At those words, Rocks and Roger froze simultaneously, their gazes snapping toward Lucian.
The drunken haze on their faces vanished in an instant, replaced by profound confusion. What on earth does this brother want to talk about?
The only sounds were the crackle and pop of the bonfire and the rhythmic, overlapping snores of thousands of sprawled-out pirates surrounding them. The silence between the three men was terrifyingly clear; the atmosphere had shifted palpably.
Anyone capable of climbing to their position in the world was a monster in their own right. Rocks and Roger were no exceptions; they possessed intuitions that far surpassed ordinary men. In a mere second, they caught a glimpse of something extraordinary beneath Lucian's gaze—a look that had shed all playfulness and settled into a chilling calm.
There was something fundamentally "off" about Lucian's expression.
The confusion lasted only a heartbeat. Then, a predatory, knowing smirk appeared on the faces of the two old foxes. Like hunters who had just caught the scent of rare prey, their interest was instantly piqued.
Rocks leaned his massive frame forward. This simple movement seemed to dim the surrounding light, his oppressive shadow nearly swallowing Lucian whole.
"Oh?" Rocks probed, his voice a signature rasp. "And what exactly do you want to chat about, brother?"
His voice wasn't loud, yet it seemed to carry a strange, magnetic power. Beside him, Roger crossed his arms and leaned back. He remained silent, but his eyes—shining with an intense, sharp light—were pinned to Lucian's face, waiting. He looked relaxed; to Roger, the unknown was far more alluring than any hoard of treasure.
The tension slowly began to tighten again.
Ignoring their scrutiny, Lucian swept a calm gaze over the two men. Then, he uttered four words:
"The Clan of D."
The moment the words left his lips, the air seemed to solidify.
The crackle of the fire, the rhythmic crashing of the waves, the distant snoring of thousands—everything vanished into a dead silence.
The curiosity and the smirks on the faces of Rocks and Roger evaporated instantly. Under the flickering firelight, their pupils contracted sharply. In those eyes was shock, horror, and utter disbelief.
D.
A taboo. A brand etched into the deepest recesses of their souls. A core secret that both men knew intimately, but which they would never, under any circumstance, mention in front of another living soul.
They could discuss hegemony, they could discuss treasure, they could discuss anything in the four seas. But the letter 'D' was the forbidden zone within the forbidden zone.
Rocks fell silent.
The dead silence stretched for several long seconds. The muscles in the cheeks of the great hegemon twitched, and within his eyes—eyes that looked down upon the entire ocean—surged a storm of emotion that no outsider could possibly decipher.
Then, in the next second:
"ZEHAHAHAHAHA!"
A wild roar of laughter exploded! It was no longer the boisterous laugh from before, but something manic, something bordering on relief, and something born of deep admiration for Lucian's bottomless audacity.
The shockwave of the laughter made the wine glasses on the table hum and rattle, startling a nearby sleeping pirate into rolling over in his slumber.
"I knew I could count on you, brother!" Rocks roared, slamming his fist onto the table. "You always love talking about the things no one else dares to! You always love the world's greatest taboos!"
Roger exhaled a long breath, his tense body finally relaxing. A smile returned to his face, though this time, it carried a different weight.
"Indeed," Roger chuckled. "That is not a topic one can discuss lightly in this world."
Rocks' laughter cut off abruptly. The madness vanished, replaced by an unprecedented sharpness and vigilance. He scanned their surroundings, his gaze sweeping over his subordinates, who lay scattered like heaps of mud in their drunken stupor. He confirmed that everyone was fast asleep, yet he remained uneasy.
He lowered his voice to a whisper, audible only to the two men beside him.
"However, since you want to talk, we are more than happy to oblige." He paused, his tone shifting. "But this is not the place."
Before the words had even fully settled, Rocks stood up abruptly. His mountain-like silhouette completely blocked the light of the bonfire. He waved a hand to the other two, his voice an absolute command.
"Follow me."
Without looking back at the wine or the fire, he strode toward the depths of Beehive Island. There, hidden in the shadow of a massive skull-shaped cliff, lay a dark, yawning tunnel—a black void resembling the open maw of a great beast.
Lucian and Roger exchanged a glance. Understanding passed between them; a silent accord. Without a word, they rose and followed Rocks' massive silhouette.
Their footsteps echoed with startling clarity in the quiet harbor. They passed piles of treasure and skirted around their unconscious comrades.
The tunnel was an entrance to another world. A cold, damp wind wafted from within, making the torches flicker violently. The stone walls were slick with moss, smelling of antiquity and mystery. Torches were placed far apart in skull-shaped sconces; the dim, yellowish light illuminated only a small patch of ground beneath their feet, leaving the depths of the tunnel shrouded in an impenetrable darkness.
Rocks led the way. His towering form cast a long, stretching shadow that danced against the narrow walls as he advanced.
Roger walked in the middle. All traces of his smile had vanished, replaced by a rare, grim seriousness. His fingers unconsciously tapped the hilt of his saber, Ace. Only the cold touch of the blade could steady his restless heart.
Lucian brought up the rear, maintaining his air of indifference. He looked around with curiosity, studying the architecture of the passage.
The tunnel was long. Only the sound of their three sets of footsteps echoed in the dead silence—monotonous and oppressive.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the path suddenly opened up into a wider subterranean chamber. At the far end stood a massive stone door carved from a single slab of black rock. There were no carvings or patterns on the door, only an indescribable sense of weight and majesty.
Rocks stopped before the door and pressed his palm into an inconspicuous groove.
Rumble...
The sound of grinding stone was enough to set one's teeth on edge. The door, weighing tens of thousands of tons, was driven by a mechanism and slowly slid inward.
As the gap widened, an aura colder and more ancient than the tunnel's—mingled with the distinct, opulent scent of gold and silver—hit them full force.
Behind the door lay a treasury beyond words. But at this moment, none of the three were interested in the wealth that could drive the world mad.
Their gazes were fixed further back, piercing into the deeper, heavier darkness beyond the vault.
That was where the real conversation would begin.