grinning, he approached us, waving his palms placatingly. "Come on Kureha! Grant the poor man a break. Didn't you see how injured he was when I brought him in? Cut him some slack!" he implored.

Kureha seemed unimpressed, judging by the insistent kicking of my head by the aforementioned boots.

"I should know. I treated this idiot after all. Thirty two lacerations! Nineteen stab wounds, six of them nearly-fatal! Third-degree burns on at least five percent of his skin! A collapsed lung! A punctured liver! Seven shattered bones! It's a miracle that he is alive."

I winced slightly on hearing the description of my injuries. The King of Heroes was a dangerous opponent indeed.

Silvers smiled jovially and threw an arm around the sadistic witch and rightfully pointed out, "I know, I know…but why add a cracked skull and a concussion to that list?"

Anything that he could have said further was cut short when his arm was twisted suddenly and he too was kicked down, joining me on the floor.

Heh. What a sight the two of us made. Two kings, brought down low on the ground, crushed underfoot by a shriveled husk of a woman. Not quite the scene one imagines when one thinks of a King, lying on the floor with a woman on top.

Cue disgusting mental images.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not one to insult women, nor am I so shallow as to judge someone just by their appearance, but in this case, my first assumptions were totally justified.

After Silvers had helped me up and led me down the narrow quays towards a ramshackle, tattered cabin, which he claimed hosted one of the best doctors the world had ever seen. I was more skeptic of the claim, but beggars couldn't be choosers, so I braced myself for the worst and went in. The fact that the two boys, whose names were Shanks and Buggy, had chosen to stay outside should have clued me in to the disaster waiting within.

The name of the doctor was Kureha, who usually lived far up north in a place called Drum Island. The only reason that she had chosen to venture south was to witness the historic event taking place: The Execution of Pirate Roger. She was, by her own admission, an astounding 117 years old, and had the wrinkles and saggy skin to show for it. Despite that, she wore clothes which would have suited someone a hundred years younger than her, all bright colors and revealing cuts. She even had a pierced navel, and a ring to go with it.

Even this would have been bearable, if not for the fact that she absolutely detested when her patients tried to escape her dubious care, which brings me to where I am now: decked out on the floor beside a fellow king, while the vicious hag cackled and struck poses as she stood on our heads.

After what seemed like hours, she finally declared me to be healed and then shuffled us off outside and slammed the door on our faces. Silvers and I stared bemusedly at each other for a moment before we burst out in helpless laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Once outside from the narrow, dank cabin, I breathed in the fresh salty air of the sea, finally unrestricted by the blood clogging up my lungs. It was nostalgic and seemed to wash away all the aches and wears from my body and my heart, cleansing me from within. I opened my eyes and gazed upon the glimmering sea, noting all the signs of an incoming storm. It was only mid-morning, yet the skies had begun to darken ominously, while the waves had begun climbing up noticeably. The absent noise of the seagulls was yet another giveaway. It seemed oddly appropriate.

As Silvers barked a few short orders to the two boys and sat down himself to build a camp-fire, I took the opportunity to assess myself.

Physically, I seemed fine. I was still dressed in my breastplate and the rest of my armaments. Even my cape was intact, albeit tattered and frayed around the edges. I rolled my shoulders experimentally and went through a few sword forms, unarmed. Satisfied with my mobility, I drew my thoughts inward, towards my Noble Phantasms. Yes. Phantasms, in plural.

Gilgamesh's magic ring had apparently united my soul, coalescing the entity dwelling in the Throne of Heroes and the copy that had been summoned for the Holy Grail War. The two had merged, which accounted for me seeing myself in the eye of that storm. Effectively, that meant that I was no longer restricted by my Rider Class. I once again had access to the wide range of abilities that I could draw upon. Having been trained in the martial arts since childhood, I was skilled enough to serve as a Saber, a Lancer and a Rider, of course. With my reality marble, I could also be a Caster, albeit a non-traditional one. My bouts with anger and bloody-minded determination also qualified me to be a Berserker; though that was the role I was least fond of. The memories of Tyre were still clear as day in my mind.

With merely a thought, I could summon my spatha: The Sword of the Kupriotes, as well as my kopis: The Etruscan Blade. My magnificent spear was once again available to me as was my Linothorax riding armor. I felt complete, for lack of a better word. Unfortunately, the Gordius Wheel was still destroyed, erased from existence by Saber's dangerous attack. It was a loss, most definitely, but not a crippling one. At worst, its lack would just reduce my mobility, but in the larger scheme of things, I could compensate for it.

Grunting in satisfaction, I sat down cross-legged upon the sandy beach, and ignored Silvers' curious stare as I closed my eyes. In battle, I could summon my Reality Marble nearly instantaneously, with a single thought. But now, in peace, it was more difficult to call upon my soul. It's not that odd when you think about it. My soul is that of a warrior, a leader, and the battlefield is its home, not a peaceful sandy beach.

Drawing my thoughts inward, I began to think about my companions. One by one, I began to mentally call out to them, drawing them to me. Hephaestion, Perdiccas, Mithrenes, Neoptolemus and all the rest. I thought upon their names, and the adventures and the battles that I had embarked upon with each of them. Slowly, like the drawing of a curtain at a play, the vast empty plain of my Reality Marble began to be revealed to me.

Something was wrong though. Normally the spirits of my companions dwelt forever ready for battle within my reality marble, but not today. Today there were no gleaming ranks of the Heavy Cavalry, or of the Thessalians. Thracians, Prodromoi and the Paeonians were nowhere to be seen. Even my ever-reliable Hypaspists and Peltasts were absent. Despairing, I fell to my knees and laid there motionless, not willing to accept what was in front of me. My army was gone, my reality marble was empty.

No, wait. Not entirely. With a faint hope in my heart, I noticed the rising plumes of a fire off in the distance, the very size and quantity of the smoke attesting to numerous fires clustered together. Like in a camp.

Grinning in trepidation and hope, I clambered over the sandy dunes and emerged on top of a particularly large one till I beheld my army once more. They were as magnificent as I remembered. Horses neighed and tossed their mighty necks as their riders patrolled the outer perimeters of the camp. The ones who were free from such duties sharpened their swords and lances while the archers fletched their arrows with cheap chicken feathers nearby. The cooks labored over their pots of stew while the others sat around their fires and talked and boasted and drank and sang.

It was such a familiar scene that I could almost weep for nostalgia and joy. Eager for a closer look, I walked forwards, wanting to reunite with my companions, my conquering army. As I reached the outer reaches of the camp, I began to notice smaller details that had escaped my attention, like the crude fortification, the central pavilion: the large tent which doubled up as a planning room as well as my own residence, and my elite soldiers guarding it. Their shields were down and the swords they carried were sheathed. Though they stood at attention, their body language and bearing suggested that they currently had no pressing duties to attend to.

To my consternation, my entrance into the camp was not welcomed; worse, it wasn't even noticed. Not even a mercenary skirmisher raised his hand in greeting to me. It was mystifying. It seemed as if I might as well be a phantom, for all they noticed me. It took me only a few seconds to realize what was going wrong, though the knowledge didn't ease the dull ache in my heart.

When my soul had descended from the Throne of Heroes and had departed for this new land, it brought with itself the crystallization and realization of my ideals…but my name, my deeds, my accomplishments…all those things that made me 'Alexander the Great' were now non-existent. I was the only one who carried those faded dreams within my heart, and so, my legend was lost. Without it, I was just Iskandar, a Heroic Spirit dwelling within a mortal flesh. Even as I mourned the loss of my name, I felt a rush of love and respect for my army. Even though I was no longer the same man that commanded them through the flat plains of Persia and Mesopotamia, yet they still didn't relinquish their bonds with me. They still waited within my Reality Marble, waiting patiently for my arrival…the arrival of Alexander the Great! Truly, the bonds between us transcended all barriers of time and space.

All was not lost yet…all I needed to do was to build a new legend; forge new bonds with new comrades, and they would all rise again, harkening to the banners of their King. I could almost imagine it, the accolades, the drunken revelries, the Dionysian celebrations and the thunderous roar of my army as they chanted my name: Iskandar! Iskandar! Iskandar!

"Iskandar! Iskandar! Wake up already, you dozy fool!"

Now, that wasn't something anyone in my army would dare to say.

"I can sense by the change in your breathing that you are now awake, so come on up and lend me a hand…the food won't cook itself!" Silvers' gravelly voice grated as he nudged me with his toe. It was annoying, but not enough for me to take affront. Grumbling good-naturedly, I stretched my hands and stood up.

My meditative trance had lasted longer than I had expected. The incumbent storm was almost upon us now, causing the wind around us to pick up in speed even as our little camp-fire flickered bravely against the onslaught. The two boys were back and had come back bearing drinks and other such victuals. The red-haired one, Shanks, was arguing childishly with the clownish boy Buggy, over some inane question as they unpacked the heavy wooden boxes. Ignoring the bickering of the two, I rummaged around in one of the boxes and pulled out a large flask of dark, brackish rum. Curiously, I pulled the cork open and took a hearty swig. I let the drink swill about in my mouth a couple of times before swallowing it whole. Right on cue, a moment later, I let out a loud, lingering belch.

Ah, that felt good.

The two boys were looking at me with a kind of morbid curiosity, while Silvers looked merely amused, his ever-present smirk set firmly on his face.

"This wasn't quite on my mind when I asked for help, you know?" he rebuked mildly, as if hoping to shame in into working.

Hah. I snorted mentally. Like that was ever going to work.

I grinned in response and sat myself down in front of the man, crossing my legs under me and resting my palms on my knees. I thought about how to breach the nature of my existence to the man sitting across me. I racked my mind and ran through a couple of scenarios to break it gently, before discarding them as being too slow and ineffectual. I decided to plunge straight in, if he couldn't believe me, it wouldn't be through any fault of mine.

Taking another long pull of the rum, I looked up into his eyes and said, "So, Dark King," I put a special emphasis on his title, addressing him as an equal, "I suppose you have some questions. Things like, who I am, what am I doing here, and so on. "

"That's putting it mildly, but essentially yes."

I scratched my beard idly before remarking, "I'll put it simply then: I'm not from this world.", and looked upon Silvers curiously, in anticipation of his reaction.

Damn that smug man. He merely shrugged and took a swig from his own bottle. "I've heard stranger things. "

"I'm sure you have." I replied dryly. "I am as I introduced myself; Iskandar, the King of Conquerors, and I used to be a leader of great renown till I met my match. Impressed, he offered me a single wish, and on my wishing for an endless adventure, he invoked an ancient magical artifact which sent me here. And that's about it." I summed up, glossing over and falsifying a few details, which weren't all that relevant here anyway.

"Endless adventure? You can find that aplenty here. Half the world is still undiscovered or inaccessible, and is just ripe for taking for one who dares." He said, a faint pride stirring in his eyes.

"From your tone, I take it that you were one who did?"

He let out a bark of laughter, which was more bitter than humorous. "Yeah, you are an insightful one, aren't you? Yeah…you could say that. My captain, me and the crew, we did sail farther and discover more than anyone could imagine. But my adventuring days are now over."

"Why?" I felt the need to ask. "You seem to be in the prime of your life, and I can't see any crippling injuries upon you."

"Hmm. How do I say this? Pirate Roger, the man I talked about earlier? He was my captain, the captain of the Oro Jackson, the finest ship that I have ever sailed on. Under him, I have had my eyes opened. I was the first that he recruited when he set upon his journey, and both of us achieved what we set out for. Riches! Fame! Respect! Everything that one could ask for, we had. And now, later today, he will be executed…and the rest of my dreams die with him."

I listened intently, and strangely enough, I felt disappointed, disappointed at the fact that I was not able to meet a man as enigmatic and charismatic as the Pirate Roger. He seemed like the exact sort of person that I could get along with, reminiscent of men like Darius or Diogenes or Porus. I remember the bittersweet regret I felt when I heard of Darius' murder, he had been my bitterest enemy whom I had chased for the entirety of Persia, but he always was a man that I could respect. It would seem that this Pirate Roger could have been another.

"Understandable." I acknowledged the man's visible sorrow with a nod, knowing that anything more would only embarrass him. "Let me make you an offer...I know nothing about this world, and know no one who could help, except you. Now, even if you no longer wish for a life of adventure, you still will need a place to live in…a home, perhaps? So my offer is this: Help me learn about this world and accompany me till you reach your preferred destination."

Silvers said nothing; his head bowed in thought as he idly stirred the merrily bubbling cauldron of the stew, which the two boys must have put up while we talked. Turning my gaze, I noticed the two sitting by the pier, dispiritedly munching on apples as they gazed out towards the churning ocean. I pensively studied them to while away my time before being startled by a sudden burst of hearty laughter.

"Surely you jest! An 'offer' implies that there is going to be an equal exchange, and your 'offer' is anything but. Tell me, King of Conquerors…what's in it for me?"

I blinked in honest surprise.

"You get to travel with me as an equal. It's not an honor that I bestow on just anyone, you know? Besides, as you said yourself, this world is still uncharted and dangerous. With me around, you can be assured of your safety."

"And what makes you think that I have need of your protection? I have seen and done things that you couldn't possibly imagine. And to be honest, I am somewhat skeptical of your claims about being a great warrior. The wounds that I saw earlier, say otherwise." He taunted evenly, his eyes never leaving mine. "You say that I should be grateful to travel with you. I say otherwise. If you dare, then prove me wrong. Prove that you are as great as you claim to be."

Gone was the jovial, cheerful man from before. His body language practically screamed defiance and belligerence, while his warm stare was replaced with one far colder than before, the scar standing out even more in the stony face.

This was something that I was familiar with, the inevitable show of force. When I first started out too, the Hellenic league and the other Greek states wouldn't give time of the day. It wasn't until that I broke into their cities and dragged them down from their high horses that they began to take me seriously. As Waver would have put it, I was the new kid on the block and I had to earn my reputation to be accepted at face value.

"Very well. Let's settle it like warriors of old. Name your terms for the duel, Dark King." I responded, rising to the challenge.

"Hm, we fight with swords. Do your worst." He remarked with a grim smile as he drew his sword. It was a long, straight edged sword, nearly half as tall as Rayleigh himself. The most unique thing about the sword was its large, round pommel, other than that the sword seemed to be innocuous, albeit well-crafted and extremely sharp. Idly, I noted the two boys to retreat to a safer distance, watching the two of us with wide eyes.

In response, I too summoned my favored blade, the Sword of the Kupriotes. It was the sword that I had wrenched from the dead hands of a Persian general after I had defeated him and had captured the Island of Cyprus. Later, the grateful populace had adorned the sword and had reforged it to be even stronger and sharper than before. This was the sword that I used for the remainder of my life, replacing the old Etruscan Kopis that had been gifted to me by my father.

A slight upturning of the corners of my mouth was all the warning I gave before I charged the arrogant Dark King. To his credit, he spotted my swing and ducked low under it, but the slight surprise in his eyes attested to my speed throwing him off-balance. Now grinning, I stabbed my sword towards his heart, only to be deflected by his own blade. Parrying the strike, I once again struck, this time aiming for his kidneys, or his liver...I wasn't picky about it, though he dodged my attack by jumping backwards and used my overstretched position to deliver a jarring strike on my sword with the flat of his blade. It was only experience and strength which led me to keep hold on my weapon.

"Not bad. Your speed is surprising." He complimented, though I wasn't in mood to hear any of it.

In response, I locked our blades together and drew him close, before lashing out with a straight kick towards his torso, followed by a punch from my free arm. The kick was avoided, merely grazing him, and popping a few buttons on his loose shirt. The follow-up punch however was more effective, catching him squarely on his jaw. I could feel a few teeth give under the force of my blow. It was satisfying. Visceral, but satisfying.

It seemed as if Silvers had lost his remaining humor after this strike. His eyes gleamed with a hidden malice, before widening slightly. My next few strikes were avoided with ease, almost as if he could read my movements before I made them. With a clever positioning, he knocked me backwards and went on the offensive.

The broadsword is a very interesting weapon. It gives the user range, and the heavy weapon makes for devastating, crushing blows. It's commonly derided as the weapon of the unskilled, built for violent hacking and slashing. No one had informed Rayleigh about that fact apparently. He skillfully used his clumsy weapon to force me on the defensive, unleashing a well-practiced series of strikes, each as deadly and crippling as the next. Unfortunately for him, I had had enough of a practice fighting against enemies who favored the broadsword.

I kept dodging and dancing just out of his range, taunting him physically to just reach forward a bit more. Soon enough, I succeeded. Snarling in silent frustration, Silvers stabbed his sword forwards, intent on piercing me through, and when I moved back just a bit he pivoted himself on his knees and lunged. That was the chance I was waiting for. As soon as he did, I moved away from the path of the blade with some clever footwork and brought my elbow down upon the blade, intent on breaking it.

Moments before I could deliver the shattering elbow strike, Silvers glanced incredulously at me even as his sword gleamed dully, a grey sheen running through the metal. To my surprise, the blade remained unscathed, absorbing my blow effortlessly, though I noticed that Silvers' grip slackened slightly under my onslaught. Reverse slashing with the blade, he pushed me away and twisted so he was facing my once again.

"Well, well, I am impressed! You do live up to your name Iskandar!" he exclaimed as he laughed heartily, hefting his sword across his shoulders in a relaxed stance.

His praise seemed genuine enough, but it lit a slow-burning anger within me. Who did he think he was? He was no Gilgamesh, nor was I dog. I was not going to accept his compliments and let bygones be bygones. He chose to begin this duel, but it would end when I wished it.

Glaring, I struck at him, again, again and again. My swings seemed to gain in speed and strength, fueled by the raging anger within me. Silvers was dodging or parrying every one of the attacks, though his forehead was getting damp with sweat. I could sense his unease, and I thrived in it. I lashed out with a decapitating swing, followed by a disemboweling strike, then a turn and a slash towards the femoral arteries and reversing my swing to strike against the tendons. My assault was as vicious as it was unrelenting.

Inevitably, his defense wavered slightly and allowed me an opening to inflict an injury on his shoulder and without hesitating, I took advantage of his momentary weakness to charge, my sword held at shoulder-level, intent on delivering a piercing stab which would skewer his heart. At the very last moment, he brought his sword up to block mine, the blade gleaming gray as before. To his surprise and mine, his sword shattered into a thousand pieces though succeeding in nullifying all my momentum.

Retreating, I put some distance between us, keeping my sword in a ready stance as I looked calmly upon Silvers, my earlier anger now drained. Outward I was calm, though mentally, my head was buzzing with so many unexplained questions. Regardless of the answers, it was obvious that Silvers was a rare and capable swordsman, dueling me on even grounds. From what I could read of his stances, he had not fought actively for the past couple of years which would account for the occasionally sloppy footwork. Even the alcohol would have dulled his reflexes and mental-processes somewhat.

If all went well, he would make for a formidable sparring partner. I could not wait to challenge him again once he was back to full strength.

Dropping his broken sword upon the white sands, Silvers glanced sinisterly at me, his face shadowed while his eyes behind the glasses gleamed with an inner-fire. He turned his gaze up to look me in the eye, a fierce scowl on his face.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted, his voice laced with an indescribable power. "This ends now!" he said, the entirety of his fierce, inhuman stare fixed upon me.

I could feel a weight settle on me, trying to bow me down. The invisible pressure seemed to press against my head, pounding on it mercilessly. It seemed as if cold, sharp knives were stabbing into my head, trying to cut out all my will and strength, reducing me to little better than a gawking, servile simpleton. The air around me grew thicker, showing me visions of despair and hopelessness, telling me to simply surrender and then all will be well. To accept servitude and allow the unknown force dominance and then I would live.

The pit of slow-burning fire flared into an inferno.

I would sooner cut my own head off than submit to another's rule. So long as I breathed, no man could claim dominance over me. I have risen to my heights through dangers that would have broken any lesser man. I have ventured into the unknown and dared to achieve what was thought unachievable…dared to dream what was thought undreamable. I pitted all my will and strength against the incumbent lethargy which pressed down all around me. I gritted my teeth and gathered myself together, mentally preparing myself. I had never given in to foolish taunts and threats, and I was not going to start now. All my life, I have been dealt losing hands by the Fates, yet I have smiled and thrown them down and played with my own deck…disdaining the Fates themselves.

"I am the King of Conquerors! The first and the last! There have been none before me, nor any after me…and certainly no one above me.", I declared proudly, feeling the invisible pressure dissipate into nothingness.

Opening my eyes, the first thing that I noticed was Rayleigh kneeling down, and his head bowed as he visibly panted. Surprised, I looked towards the two boys who were stretched out on the ground, drooling from the corners of their mouths. Intrigued, I turned my head here and there as saw similar sights. All over the beach, sailors, fishermen and drunken vagrants had slumped down on the sands, knocked unconscious.

Before I could dwell on this interesting fact further, Silvers looked up at me with an enigmatic expression. Still kneeling, he spoke, "You have demonstrated your strength, just as you said you would. I am honored to travel with you, King."

I grinned in response and helped him up to his feet. In an ironic twist, our situations were now reversed. "See! Was that so hard? Now once we have brushed the rust off you and got you back in fighting shape, we will have a rematch. No holding back on either of our parts."

He smiled a sincere, jovial smile that I had quickly grown accustomed to. "I look forward to that day then."

"It's settled then! Though I expect an explanation on what just happened here. I have commanded absolute obedience from lesser people before too, but this was on another scale altogether!"

Silvers just smirked, "All in good time."

"I'll hold you to that then."

With that, I sheathed my sword and broke open another bottle of rum, passing it to Silvers after a long pull. Silvers accepted it half-heartedly, still lost in his thoughts. We would have likely stood silently on that beach for many more minutes, thinking and reflecting on what our duel had revealed about both of us had it not been for Shanks, the redhead boy, who stirred awake with a pained groan.

He looked nervously at me, though he tried to hide it as best as he could and then looked towards the distant horizon. His eyes widened comically as he realized the passage of time. Panicking, the slapped the blue-headed boy awake, even pinching the bulbous red nose when he wouldn't.

"Rayleigh! It's almost time for…you know. Aren't you coming?" he asked Silvers, maintaining a healthy distance between me and him. I found his skittishness amusing.

Silvers sighed and shook his head, "No. I want to remember Roger the way he was in life. Proud, defiant, unchained. It would break my heart to see him now. You boys go. Pay your respects. I'll be here, drinking a toast to his memory."

Shanks looked pensive at that, but then he visibly shook himself and spoke, "I'm going to go anyway, I feel like I owe it to him somehow. Buggy is coming too. Are you sure you don't want to reconsider."

"I'm sure, brat. Roger and I made our peace when he first surrendered to the Marines. I do not need to see the actual act to understand the fact that my friend is no more."

Shanks seemed like he wanted to argue, but the despondent look on Silvers' face quelled all his arguments. From where I was standing, it was obvious that he didn't want to go either, that he couldn't bear to see his idol being executed, but felt that he owed the man enough to brave it. Taking pity on the kid, I naturally volunteered.

"Hey, Shanks right? I'll come with you. I want to see the man who you all speak of with such obvious respect with my own eyes. He seems to be a remarkable person indeed. It's a shame that I couldn't meet him under better circumstances."

"Err, okay, I guess." Shanks replied hesitantly, traces of nervousness still in his voice, though it was lessening with every passing moment. "We need to hurry if we want to reach in time. It's starting to rain too, what a mess."

For once, t he petty arguments between Shanks and Buggy was silent. Quietly, they made themselves presentable, shaking off the sand from their hair as they washed their faces. Then,the two boys put on their oilskin jackets tailored from old canvas sheets, likely torn from the sails of the ship that they served on. Silvers lent me a cloak made from a similar material, which I draped around my shoulders, not bothering to cover my head.

Solemnly, we walked off the beach towards the central square in the city, where an execution platform had been set up. I turned and nearly raised my hand in a farewell greeting to Silvers, but the morose expression on his face, which seemed so out of place, made me reconsider. I sighed and lowered my hand, turning back towards the road.

There are some days when hearing a goodbye is just too painful. Today, it seemed, was one of those days.

Central Street, Loguetown

As we passed by the meandering crowd thronging the city square, I caught snippets of conversations and songs. It seemed as if Roger had been a rather polarizing figure in this world. Those that loved him, mourned him deeply, and were even now drowning their sorrows in drink and tears. Those that hated him were celebrating raucously, triumphant that their bitter enemy was to die at last.

One such man, a scruffy fellow with a shaved head and a sour, sallow looking skin donned his blue cap with 'Marines' written on the front, and broke out into a loud song, cheered on by his fellow crewmates.

"I thought I heard Old Garp say,

'Leave her Johnny, leave her!'

For the voyage was long, and the gales did blow.

And it's time for us, to leave her.

Oh, Roger was bad, but his mate was worse.

Leave her, Johnny, Leave her!

He'd blow you down with a sword and a curse,

And it's time for us to leave her."

Both Buggy and Shanks glared murderously at the man, but I steered them away, just in time before a man shattered his bottle over the singer's head and the whole thing denigrated into a brawl.

The crowd parted before me as I strode purposefully forward, intimidating the vagabonds and winos effortlessly. Shanks and I took our place near the tall execution stand. Buggy had moved somewhere away, separated in the dense crowd. As we waited for the Pirate King's arrival, I let my senses relax and wander as I took in the measure of everyone around me. It was astounding to say the least. There were a great many powerful people assembled, some with existing strength, while some possessed limitless potential. It seemed as if this historic day had attracted some of the best that this world had to offer.

I allowed myself a small, fierce grin. It would be a great campaign indeed to either make all these powerful people a part of my army or to crush them underfoot. Either way, it seemed highly promising.

Soon, a cry arose from the crowds that the Pirate King had arrived. As everyone began to mutter and crane their necks for a better view, a fanfare of trumpets and the sound of marching of heavy boots on the wet stone announced the arrival of the procession. With a crisp maneuver, the front ranks of the soldiers broke away from the rest of the formation, and lined themselves up along the crowd. With their long-handled swords at the ready, they made for an effective barrier. Flanked on all sides by similar soldiers, Pirate Rogers stood tall, standing nearly a head above his erstwhile executioners. His hands were bound within a pillory made of stone, while his face bore the tell-tale marks of beatings and torture. Despite all this, his stance was unbroken, his head was unbowed. He grinned a fierce grin, reminiscent of martyrs and fanatics, untroubled by the commotion surrounding him.

He was dressed in a long red overcoat thrown over a deep green shirt and grey trousers. A blue sash was tied about his waist, while he wore a white silk scarf around his neck. Around his neck was a small charm in the shape of an anchor, tied with a strip of rawhide. All in all, he looked like the King that he was, despite his circumstances.

He was greeted with jeers and insults, yet he walked on, ignoring the crowd. Throughout, his smile didn't falter, his steps didn't hesitate. I could only nod approvingly. He was truly brave, to accept death for what it was. It was something that I could respect.

The two soldiers flanking him jostled him up the tall steps till he reached the very summit of the execution platform. On reaching the top, he craned his neck and looked around, surveying the massed sea of humanity. He cleared his throat and immediately the crowd fell silent, hanging onto his every gesture, every word.

"Could you please open my restraints?" he asked one of the soldiers.

The soldier seemed flustered at the sudden question and choked out, "Y-You know I cannot do that. It's against the rules."

"Oh come on, I am not going to run now. It chafes my hands, you see." Roger cajoled.

The only answer he got was a stony silence.

Roger sighed softly and remarked, "That is slightly saddening, to be honest." And then he sat down cross legged, facing the crowd proudly.

"Any last words?" one of the soldiers barked as he and his fellow executioner crossed their swords in front of the Pirate King, drawing awestruck gasps from the rabble.

The Pirate King snorted disdainfully, looking derisively upon the voyeuristic crowd. He made eye contact with some of the people that he obviously recognized and acknowledged them with a small nod. To my surprise, his eyes locked onto me and he continued to stare at me, his fierceness of his grin increasing slightly.

Someone from the crowd shouted out, "Pirate King! What about your treasure? Where is it? Where are all your riches? It is with you, isn't it?"

"Silence! You stupid insolent fool!" one of the soldiers shouted out at the faceless man.

But the question seemed to have ignited something within Roger, who kept his eyes locked on mine. "My wealth and treasures? If you want it…I'll let you have it."

One of the executioners yelled for Roger to stop, but he was relentless in his last words.

"But you will have to search the whole world for it!"

The two headsmen lifted their gigantic swords up, before bringing them down towards the man's exposed neck.

"I left it all at that place. I left everything I owned in One Piece!" he shouted triumphantly.

The swords struck true, separating his head from his shoulders. Yet the triumph in his eyes never dimmed, his smile remained on his face even after his death.

With that, the era of the Pirate King was over, but a new era was just about to begin.

The King is dead. Long live the King.

A/N: Thank you for the overwhelming support everyone. I as pleasantly surprised to see my mailbox explode with notifications. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy, so to speak.

First of all, let's clear up the issue which some of you might have: Haki and Silvers' defeat.

Iskandar is the very materialization of his ideals and ambitions, which is what Haki is all about, after all. As a Heroic Spirit, he already has B ranked strength and A ranked endurance, making him an unstoppable opponent on the battlefield. He is also a superior warrior, trained since childhood for waging war. His long stints on the field of battle have already made him adept in sensing situations before they occur. Hell, the real Alexander was famed for doing the exact same thing. As for the Conqueror's Haki...he is the ultimate Conquering King himself. There are none above him. Before he came to OP world, his charisma alone kept the vast armies in check, and no one had dared to question his strength or his kingship. When Silvers unleashed his own Conqueror's Haki, it resonated within Iskandar and awakened his own latent ability of the same.

As for the almost curb-stomp, Silvers was not battle-ready. It was a troubling time for him and in his own words, 'I have never laughed more, cried more or drunk more than I did on that day.'besides, ever since the Roger Pirates disbanded, Silvers has been on the run, hiding from marines and so lost much of his edge. Also, he underestimated Iskandar, confident in his own skills with sword and Haki. By the time he realized how out-matched he was, it was already too late. Rest assured, they will have another duel soon, with both in the peak of their abilities.

Background on Characters/Objects :

1. Siege of Tyre: A long and brutal siege against the Island city of Tyre. For seven months, the siege continued, till Alexander created an artificial landfill which allowed his troops to move in and storm the city. So angered was Alexander at Tyre's defiance that he had it's entire populace sold into slavery.

2. Spatha: a broad long sword, more commonly used by the Romans.

3. Kupriotes/Cypriots: the people of Cyprus. Hailed Alexander as a hero when he liberated the island after defeating the Persian garrison.

4. Kopis: a curved sword used by the Greek Cavalry. Etruscan in origin. Resembles the modern Kukri knife.

5. Linothorax: the variant of the cuirass worn by the cavalry.

6. Hephaestion: One of Iskandar's childhood friends and trusted confidante. Often jokingly referred to as Patroclus to Alexander's Achilles. Died 8 months before Alexander.

7. Perdiccas: Commander of the Heavy Infantry Phalanx and one of the few loyal Generals of Alexander. Became the regent after Alexander's death.

8. Mithrenes: Armenian commander of Perisan army. Surrendered and was greatly honored. Later declared himself King of Armenia.

9. Neoptolemus: One of the Diadochi: warring generals of Alexander. Was a distinguished soldier. Famous for storming the city of Gaza single-handedly, rallying the soldiers.

10. Thessalians/Thracians/Companion Cavalry: Variants of the Greek Heavy Cavalry, drawing the best from Thessaly and Thracia. Companion Cavalry was hand-picked by Alexander.

11. Prodromoi/Paeonion Cavalry: Greek Light Cavalry. Included Horse archers in their ranks.

12. Hypaspist: Elite shield bearing soldiers of the infantry.

13: Peltasts: Skirmishers. Lightly armored, armed with javelins.

14. Darius: King of Persia. Alexander's enemy. Murdered by his own troops.

15: Diogenes: a famous scholar. famous for being rude to everyone, irrespective of their rank or status. Won Alexander's respect after a round of biting verbal jousts.

16. Porus: King of India, faced Alexander in the battle of Hydaspes.

17: Leave her, Johnny: a sea-song sung at the end of a journey. Bawdy in nature, and is sung to voice a crew's complaints, or to simply point out a superior officer's foibles.

This covers about everything. Next chapter we see Iskandar laying down his plans to begin his adventure. There will soon be some familiar faces entering the scene. Next chapter should be up within a week like this one.

Read and Review.
Enjoy!