"Sabo!"
Sabo sighed.
"Yes, Koala?"
"Sabo!" barked the orange-haired girl that had chased him through the bar, and caught him just outside as they stood underneath the trees. "What're you doing in there?"
"Doing?" Sabo cocked his head nonchalantly. "I was…gathering information about the local political situation. You know, the usual."
"You were getting drunk with the locals!" shrieked Koala. "We've talked about this!"
"Yeah, whatever."
"Yeah whatever!?"
Before Sabo could move, Koala grabbed his cheeks and stretched them out as far as they would go.
"This is my first official mission!" she barked. "You are not going to screw this up!"
"Okaaay!"
"What was that!?"
"Yesh Mish Koala, I'll be a good boyyy!"
Koala glowered at him, and let go of his cheeks. Sabo yelled as they snapped back into place.
"Honestly! You never take anything seriously! You're supposed to be my superior," complained Koala. "We have a mission, you know!"
"Yeah, I've been doing it."
"Do you?" Koala glared. "Or did you drink too much and forget?"
Sabo sighed again. She was always like this. She had been for as long as he had known her. And he'd known her a long time.
"We're here to observe the kingdom, and the local monarchy as well as the citizens," he replied, in a bored tone. "See? I haven't forgotten."
"Then what the hell were you doing drinking in there!?" Koala jabbed a thumb at the door through which he had tried to flee. "We're supposed to be gathering information and meeting with them! Not burning what money we have on booze!"
"That's exactly what I was doing," protested Sabo, half-truthfully. "There's good info to be had in bars."
"Oh really."
"Yeah, people do talk more after they've had a few."
Koala looked away, still glaring. Sabo wasn't all that surprised. She was no doubt thinking of their ship, hidden in a cove a little way along the coast from Adlerport. Even if the Finalem Pirates hadn't found it, there was no way to get back to it. They were stranded.
Like those two inside. That short kid with the green hair, and that huge chick with him.
Sabo's brow furrowed. That kid had claimed that he and his friend were tourists, but got stranded by the blockade. That probably wasn't true, the kid didn't seem like he could lie to save his life, at least not enough to fool Sabo. And the girl with him, between her height, hair and the horns, she couldn't stand out more if she tried.
Still left the question of how they got on the island, but that was for later.
"Well, I did get some good info," he said. "This kingdom is dying. The blockade is wrecking the economy, and people are barely coping. Their wages are falling, prices are rising, and the only thing between them and mass unemployment is King Bach pumping in his own money. The rich are getting worried, the middle class are getting stretched, and the poor are this close to grabbing the nearest pitchfork and going out on the town with the closest torch."
Sabo's expression turned to restrained anger for a moment. "Not to mention they just got finished paying the Heavenly Tribute, so they barely have two berries to rub together."
"I could have told you that," retorted Koala. "I could tell you that just from looking."
The blonde rolled his eyes.
"But I haven't just been looking," said Sabo, smirking. "I've been drinking, talking with people, and listening to them talk. I can tell you a lot more than what you know just from looking. Trust me Koala."
Koala glared, but she didn't contradict him. Sabo might act like a clown most of the time, but Dragon wouldn't have trusted him with this mission if he wasn't capable.
"King Bach is still popular," he went on. "The people don't blame him. They blame the pirates, but they also blame the politicians; and the World Government for not doing more. The Prime Minister has a lot of support, but he's got baggage too; mostly him being a mink, and being close to the old king."
"Reichen Basil," mused Koala bitterly. "I heard that he burned down half of his island."
"That's what some say but that's like an exaggeration," commented Sabo. "Others say it was just a slum clearance in Jansentown that went hilariously wrong and led to a mass riot."
"And now his son is King, and his protege is Prime Minister," Koala went on. "You think either of them could be friends of ours?"
The blonde shrugged as he sat up.
"Maybe. Neither are anything like that Basil guy though. What's more, the World Government has let them down, and pretty badly too. If we want that thread cut, now's the time."
Koala's brow furrowed, and she turned away.
Sabo watched her. He had known her long enough to know what she was thinking. Koala was serious and determined, more so than he could ever be. Hack would have been proud.
But that made her rigid, inflexible. She saw the world in black and white, like father like daughter. After what Reichen Basil had done to his own people, she could not easily accept that his son might be different, that he might be willing to turn his back on the World Government.
But how many kings would do so? Who would dare the power of the Marines, and the Celestial Dragons?
In the meantime…
"There's something else," he said. "I ran into a couple of interesting folks in the bar. Really interesting folks."
"Who?" Koala asked, half-turning her head to glance at him.
"The guy I was sitting with and his friend," Sabo went on. "Guy by the name of Yoichi, the one with the plain face, freckles and green hair. Didn't get the name of his friend, but there's no missing her. Eight feet tall, white hair, red horns, likes her booze."
"And?" Koala asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Hate to break it to you Sabo, but you work with people that stand out more than that."
"Well yeah," the man admitted, "But Yoichi told me they've come here for the festival, and they've been training in the forest. But they came in with Honest Guy of all people. What's more, he's…a little strange."
"As in?"
"He doesn't know how to keep a real low profile," Sabo continued. "He was asking the wrong questions. But when I tried to figure him out, he suddenly got cautious. He's not a complete fool, and he's hiding something, but he doesn't know this game."
Koala regarded him with searching eyes.
"What exactly was he being guarded about?"
"He and his big friend want to fight somebody. Somebody seriously strong, somebody we know, but they want to remain in hiding in the meantime."
He paused.
"There was also something really wrong about him. He was too… crowded."
"Crowded?" Koala asked.
The man shrugged.
"Couldn't really tell you, just when I shook his hand, it felt like I was in front of a group, not just one guy."
Koala thought some more. Sabo could tell that he had piqued her curiosity. If they need to hide from someone they know, then they need to take down someone big. And powerful.
As for the group, was it something to do with his Haki? There had been a pretty obvious spike around the forest…
"We can check those two out later," she said. " Right now, since he's here, we need to see Guy."
Sabo nodded, and led the way around the tavern. Their destination was a small, rickety-looking extension at the back of the tavern, looking out onto the forest. Sabo strode up, and knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" croaked a theatrically distorted voice from within. Koala rolled her eyes.
"I'm looking for Honest Guy about his wares?" asked Sabo innocently. A small hatch slid open, and a pair of eyes glared out. The hatch slid shut, and the door opened.
"Ah, welcome young sir and miss, welcome to the manor!" declared a mangy-looking fox mink, bowing graciously. "Do come inside. Sorry about the mess."
Sabo and Koala stepped inside, and Guy slammed the door shut, frantically pushing an array of locks into place.
"Now, my dear young sir and miss, do sit ye down." Guy hurried past them to a long table in the middle of the room. "Such an honor to welcome representatives of the Great Revolutionary, the one and only Dragon."
Sabo and Koala did as they were bidden.
"So you're Honest Guy," commented Koala, looking the fox mink up and down. "Leader of the Gunpowder Gang."
"For my sins, miss." Guy bowed again, smirking her way.
"And I'm Sabo, and she's Koala," Sabo cut in. "And yes, we represent the Revolutionary Army."
"And very welcome you both are." Guy scurried over to a seat opposite, and sat down. "The day of our own revolution has drawn a lot closer."
Sabo glanced at Koala. She met his gaze briefly.
"Now, don't go getting your hopes up," he replied cautiously. "We're only here to observe. Our mission was to meet with you, ascertain the situation, then report back."
"Oh by all means," insisted Guy, smile still in place. "We'd say exactly the same in your place. Dangerous business, revolution."
Sabo regarded him. The fox mink was friendly enough, but he was laying it on a little too thick. Sabo would have expected him to be angry, or at least disappointed, to hear that the Revolutionaries were not committing just yet. Yet there he was, carrying on like it was all fine and dandy.
"That said, I think you'll find Doyle a fine prospect," Guy went on. His eyes narrowed. "The blockade is slowly killing the economy. The King and the prime minister have been pumping money in, but that money's running out. People are already frightened, and what money they have isn't stretching very far. Before too long they'll be penniless, hungry, and poor…and angry."
"Yeah, we noticed," Sabo replied dryly.
"The King is vulnerable," Guy continued. "He and the Prime Minister spent all that money bringing the G-12 Marine base here, and all they've got to show for it are dead Marines. People are remembering the bad old days, the days of old King Basil."
"The one who burned down Jansentown?" asked Koala.
"Yes. Him." Guy's countenance darkened just a little. "Reichen Basil. The man who tried to sell his own people to the slavers. And when they wouldn't have it, he burned down their homes and said it was because they smelt bad."
For some reason… hearing those words made Sabo irritated.
Without knowing why really.
"The way I heard it," Sabo cut in, "all he wanted to do was clear the place out and rebuild it; only someone started a rumor about slavers."
He fixed Guy with both eyes, waiting for his reaction. To his mild surprise, Guy didn't throw a fit, but just stared back.
"Well, that would be a matter of perspective," he commented shrewdly. "Jansentown was a godforsaken place, that much is true. But it was their home, see? If your king wanted to tear down your hometown and said it was for your own good, would you believe him? Can you be absolutely sure he's not going to leave you out in the cold? Can you be sure he's not going to sell you into slavery? You think the bluebloods and the rich folks would bat an eyelid if he did?"
"No," Koala replied, hands tightening along with her eyes. "Probably not."
"I rest my case." Guy slouched in his chair. "I won't lie, my dear friends. We haven't a scrap of proof of what Basil was planning for those poor souls. But bluebloods are rotten to the core, and our blue-haired royalty are even worse. Always have been, always will be."
"I'm not gonna deny it," replied Sabo diplomatically. "But we do kinda need proof. If Bach is as rotten as his dear old dad, the Revolutionary Army is with you all the way."
"I doubt it not, my dear young friends!" declared Guy with a smirk. "And rest assured, you'll have all the proof you need…at the Midsummer Knight's Festival."
(X)
Reichen Bach was not given to emotional incontinence.
That was a good thing. If he had been, he would have done something highly inappropriate.
"This is worse than expected," he said, laying the balance sheet down on his desk.
"It is, your Majesty," replied Justinian Lawson, his smiling looking more than a little forced. "Though not as bad as we feared."
"Not as bad?" Bach forced himself not to glower, or to scream, or to thump the desktop. "If these figures are accurate, Doyle has a week at most."
There was no denying it. The treasury was all but empty; and once that money was gone, it was gone. The taxes would have to go up, and the people were already angry and afraid. They would riot. They would rebel. And Doyle would most certainly fall.
"Do not lose heart, your Majesty," Lawson said, his eyes sad. "The festival is all set to go ahead. The people will have hope, and we will have our champions."
"We had better, or we are finished."
Bach straightened up from the desk, and stepped towards the portrait hanging on the wall nearby. The faces of his grandfather and grandmother, the old king and queen, stared down at him; as did a much younger Lawson. The faces were almost lifelike, almost as he remembered them, even after seven long years. His grandfather, cold and stern, yet his eyes heavy with the burden of his crown. His grandmother, her eyes warm and kind, yet even in oils she seemed delicate, fragile.
How unlike Lawson, whose eyes had always been bright, even when his words were guarded. How unlike Judith, who had been as kind or as stern as she needed to be. They had always been there, always been what he needed them to be, whether he knew it or not. Whether with a kind word, or a stern rebuke, or a warm hand on his shoulder or a simple crack of the door to check on his state.
Until that night seven years ago. The night his grandfather finally died; after a year of slowly rotting away, his body assailed by illness after illness, his mind haunted by the past; by all the lives he had destroyed.
He had never seen anything like that. Even his first dead body, down on the dark streets with Lawson or that time investigating a crime scene of a brutal murder, had not been quite so horrible as that. That face, pale and withered, so small against the great silk pillows. His body thin, skeletal, the chest rising and falling with every hoarse, racking breath. The eyes, once so strong, now dull and empty, staring up at the ceiling.
It had taken so long. Why had he held on so long? What had he been waiting for?
And then the final, tortured breath. And then Lawson, carefully sliding the signet ring from that wizened finger, and bowing one last time. His eyes, full of pain, as he slid the ring onto Bach's unresisting finger.
"The King is dead. Long live the King."
"Does it haunt you still?" asked Lawson gently, drawing him from his reverie. "That night?"
Bach sighed. Lawson knew him too well. But better that than to not be known at all. Bad enough being called your Majesty by the nearest thing he had ever known to an older brother. At least his eyes still held that old warmth, even as they saw right through him.
"It always will," he replied. "From that moment, all that he did was upon me."
It couldn't be otherwise. He had spent so many years preparing to shoulder his inheritance, knowing all the while that his grandfather was polluting it. He had seen the consequences for himself, the night that the people had raged, and Jansentown had burned. Where the old king had failed, the new king had to succeed. Where Basil had wronged the people, it was for Bach to set it right. That was the whole point. For seven years he has been working to set it right.
And then the pirates had come… ready to undo seven long years of hard work in the span of four weeks…
"He was a…complicated man," Lawson said sadly. "He has much to answer for, but were it not for his generosity, I would not be here."
That was true, Bach knew. Lawson owed everything he was to the old King and Queen; his education, his connections in Doyle's government and high society, even his friendship with Princess Bailey, Bach's mother.
"You saved their lives," he retorted. "It was the least they could do."
He could not believe otherwise. It was Judith who had told him the story; of how the King and Queen had been riding through Minktown on a wet day, and had run straight into a mob of Jansentowners in the middle of a pogrom. The royal carriage had overturned, and the guards had been overwhelmed. Yet a young mouse mink by the name of Justinian Lawson had leapt to the Royal couple's defense.
He had achieved little, beyond braining a rioter with a broomhandle and getting himself clobbered in return. But the sight had spurred his neighbors to action, flooding out of their homes and hiding places, hurling themselves at the rioters; even as the King pleaded for the fighting to stop. Fortunately, more guardsmen and police had arrived soon afterwards, and the rioters had fled; while the wounded minks were taken to hospital.
"Was it?" Lawson gave him a strange smile. "They didn't have to do anything. And if they did, a simple gift of money, or a Moriarty scholarship, would have done the job. They didn't have to take me into their home, their world."
"You did more than just save their lives," insisted Bach. "You proved to them that the minks were loyal. You showed them what the minks were, what they had it in them to be. You serving for ten years as Prime Minister was proof of what my… father saw in you. What would our kingdom be if not for that?"
"Oh, a great deal less." Lawson chuckled. "But it was not just honor that made them take me in; nor was it merely to encourage the minks. The care and consideration they showed me was real, your Majesty. As real as their love for their daughter."
He seemed to deflate. He did not often talk about Princess Bailey, or the circumstances of her departure. It always seemed to hurt him, somehow.
"Did Lady Yamato and Mister Izuku return safely?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Yes, your Majesty. They have retired to their rooms after a hard day's training."
"Did they give any indication as to their progress?"
"From what I understand, Haki is proving inaccessible to Mister Izuku thus far, your Majesty."
Bach nodded. No doubt those two had been gossiping cheerfully about their day, and someone had overheard and reported back. Such eavesdropping didn't sit entirely right with him; but then again, this was a Royal palace. He wasn't entirely sure it even counted as espionage.
"Let us hope they have better luck soon," he said. "They'll need all their strength for the festival, and the battle to come."
A slight inrush of breath made him glance at Lawson. The mouse mink's face was expressionless; but it was a look he had seen too often to be fooled by.
"Your Majesty, I fear that Lady Yamato and Master Izuku have recused themselves from the tournament."
"Because they do not wish to attract attention?"
He quirked an eyebrow, but only for effect. He could think of only one reason why those two would suddenly refuse to take part in the festival.
"Indeed, your Majesty," admitted Lawson. "Mister Izuku told me that…when he and Lady Yamato departed Wano, they were forced to fight and defeat one of Kaido's lieutenants; a member of the Flying Six. They did not say which one."
Bach froze. He had suspected that those two were on the run from Kaido, but not for that! They had fought and defeated a member of the Flying Six? Kaido's mightiest captains outside of The Three Disasters? Each one of their bounties topped 250 million minimum!
By all rights, he should have ordered them to leave his kingdom the way they had come. If Kaido ever learned that they were there, he would show no mercy. The Finalem Pirates were paltry compared to one of the Emperors. Doyle would not survive to see its next sunrise.
But…how could he? How could he send them away? They had done him no harm, offered him no insult. They had even offered to help fight the Finalem Pirates; for a land that was not their own!
Did he have to be a coward in order to be a king?
"Lawson…does Kaido have any spies in Doyle?"
He turned his full gaze upon Lawson. The mouse mink met his eyes, unflinching.
"None, your Majesty, despite our efforts, we are beneath his notice" he said firmly. "And even if there were, no message of theirs could get through the blockade."
Bach nodded, choosing to believe him while ironically silently thanking their current situation.
"And before the blockade, there had been no rumblings of the Emperors making any sort of expeditions, yes?"
"One of the benefits of a G-Base. They ward off pirates, or so we thought…" Lawson sighed.
"Then Kaido has no way of knowing they are here," he mused. "And we are some way from his territory. He has never shown any interest in us before."
"Indeed not, your Majesty. So long as they avoid the attention of the papers, there is little chance that Kaido will learn of their presence here."
Bach nodded again, satisfied.
"I chose to trust them, Lawson," he said. "We take a risk in letting them stay here, but I am tired of bowing down in fear."
He regarded Lawson, half-expecting a lecture on responsibility. But instead, Lawson just smiled.
"I'm tired too, your Majesty," he said. "And so are your people."
(X)
"Ahhh…"
Izuku slouched in the very large, very comfortable armchair.
This was a very nice way to spend an evening. A hot shower had washed away the sweat and dirt of the day, and a large, hot meal had filled his growling stomach. Now he could relax, wearing the green pajamas Judith had laid out for him, in the lounge area of his suite.
It hadn't been a perfect day. Only actually finding his Haki could have made it so. But it had only been one day, and unlocking one's Haki was no small thing. Nothing in his life had ever come quite so easily; at least not in that context.
He glanced over at Yamato. She was sitting on the sofa nearby, wearing a long white nightgown with puffy sleeves that Judith had somehow found for her. She was scribbling furiously into one of her journals, grinning all the while.
"Hey, Yamato, what're you writing?" he asked.
"A start on my journal," she replied cheerfully. "I started with my childhood, and I've just reached the day we met."
"Aren't you tired?" he couldn't help but ask.
"I am, but I can't help myself!" declared Yamato, bouncing up and down in excitement, once again betraying her appearance. "I've never been able to write anything before! I feel like my head's going to explode with all the things I want to write!"
Izuku could not help but smile. Yamato had been waiting so long for this, to actually start writing her own journal. It was good to see her finally start.
"Since you ask, I'm doing another one too," Yamato went on, holding up another journal. "This one's a record of all the stories you told me."
"Oh, really?" Izuku was taken aback.
"So…" Yamato suddenly started fidgeting. "Would you mind…telling me one?"
Izuku paused, confused.
"Well, sure, but…there's a lot of stories I could tell," he replied, awkwardly. "Is there anything in particular you had in mind?
"Hmmm…" Yamato put her finger to her lips as she thought. "I remember you talking about a war the other day? About a city under siege?"
"Oh, the Trojan war?"
"Yes, that one!"
"Hey kid, if she wants more, tell her about Star Wars. That shit will blow her mind." Daigoro chimed in, sounding just as excited to pass on his own love film to another world.
(X)
The night was dark, the corridor deserted.
Bach stalked along, his brow furrowed in an out-of-character glower. He was in no mood to go to bed, and with Lawson having gone home for the evening, there was no one he could really talk to. So he was doing what he normally did in such situations. Prowling the corridors like some haunted tyrant of old, thinking dark thoughts; and daring some ghost to come out and assail him.
He wouldn't have minded. A horrifying apparition would have made for an interesting diversion at this point. Would have made for interesting conversation at the least. How does one speak with one who is dead and the like?
As it was, there was nothing to glare at but the decor. He hadn't been in that part of the palace for some time, and from the looks of things neither had anyone else. The tapestries and paintings were thick with dust, the metal fittings and suits of armor dull for lack of polish. Even the windows were looking grimy.
Once, not so long ago, this corridor would have been as spick and span as his own quarters. Back then, not so long ago, there had been an army of maids to handle such things. But most of them were gone now, paid off with as much money as Bach dared allow them. He didn't know if they were grateful for that small kindness, or if they would joyfully return once the Royal finances were back in order. For all he knew they felt betrayed and abandoned; cast aside by the one they had served his whole life, and thrown out to starve with the others.
But what else could he have done? The way things were going, there would have been no money to pay them anyway. He'd been able to protect a few, at least, for a while.
But for all that, it didn't feel right. This palace was too big, too empty. There was hardly any need for all this space. These guest rooms were left over from the days when the Kings of Doyle had kept lavish courts, and entertained diplomatic delegations from across the world. Now they stood empty, deserted, unneeded. The Grand Pirate Era having a hand in fewer and fewer foreign diplomats coming in the coming decades. The local nobles had drifted away after his grandfather's death, and unlike him, Bach had not insisted that they stay. Other guests were a rarity, and generally important enough to warrant much better quarters over in the diplomatic wing.
Had he made a mistake? Should he have insisted that the nobles stay, as other kings might have done? He hadn't seen the point. What pleasure was there in guests bound by duty?
But now this place was empty. It was…lonely.
Then he paused. He could hear something, the faintest sound, somewhere nearby.
He crept down the corridor, listening hard. There were two voices, talking animatedly, a little way along. He looked around, and quickly saw something different. The corridor in which he found himself was noticeably cleaner than those he had walked through earlier.
So that was it. He had completed the full circuit, and wandered into the corridor Judith was keeping presentable; on the off chance that guests did show up.
Did that mean…?
Bach crept a little further along the corridor, moving with the silent tread he had practiced since childhood. As the sound grew louder, he came to a halt by one of the doors, and listened.
"...but Odysseus had an idea. He suggested that they build a giant wooden horse, and hide warriors inside it."
"Mmmm-hmmm." It was Yamato.
"So they built the horse, left Odysseus and his warriors inside, then dismantled their camp and sailed away in the night. When the Trojans looked out the next morning, all they saw was piles of trash and the horse."
Bach listened, growing ever more confused. Was this some sort of story? What could it mean?
"Oh, hello!"
"Ack!" Bach almost jumped out of his skin, as Yamato's face materialized right in front of his own.
"It's King Bach!" exclaimed a clearly delighted Yamato. "Why don't you come in? Izuku was just telling me the story of Troy!"
"I…uh…"
"Come on!"
Yamato grabbed him by the arm and hauled him inside.
"Eeeeeeh!" Izuku froze in panic as he saw Bach, practically being lifted into the room by Yamato.
"Bach was listening outside!" proclaimed Yamato happily.
"Good evening… Mister Izuku." Bach replied, feeling embarrassed as can be, not helped that he was currently hanging in front of Yamato like a piece of laundry.
"Yamato," Izuku's face was a mask of terror, his voice a ghostly gasp. "He's the King."
"But it's much better to listen together!" Yamato went on, unperturbed.
"You dragged the King…inside…"
Bach sighed. He didn't particularly mind deference, but Izuku was taking things a little too far.
"I-I'm sorry," he admitted, with an awkwardness he had neither expressed nor felt since his mid teens. "I was passing, and I heard your conversation. It was wrong of me to eavesdrop."
Izuku blinked, amazed.
"It's fine!" insisted Yamato. "Come and sit down here!"
Bach allowed himself to be placed down and into an armchair opposite Izuku. Yamato took her place on the sofa between them, which was piled with journals and pencils. She took up one of the journals, and readied herself to write.
"Well, go on." Bach gestured.
"Where was I…ah right," Izuku continued. "The Trojans thought the Greeks had given up, and left the horse to honor the Gods for their journey home. They dragged the horse inside the city, then had a huge party to celebrate."
Yamato scribbled furiously, her flashing pencil taking down every word.
"That night, the Greek fleet made its way back from its hiding place. At the same time, Odysseus and his warriors got out of the horse, headed down to the gate, and opened it for the Greeks."
In spite of himself, Bach found himself listening intently.
"The Greeks stormed inside, and destroyed the city completely," Izuku went on. " Their last prince, Aeneas, managed to escape with a handful of survivors. But Troy was no more."
Izuku fell silent. Yamato wrote on, then stopped suddenly, and looked at Izuku expectantly.
"Sorry," Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not much of a storyteller."
"It was wonderful!" declared Yamato, bouncing up and down. "Heroes uniting to fight for their King, and to defend their city! Honor! Glory! Fellowship!"
Bach could only watch in more than mild confusion. Then he remembered
"Pardon me for saying so," he spoke up. "But wasn't this the story you mentioned last night?"
"Yes, it is!" replied Izuku, brightening. "I'm… flattered that you remember, sir."
"A city that held out for ten years, only to fall in the end," mused Bach. "A city that no army could defeat, except by treachery."
The room was silent.
"Your Majesty," Izuku said eventually. "It doesn't have to end this way. Troy fell, but that doesn't mean Doyle will. When the festival is over, we'll fight those pirates. We will find a way."
Bach regarded him for a long time. He could not remember ever seeing eyes quite like Izuku's. Strong, sincere, and so very bright. Yamato's eyes were the same. He could believe that they meant every word, that they would give their all to defend his kingdom, his people.
"You face two Devil Fruit users," he reminded them. "One of salt, one of mercury. I don't doubt your courage or your strength; and I can believe that you will triumph. But those two will not go down easily. Adlerport will be destroyed. Lives will be lost."
"I…don't want that to happen, sir," insisted Izuku. "We'll find a way to beat those two, without anyone else dying."
Bach had no answer. There could be no answer to eyes like those. All logic, all reason, told him that it was hopeless; that even if there could be victory, it could only come at a terrible cost. But there was no point in saying that. They would never accept that fact, until it happened.
Was that heroism? Or was it madness?
Could he afford that distinction?
"I…can only believe in you, Mister Izuku, Lady Yamato."
He stood up, and inclined his head respectfully.
"I bid you both good night."
(X)
Izuku had to admit, he was impressed.
Boxer Stadium was nothing like as large as the stadium UA used for the sports festival, nor anything as grand. But it was quite large all the same; big enough to seat many thousands. Banners billowed in the wind, and the crowds packing the stands below cheered themselves hoarse.
Seated in the outer edge of the Royal Box, along with Lawson's entourage, Izuku had a fine view of the events. The one currently underway was the Hundred Man Melee; the penultimate event. The starting hundred was now down to twenty, as pairs of small groups of fighters struggled just to avoid being downed. All the while the crowd oohed and aahed, roaring their approval or screaming their disdain.
"Oh not Shinwell again!"
Izuku looked, and saw a wild-haired man creeping up behind the victor of one of the melees. Before the victor could react, Shinwell hit him around the legs with a club, sending him staggering, and then hit him over the head over and over again, until finally he fell down. The crowd booed and groaned, but Shinwell just laughed and capered.
"He always does this!" grumbled someone along the row. "Every single festival!"
"He won't survive the next round," replied another, languidly. "He never does."
"Oh look! Dredger's after him!"
The crowd laughed and cheered as a very tall man began chasing Shinwell around the arena, armed with an equally large hammer.
"Wow, so this is what it's like?."
Izuku looked up, and realized that Yamato had spoken.
"Yamato?"
He looked at her. She was sitting beside him, wearing her short red dress and matching tall hat, staring intently down at the arena. Her white hair was gathered on top, concealing the green tips under the hat; along with her red horns. It was a good effect, all in all; making her that little bit less recognisable.
Aside from her height. But there was nothing anyone could do about that.
Izuku looked again, watching the fighters closely. The melee was just about over, the last handful of contenders struggling desperately for the final win. They were strong, that much he could see, and some even showed some skill.
But not all that strong. He hadn't seen a single Devil Fruit power so far, nor anything like a Quirk. This did not bode well.
The melee came to an end, and the crowd cheered the victors amid a fanfare of trumpets. Izuku watched as the last of the defeated were carried out of the arena, and workers hurried out, lugging what looked like scaffolding with them. The cheering settled into the usual rumble of a crowd in repose; and Izuku could see people heading for the tunnels; no doubt going for food or the toilets.
"Looks like they're setting up for the last event," said Yamato, looking down at the program Lawson had given them. "The Knight O'er Hill Battle."
"Does it say what it's about?" asked Izuku, bending sideways to see better.
"It says…there's a hill, and the person on top when the time runs out is the winner."
"Right," mused Izuku. "King of the Hill, huh."
"The what?" asked Yamato.
"I trust you're enjoying the festival?"
Izuku looked up. It was Lawson, beaming down at them. He had been in a good mood earlier, and it seemed to be holding up.
"Yes, we are!" declared Yamato cheerfully. Izuku nodded, wondering what to say. He wanted to tell Lawson about his doubts, about whether anyone remotely capable of fighting the pirates would come out of all this. But now was not the time, not with all these important people around. Better to get him alone, later.
"It's quite an event," he said, smiling. And that was no lie.
The opening ceremony was more formal than he was used to, but it was impressive for all that. It put him in mind of the Olympics or big sporting events from the old pre-Quirk days; the kind of thing he'd only ever seen in old movies or archive footage. By his lifetime, sports had either disappeared or adapted to Quirks; and even then, they struggled to compete with the Hero academy tournaments. If it didn't have flashy Quirks, people just weren't that interested.
It left Izuku with mixed feelings. It was sad, somehow, to think of it; all that human activity and achievement, rendered all but irrelevant by Quirks. But it was wonderful too, to be able to see it like this; as a living and breathing event, not just a staged reenactment for a movie, or some creative anachronism activity.
"It's certainly a novel experience to see competitions like this again." Yoichi commented, looking upon the arena with fondness. "I still remember when quirks weren't as common and so these kinds of events were more celebrated."
"Sad part of the times changing." The Second User noted, having also similar fond memories.
"Yes, there's not much to match our Midsummer Knight's Festival," replied Lawson proudly. "We should be starting the fourth round before too long."
Izuku could believe it. The hill was going up with remarkable speed.
"In the meantime, perhaps you would care to join me for refreshments?" Lawson offered.
Yamato started asking about the food. But Izuku was distracted. Something didn't feel right.
He found himself glancing up towards the doorway behind the Royal Box. A man in a dark suit was standing there, along with two red-jacketed Royal Guards; a human and a ferret mink. The man had something cupped in his hand, and seemed to be listening to it. A transponder snail?
Then all of a sudden, the man turned and strode down the steps, followed by the two guards. Izuku began to feel distinctly queasy. Something was definitely wrong.
"Prime Minister," called the man, striding towards Lawson. "Prime Minister, we should…"
Then he felt it. His Danger Sense was flaring. He saw Yamato perk up out of the corner of his eyes.
And then a crack, like a firecracker nearby. His head snapped round in reflex. Smoke was billowing over the public stands nearby, the people screaming and pushing to get away from it. More cracks went off, and the stands began to fill with smoke; the rumble becoming a cacophony of shrieks and yells.
His Danger Sense flared again. Izuku turned, just in time to see men running through the doorway, their faces covered, rifles at the ready. The two guards leveled their rifles, but the attackers fired first; downing the human guard. The ferret mink got a shot off, throwing back one of the attackers. But an instant later he was hit, slumping down beside the Royal throne. Bach was on his feet, a silver-plated pistol in his hand; and one or two of the other guests had drawn weapons too.
"That'll be quite enough of that, thank you!"
Izuku stared, his mind blank with shock, as yet another masked figure came strolling out into the box. He was clearly a mink, but his head was concealed by a hood. Around him, a dozen attackers stood, rifles aimed.
"Stay here!" hissed Lawson. "Stay down!"
Izuku's heart hammered. He wanted to dive in there and take them down, but his Hero training wouldn't let him. The twelve gunmen were too well spread out for him to get them in one go, and there could be more of them in the foyer behind. Worse, they had a clear line of fire; both at him and at the other guests. If even one of them got a shot off…
"Weapons down, ladies and gents," the hooded mink went on. He sounded familiar. "Don't get any funny ideas. Anybody tries anything, and my comrades here will not hold back."
Izuku glanced down at the arena. More fighters, dozens of them, had appeared along the top of the stands; weapons aimed down at the crowds. Yet more were down on the arena, corralling the arena workers in one corner.
Face expressionless, but eyes bright with anger, Bach dropped his pistol. The rest did likewise.
"Very sensible," said the hooded mink. "Now, where are my manners?"
He pulled off the hood, and Izuku's eyes widened.
"Now for the introductions!" Honest Guy began strutting down the steps towards the throne. "Tis I, the honorable Honest Guy, leader of our humble company, the Gunpowder Gang. While the Kingdom gives you taxes, and flame, we're to bring freedom, equality, and free-thought to this benighted Kingdom of Doyle!"
Izuku's heart clenched. It was Honest Guy, that fox mink they had met on the road the day before! The one he and Yamato had saved from the wolves!
He was in charge of a terrorist villain group?!
He glanced at Yamato. She was glaring at Guy with murder in her eyes, clearly ready to leap at him. Strangely enough, her teeth looked pointed again.
Knowing what she was about to do, he reached out and grabbed her sleeve.
"Wait!" he hissed.
Yamato bit her lip, but kept her head down. Thanks to the high backs of the seats, the terrorists could not see them clearly.
"This arena is surrounded by guards and police," Bach said calmly. "Lay down your weapons and surrender, and I promise you fair treatment."
"Oh, we know about all those extra guards you had hidden around the place," replied Guy, smirking. "And it's not going to do you any good. Everyone in this stadium is now our hostage. And if your troops so much as shoot at us, people are going to start dropping."
Gasps and whimpers of fear ran through the box. Izuku's heart hammered as he tried to think. Yet another classic hostage situation; gunmen in control of the stadium, willing to kill hostages if attacked.
"What do you want?" demanded Bach, glowering at Guy with eyes that reminded Izuku of Bailey when they first met. "Why do this to your fellow citizens?"
"It's for their own good," retorted Guy. He reached the throne, and picked up Bach's pistol, toying with it. "Today, the House of Reichen dies, and with it the tyranny that holds this island back. Today, you will answer for the crimes of your ancestors," He smirked, showing off his fangs as he looked to the side at him. "Especially your father."
For a moment, Izuku was bewildered. Then he remembered what Lawson had told him; that officially Bach was the son of the old King and Queen, who were in reality his grandparents.
"There's a song about something like that," commented Daigoro.
"Now's hardly the time!" interjected Nana. "Just play it cool, Izuku, like they taught you. Wait for the right moment."
"I dunno," Hikage cut in. "We don't have a lot of options here. No way to take them all down in one go."
Izuku took another look at the arena. All eyes were now on the Royal box; aside from the terrorists themselves. He counted thirty around the stands, blocking all the exits, and ten down on the arena floor; though there were almost certainly more of them down in the tunnels, no doubt keeping an eye on the street-level exits, and the guards outside.
"So what about those guns?" Daigoro asked. "What can they do? They look like old-time muskets to me."
"They definitely aren't," En replied. "They're more like revolvers and repeating rifles that way."
"You mean, cowboy guns?" asked Daigoro.
"Indeed. Rounds are most likely stored in the stock or handle. The cock resets itself after every shot when the trigger is released, a bit like a revolver's hammer, and a new round slides into the chamber." The black haired ghost within Izuku replied.
"And this is useful how?" Nana asked irritably.
"That means maybe one shot per second, depending on how quick the mechanism is and how good they are. We can see fifty, so if they all start shooting; that's fifty rounds per second. And it's not like they'll have to aim hard."
Izuku's blood ran cold. There were many thousands down there, all packed into the seating areas, trapped with nowhere to run to. If he used his Blackwhip, he could take out Guy and his cronies in the Royal box, but that left forty down there. Forty, with one shot per second each. Forty shots per second. Some might fire on him or Yamato rather than the crowd, but he couldn't be sure. And that's not counting the possible terrorists in the tunnels.
Forty shots per second. If they had ten rounds each…four hundred.
Four hundred people…
"Stay calm, Izuku," whispered Nana. "Keep it together. We'll find a way."
"I doubt it," Hikage cut in. "If we had a full team of Heroes and comms, maybe. But all we've got is Izuku, Yamato, and a bunch of soldiers and cops with guns. Smokescreen would just cause a panic, and that'll only make shit fire faster."
"Okay, how about offering some constructive input then." Daigoro glared at his predecessor's pessimistic outlook.
Izuku felt sick, but he knew Hikage was right. Heroes could have neutralized the gunmen safely, by distracting them or knocking them out, or sneaking in and jumping them. But they couldn't do that, not here and now. He and Yamato could attack, and the soldiers could storm the tunnels, but the terrorists would still have time to fire on the crowds, or throw more bombs. Whether they concentrated on the immediate threat, or attacked the crowd out of spite, was a coin flip.
All those people…
"Stop this," insisted Lawson, stepping towards the throne, his hands in the air. "There's no need for this."
The Fox mink turned, and he let out a barking laugh.
"Well well well, if it isn't ole Lawsie!" declared Guy, his smirk a poor match for the malice in his eyes. "Looking well, I see. Gone up in the world since last we hanged and thieved as lil'tots!"
Some of the guests glanced nervously at Lawson, but the mouse mink was unperturbed. Izuku stared, his gut churning. They knew each other?
"I fear I cannot say the same of you," he replied. "The Honest Guy I remember was a petty criminal, but he didn't hurt people, much less those he was claiming to help."
"Well, you know what they say about times changing," Guy shrugged theatrically. "But things are different now, Lawsie. I'm not content to rob my fellow man any more."
"But you are content to kill him, it seems," retorted Lawson. There was a darkness in his eyes Izuku had never seen there before. He got the distinct impression that whatever had passed between them, they had not been good friends.
"Oh well that's just too bad," Guy shrugged again. "You've spent all these years climbing the ladder, doing things all civilized and proper like, but what've you changed, Lawsie?" He pointed his pistol out to the crowd, the Londinium skyline beyond it. "Nothing, that's what. Whereas I've killed a few people, and I'm about to change Doyle forever. Besides, your boy here," he jabbed a thumb at Bach, "has plenty of blood on his hands as it is."
"You know that's not true," growled Lawson, as angry as Izuku had ever seen him as he grit his teeth. "He has never killed anyone unjustly in his life, only in defense. And you cannot blame him for his father's mistakes."
"Uh, then who can I blame, Lawsie?" asked Guy, striking a pose. "You ever ask a corpse what it thinks of things? I have, and trust me, there's just silence that greets you. Besides if he can't answer for Jansentown, who can? There aren't even table scraps left, Lawsie."
"You bastard!" snarled the ferret-mink, clutching his wounded side. "After what they did!? After what he's done for everyone!"
"Ah, well," retorted Guy. "That's what makes me different from you two. You see, I used to hate the Jansies as much as anyone." He drawled, "Coming into our town, smashing it up just because we were minks, and do the police do a damn thing?" He looked at the two minks with narrowed eyes. "You and I both know they would look the other way."
He began to strut along the box, warming to his tirade.
"But the thing is, I know why that is," he went on. "The Jansenites did that because they had nothing." He began to count down on his fingers.
"No money, no hope, nothing. So they kicked down on minks, because there was no one else they could kick. It was all they had. And then Lawsie here, when he was supposed to be on lookout for coppers," He pointed, glaring at the mouse. "Manages to rescue the King and Queen, and all of a sudden minks are respectable. Next thing anyone knows, they're joining the guards, getting proper jobs, walking around with their heads held high. Some are even professors at Moriarty now!"
He paused, and glowered.
"They never asked why things are the way they are. They never asked why the poor were poor, or who was really responsible. They were happy because they could look down on Jansies now. That's your little game, my lords and ladies." He gestured to the crowd of people around him. "You keep the poor tearing at each other's throats, so they'll never challenge you. And then when Jansentown stood up to you, you burned the whole place down!"
He turned to Bach, leveling the pistol at him.
"And now you're all going to pay, starting with this one. Down into the arena, your Majesty, or are people going to have to die?" He heard a shrilling baby crying, him turning as he looked down, annoyed. "Hey! Rupert! Keep a gun on that broad and her bastard will ya!" He turned back to Bach, who was glaring daggers at the fox.
"On it Boss!" And Izuku felt his heart tighten as he heard a woman scream out, pleading not to shoot.
"Because if our good king doesn't comply, well… your father racked up a high count of tots when he tried to burn a part of his city down," Guy shrugged, smirking darkly. "What's another one or two to the tally?"
Izuku watched in horrified fascination as Bach stepped down from the throne, face set in stone, and started down the steps into the arena; followed by a grinning Guy and two of his men. Lawson slumped by the throne, watching them go, with the eyes of a man whose soul was being sucked out. At a nod from Guy, two more terrorists grabbed Lawson and hauled him along behind.
"Well that's done it," grumbled Hikage. "We need to move, or they'll be the first to die."
"Anyone got any suggestions? Time's kind of a factor here," Daigoro was actually starting to sweat a little, his normally boisterous attitude gone.
"Yamato…" Izuku whispered.
"Izuku?" Yamato glanced at him, her voice terse. She looked ready to kill.
"Yamato, we can't let them hurt the hostages," he whispered. "I'll take these guys here. When I move, get Bach and Lawson and get them back up here." The girl nodded, eyes hard and ready to move on his signal.
"Right."
Izuku peered over the back of his chair. There were still eight terrorists, glaring down at the guests, rifles at the ready. They stood along the very top of the box, giving them a clear view. No way to get at them without being spotted.
Unless…
He activated Blackwhip, and eased the tendrils along the floor. Slowly, slowly, he moved them along, up the steps and between the chairs as they slithered like snakes, prayingthat the guests would not cry out or cause trouble. He felt legs shift, saw people look down, clearly frightened, but no one made a sound.
Teeth gritted, heart hammering, he eased the tendrils on, closer, closer…
"What the hell's that!?" One of the terrorists suddenly backed away, aiming his rifle down at the floor. The others did likewise, clearly spooked and confused.
"Gah! Snake!" yelled one.
Izuku unleashed the tendrils, sending them straight at the terrorists and grabbing their weapons. With a thought, Izuku yanked the rifles from their hands, then leapt over the seats as he crackled in emerald lightning. He soared, and came down in front of them, landing a punch right in the face of the nearest terrorist. The man flew backward, but Izuku was already moving, his tendrils dropping the rifles and snaking around the terrorists, holding them fast. He moved, charging at each one in a flash as the world seemed to slow down, striking with one punch, and then moving on, and on and on, until each one lay blithering on the floor.
He turned, and looked down the box. The guests were staring at him in utter amazement.
And further down, on the arena floor, there was an explosion, and mayhem erupted in the stands.
(X)
Yamato rose into a combat crouch, glancing around as the dust cleared on the arena floor.
The terrorists lay on the ground where her impact had thrown them. Some, further out, were staring at her in bewilderment. Also down were Bach and Lawson, coughing as the dust roiled around them. But they seemed unhurt. Guy was nowhere to be seen.
"Get her!" someone yelled. Those terrorists still on their feet leveled their guns and fired, sending a fusillade of bullets tearing through the half-assembled scaffolding. Yamato ran at them, leaping through the scaffolding, grabbing a pole as she went.
It wasn't Takeru, but it would do.
She landed and swung, hardening the pole with Haki. It caught four terrorists, and sent them all flying.
She spun round. The other terrorists were firing, the bullets whistling past. Their guns were paltry things, slow compared to Onigashima's rifles. Her Observation Haki was working, marking the path of the bullets in her mind's eye. It was a simple matter to dodge them, to duck and dive as they cut through the air.
All at once she reached another group of terrorists, and swung the pole hard; knocking two more down. She twirled the pole over her head and swung again, knocking down another two. She looked around, just in time to see Bach and Lawson scrambling into the now-ruined scaffolding, out of the firing line.
A crackle of gunfire filled the air. She looked up, and saw Izuku leaping through the sky overhead, his whips roiling around him. The terrorists around the top of the stadium were firing at him, round after round slashing through the air around him; yet none scoring a hit.
Her heart leapt. The terrorists had panicked, and were firing on Izuku! His plan had worked! He was firing those tendrils out, grabbing the guns and in a flash, was blazing through the stadium, picking off any terrorist and sending them flying with a punch or a kick. All while in his fancy green suit too!
Shouts and gunfire erupted from the tunnels. Red-clad guardsmen poured out, firing on the distracted terrorists. Terrorists fell, others fired back, a few flung down their weapons and threw up their hands; and one or two ran for their lives.
Her senses flickered. She turned, a gunshot slashing through the air where her heart had been. Snarling with anger, cursing herself for getting distracted, Yamato rounded on the shooter. It was a young man, barely more than a boy, aiming a rickety-looking rifle in shaking hands. He stared at her with wide, terrified, mad eyes.
He pulled the trigger. Yamato dodged, the bullet whistling past, and threw her fist at the youth, catching him full in the face. He flew back, his face distorting like a melon hit by a bat, and crashed into the scaffolding, his rifle scattering away across the arena.
A horrible, piercing scream filled her ears, momentarily stunning her. She turned, just in time to see another terrorist leaping at her, an axe held high over his head. On reflex she punched, catching him in the chest. The blow glanced, and he rolled over to one side, falling out of sight.
"You…"
Yamato turned, looking for him with hard eyes. The terrorist lay on his side, his ribs and shoulder broken, blood running from his mouth. His eyes were bright with murderous hate.
"You…freak…!" He coughed up more blood. He grabbed at what looked like a pipe on his bandoleer.
A crack, a spurt of blood from his shoulder, and the terrorist slumped over, clawing at the wound and screaming.
For a moment, Yamato stared at him. Then she turned, and saw Bach standing there, a smoking pistol in his hand.
"Are you all right, Lady Yamato?" he asked, with a sang-froid his eyes did not quite match.
Yamato stared at him, not quite believing what she was seeing. And then grinned.
"I'm fine, your Majesty!" she declared, nodding. "What about you?"
"I'm unharmed, and so is Lawson," Bach replied, gesturing at the mouse mink. Lawson was standing nearby, a pistol in his hands, and looking distinctly uncomfortable.
Yamato looked around. The guards had taken over the stands, having reacted fast and the guns had fallen silent. Police officers and arena workers were hurrying up through the tunnels, carrying stretchers and capturing anyone she had swatted away. She couldn't make out if anyone else had been hurt or killed. She spotted that Jenner fellow barking orders to the policemen, as they corralled the still-living terrorists and helped the citizens to safety. She even saw him kneel beside that woman with the baby, consoling them.
She felt relieved.
"Yamato!" It was Izuku, dropping quickly to the ground nearby. "Are you okay? And you, your Majesty? Mr Lawson sir?"
"I'm fine, Izuku!" insisted Yamato, grinning at the sight of him. "That was a close one!"
"It certainly was," added Bach as he took a deep breath, turning towards the two. "My congratulations, Lady Yamato, and Mister Izuku. Doyle owes you both a debt of gratitude."
"You're welcome!" Izuku went an adorable shade of red, and rubbed the back of his neck. "It wasn't anything much…I mean…"
"Uh hello, excuse me? Hello there!"
All looked up to see a woman awkwardly making her way across the corpse-strewn arena. She was a platinum-blonde, wearing a green coat with black fur trim, and a pair of narrow red glasses perched carefully on her nose. Yamato realized that she had seen her before, in that box to the left of the Royal box; the Press Box, Izuku had said.
"Oh, crap!" She heard Izuku mutter under his mouth and Yamato felt worried. She never heard him curse. Not once!
"Your Majesty, Prime Minister sir, terribly sorry to impose!" the woman went on, sounding contrite while giving no other impression of it. "Lightly Hawkins, with the Journal!" She showed off a badge of a seagull imposed upon a globe with the word written below it. "Could I possibly have a statement from our heroes here?"
Heroes? Was she…a hero?
"You don't waste time, Miss Hawkins," commented Lawson, seeming to master himself.
"I've interviewed Newkamas, Prime Minister, and you don't forget that in a week," replied Hawkins. "Assuming I ever get off this island, this will make quite the story."
Yamato saw the look on Izuku's face. She could also see the two men picking their way across the arena behind Hawkins. They were carrying strange box-like objects, of a kind she had never seen before. But Hawkins was a journalist, and she remembered what Izuku had said.
"Miss Hawkins," Bach said, stepping in front of her. "Our friends here will happily provide you with a private interview, in a more…pleasant location. Our only condition is no pictures."
Hawkins regarded him with shrewd, questioning eyes.
"Strange condition, your Majesty. I need to have a picture if I'm gonna write up a column to give back home."
"The condition stands Miss Hawkins, if you are willing to make a compromise." Hawkins looked back to Izuku and Yamato and then to Bach, smirking lightly.
"Seems like-"
"I have Cameraphobia!" Izuku cried out, and Hawkins blinked as did Yamato. The boy looked rigid "I-I-I freeze up for cameras!"
Yamato was surprised. Izuku didn't mention any phobias back when he was-
Ohhhhh okay. Thanks Vestiges! Should she mention having a Phobia too? Or just-
"You have a Phobia?" Hawkins drawled, looking incredulous at the green haired boy.
"Yes he does, and I would prefer not to put further stress on our hero here." Bach placed a hand on Izuku's shoulder. "I owe him my life after all. Same goes for his friend too," he added, looking back to Yamato, nodding. The white haired girl adjusted her tall-hat, seeing Lawson walk up and smiling lightly.
Hawkins looked back to her associates, then back to the group. She was smirking again; that same smirk.
"Well, you did assure me an easier path to my inn tonight, than deal with crazy riots and the like. Tell ya what, permit me just one close-up of yourself, your Majesty, and we have a deal."
"Consider it done Miss Hawkins."
(X)
"How the hell did this happen?!"
Honest Guy's heart hammered as he scrambled through the stadium tunnel.
They were so close! So close! He had been within an ace of putting down that damn tyrant, and his chance had slipped away! Because of those two!
Shirou and Yoichi were fast and capable, but not THAT fast and strong! And they were buddy-buddy with the King no less! What rotten luck!
He stopped at a cross-corridor, and cautiously glanced around. No sign of anyone, so far. The guards must have been out in the stadium, or else forming a cordon outside. But it wouldn't be long before they started searching the lower corridors, and the storage areas. He had to get out of there, and fast!
He hurried along the corridor, straining his ears for any sound of danger. The gunfire had stopped, but he could hear shouting, and even cheering. The battle was clearly over, which meant his followers were dead or captured.
Oh well, nothing he could do about it. They had known the risks; and so long as he was alive, at least, the cause was not lost.
No, not lost at all. He still had his friend down in Adlerport.
He reached another cross-corridor, and looked around. Still no one. He had a little time, maybe. He pulled out his Transponder Snail, and gave its shell a tap.
The next thing he knew, his face was jammed into the wall, the snail clattering away along the floor.
"And what exactly was that supposed to be?"
Guy managed to look. It was Sabo, looking at him with a smile that did not match his eyes.
"Sabo," he gasped. "Thank god! I need to…!"
His head was yanked back, and slammed against the wall again. His head lolled back, his face a mass of pain. Then he saw Koala there, staring at him with a look of undisguised contempt.
"So your plan was to barge in here, with the Prime Minister, and all the nobles, plus anyone else who put up a fight and slaughter them," Sabo mused. "Are we supposed to be impressed?"
"I…"
His face hit the wall again.
"You threatened thousands of innocent men, women, and children," Koala growled. "How the hell do you justify that?"
"I…had…no…choice…!"
Again the wall. Again the pain. He could taste blood in his mouth.
"Yeah, we get that a lot," Sabo went on, his tone hard. "From people like you, who think it's okay to slaughter innocent people for the sake of a cause. And you failed to make a convincing case as to why Reichen Bach and Justinian Lawson should die. And you don't even have a plan as to how you're going to run this country with the ruling class wiped out."
"I-!"
"Our enemies are the World Government and the Celestial Dragons," Koala added, glowering at him. "Not good men doing their best in a bad situation. And we don't work with murderers only interested in petty revenge."
Anger flared, forcing its way through Guy's pain-addled mind. What kind of revolutionaries were they!? Going on like that!?
They didn't understand! Nobody understood! No one had ever understood, not really!
"Now that that's done, you'll hold still if you know what's good for you," Sabo went on. Guy tensed, terror replacing his rage, as he felt his hands being pulled behind his back, and something tightening around his wrists. They were tying him up! They were going to hand him over!
"No…" he gasped, coughing blood. "Not that! Anything but Lestrad! They'll butcher me alive!"
"Oh, you'll like Lestrad prison," commented Sabo cheerfully with a venomous smirk. "A lot more than what Dragon would have done to you. He doesn't like being taken advantage of. And frankly, neither do I."
"No! It's not fair! The People… the people must rise!" Guy struggled and wrenched, arching his back and kicking frantically. He would not go back there! He would not rot in Lestrad Prison again! He would not…! "They mu-"
"Ah, shut up!" Koala yelled, and the fox felt pain. And nothing more.
(X)
Sabo sighed as he looked down at Honest Guy, lying unconscious and drooling on the floor.
"So much for the Gunpowder Gang," grumbled Koala, as she finished tying his wrists and ankles. "Why is it we can never find any good allies?"
"Spite, I guess," mused Sabo. "Some people just get burned by life, so much they lose all perspective. Making the ones who hurt you suffer, making anybody suffer, becomes all that matters after a while."
"You sound like you feel sorry for him," commented Koala suspiciously, straightening up.
"A little," admitted Sabo. "I know how he got where he is, pretty much. And he wasn't wrong about this kingdom. It's the oldest trick in the book of tyranny. Keep the lower classes snapping and snarling at each other, and they don't challenge the higher-ups. Plenty of kings do it, and the World Government does it on a global scale. It's pretty much why pirates exist."
"So then, why are we stopping him?" asked Koala. "If you agree with him?"
"Because his way won't fix anything either," Sabo replied, adjusting his hat. "Even if he and his gang took power, they would have no legitimacy. Even with all the nobles dead, and even if the rest of Doyle was fine with that, no one would trust him. The minks would tear him to pieces just for feeling sorry for the Jansentowners; and that's not the half of it. It'll be a generation or two before that storm settles. To say nothing of the power vacuum. Or if it gets so bad and lawless here, what with the Reverie in a couple of months, an Admiral gets sent over here, and this entire land? It'll either be nothing but craters, a tundra, or melted over."
Koala nodded, in grim understanding.
"And in the meantime," Sabo held up the snail Honest Guy had dropped. "Time to see who his friends are."
He tapped the snail, and waited while it rang. There was a familiar click, and the snail's face twisted into a smile, its eyes still closed.
"Hello there," Sabo said cheerfully. "Are we by any chance talking to associates of Honest Guy?"
The eyes flicked open. They were hard and sharp, angry and suspicious. The smile became a frown, and the snail clicked; its face settling back into its usual vacant look.
"Uh, hello, hello?" Sabo tapped the snail again and again. "Ah, damn."
"Well, at least we know he's not dumb," commented Koala sourly.
"Not dumb indeed," agreed Sabo as he pocketed it. "But we do know one thing. This is a normal snail, so whoever's on the other end is inside Doyle; or inside the horned snail array anyway."
"So, not Doflamingo," mused Koala. "We need to keep an eye on this some more."
"Well, that's what we do," replied Sabo cheerfully, pocketing the snail. "The Revolutionary Army, on hand for those in need." The orange-haired girl smiled softly at that.
He pulled a notebook and pencil from his pocket, and scribbled a quick note. He slid it into the breast pocket of Guy's coat, easily visible, with the words titled as thus:
I AM HONEST GUY. ARREST ME.
And then he and Koala vanished down the corridor.
And there you have it, big thanks to Juubi-K for writing this one up. Next one is on me.
And big thanks to IKnowNothing and WildJoker000 for their in editing.
With that, the Knights Festival has concluded, but not without some hiccups. And between getting unwanted attention or saving others, well, you know what our duo will do. Complete with Izuku using that head of his. And Sabo, well, they maybe "terrorists" in the eyes of the WG, but they're freedom fighters first, and they have standards. And there's more behind the scenes than meets the eye... one thing is for sure.
Hope the music additions worked as well! Next chapter will have more.
But yeah, this more or less ends Act 2 of the Doyle Arc. Act 3 is next, and we will get that showdown with the Finalem Brothers, mark my words.
Hope you all enjoyed, add onto the trope page, or make some fanart, up to you. I'll see you all next time.