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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #152
🕑 Added 2025-10-15 10:07:21 +0000 UTCAs the three of them treaded deeper into the dark passage, the flicker of torchlight danced across slick stone walls, warping their shadows into long, twisting shapes. Water dripped rhythmically from the ceiling somewhere ahead, echoing like a lazy metronome in the tunnel’s still air.
Gale’s voice broke the silence first, dry as ever.
“You know, if this turns out to be one of those things where the real treasure was the friends we made along the way, I’m going to flip out.”
Blamenco groaned. “You’ve said that three times already.”
“Yeah, and I’ll say it a fourth if the situation calls for it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty cool—but not cool enough to justify all the effort I’ve put into this.”
Blamenco let out a deep chuckle, the sound rumbling off the walls. “The feeling’s mutual, lad.”
He glanced down at Risa with an amused grin. “On the bright side, you didn’t make just one friend.”
Before she could react, Gale immediately scoffed. “Not really. If I had to categorize the brat, I’d say she falls somewhere on the ‘effort’ spectrum rather than the ‘bonus’ one.”
Risa’s glare could’ve melted steel. “You’re not exactly my first choice of company, you damned scrawny bastard.”
Blamenco laughed harder, clutching his gut. “You two sure get along well.”
Gale rolled his eyes. “If this is your idea of ‘getting along,’ remind me never to see you argue with anyone.”
The tunnel fell quiet again after that, save for the steady crunch of boots on gravel and the faint hiss of torches. The air grew thicker as they walked, and the light struggled more and more to reach the edges of the walls.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Gale stopped short. The others nearly bumped into him.
Before them stood a solid wall of rock, smooth and seamless—no cracks, no carvings, just an unbroken surface that swallowed the torchlight whole.
Blamenco frowned, scratching the side of his head. “Surely this isn’t the end of the line…”
Gale took a slow step forward, running his hand along the surface. It was too clean, too deliberate. “Doubt it,” he said. “Someone’s clearly trying to stop us from going forward.”
He turned his head slightly, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And the more of these obstacles we come across…” He tapped the rock twice with his knuckles. “…the more I’m sure we’re on the right path.”
Risa folded her arms, the orange glow of the torch painting her face in faint gold. “That may be,” she said, “but I don’t see a way forward.” Her tone carried that tired mix of realism and irritation that came from spending too much time around Gale.
She exhaled sharply, her breath fogging in the cool air. “The rocks here might be just as brittle as before, and I doubt you can shrink the whole mountain like you did with that boulder.”
Gale clicked his tongue, staring at the wall with narrowed eyes. She wasn’t wrong. The stone didn’t look separate—it was part of the tunnel itself, molded from the same formation.
Shrinking it might not just break the passage, it could take the entire mountain with it. Which, apart from being suicidal, was probably outside his pay grade.
He couldn’t brute-force it either. One swing too hard, and they’d be buried faster than a Marine report under bureaucratic red tape.
Even so, Gale just shrugged. “Luckily,” he said, lips curling into that cocky half-grin, “I have more tricks up my sleeve.”
Blamenco raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Oh? This I’ve got to see.”
Gale stepped up to the wall, pressing his palm against the cold surface once more. “Watch and learn,” he muttered.
This time, he didn’t aim to shrink anything. Instead, he focused on the density—on the way the stone pressed together, how tightly its particles clung to one another.
Bit by bit, he willed that pressure to fade. The wall began to hum faintly, a low vibration spreading outward from the point beneath his hand. The air shimmered ever so slightly, as if the space itself had gone soft.
After a few long seconds, Gale pulled his hand away, flexed his fingers, and then—
Flick.
The sound was light, almost comical. But the effect wasn’t.
A sharp crack echoed through the tunnel, and in the next instant, the solid rock before them shattered like brittle glass. Shards and dust scattered across the floor, leaving behind a jagged but perfectly navigable opening.
Gale dusted his hands off with a grin. “And that,” he said smugly, “is how you open a door without knocking.”
Risa blinked at the now-open passage, then let out an incredulous laugh. “You know, you’re actually useful to have around. Maybe even tolerable if you didn’t talk so much.”
Gale snorted and reached over, rapping his knuckles lightly against her head. “Ow—!” she yelped, glaring at him.
“Almost had me fooled there,” he said with a grin. “Thought you were about to say something nice.”
Still rubbing her head, Risa muttered something that sounded like a curse as Gale ducked through the opening.
The air beyond was different—cooler, drier, carrying a faint metallic tang. The tunnel stretched on, smooth and deliberate this time, as if carved by hands instead of nature. Gale’s torchlight flickered across the walls, until—
Gleam.
A flash of silver caught his eye. Something metallic glinted from the darkness ahead.
Gale froze mid-step, the light of his torch steadying on the object. His posture changed immediately—relaxed but alert, like a predator scenting something just out of view.
“...Huh,” he muttered softly. “That’s new.”
Almost too quickly, Gale’s hand shot to his pocket—lightning-fast, practiced, instinctive. In the blink of an eye, a dozen miniature torches clinked into his palm. Without missing a beat, he willed each one back to full size, the air popping faintly with each restoration.
He lit them one by one, the flames sparking to life with a hiss, and began tossing them across the chamber like a pyromaniac with style.
The darkness retreated all at once.
The room before them sprawled wide and open, easily the size of a small hall. The walls were smooth, reinforced with beams of metal, and the ground was flat stone—manmade, deliberate. But it wasn’t the structure that made them all freeze.
It was what filled it.
Rows upon rows of heavy, reinforced chests lined the room. Iron-banded, lock-secured, some so old their surfaces had fused with rust and dust. The torches’ flames danced off their metal corners, making them glint like sirens in the dark.
They practically screamed, I have treasure inside!
Gale blinked once. Twice. Then let out a slow, stunned breath.
“Well, I’ll be damned…” he muttered, eyes wide and reflecting the orange glow. “We actually found the treasure.”
Risa crossed her arms, ever the voice of reason—or pessimism, depending on who you asked. “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. What we found is a bunch of chests.”
She pointed toward one skeptically. “Knowing our luck, they’re probably filled with… I don’t know, rocks. Or garbage. Maybe even shit.”
Gale slowly turned his head toward her, the torchlight flickering over his deadpan stare. “You’d better hope they’re not,” he said flatly, “because if they are, I’m throwing you in one and losing the key.”
Risa glared, lips twitching. “You don’t even have the key, idiot.”
Gale glared right back. “Then I’ll have one forged, just for you.”
Before the argument could escalate into another one of their trademark “who’s the bigger moron” routines, Blamenco cleared his throat loudly, the sound echoing like a cannon. “Alright, you two, enough. Let’s just calm down and see what we’ve actually got here.”
His tone carried that rare authority that could only come from someone who’d seen more fights, storms, and hangovers than both of them combined.
Instantly, both Gale and Risa froze like scolded children.
Then, without a second of hesitation, Gale bolted forward, dropping to his knees in front of the nearest chest. His eyes gleamed with the kind of manic reverence usually reserved for prophets and gamblers about to flip their last coin.
He rested both hands on the lid, bowing his head dramatically.
“Please,” he muttered under his breath, “God, Allah, Buddha, Sengoku, Oda, Davy Jones—whoever’s listening—let this not be friendship or some other anti-materialistic propaganda crap…”
And with that prayer to every divine and fictional entity he could think of, Gale slowly, reverently, began to lift the lid.
Hovering over Gale’s shoulder, Blamenco and Risa leaned in close—close enough to feel the tension radiating off him. Gale was taking his sweet time opening the chest, fingers gripping the edge like he was disarming a bomb instead of unveiling possible riches.
Every creak of the hinges sounded louder than thunder in the silence that followed.
Risa folded her arms, whispering, “You’d think he was opening a coffin.”
“Maybe for his hopes,” Blamenco muttered back with a grin.
Gale ignored them both, his eyes fixed on the lid as he inched it upward. The faint groan of aged metal filled the air, dragging out for what felt like an eternity.
After an excruciating half minute, the lid cracked open just wide enough for a sliver of torchlight to slip through—and what came back wasn’t darkness.
It was gold.
The reflected gleam hit all three of them square in the face, a dazzling, radiant glow that made the walls themselves shimmer. For one, impossible heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then Gale’s pupils dilated, and his soul nearly left his body.
“Holy—” he didn’t finish the word before his instincts took over. With a strength born purely of greed and disbelief, he yanked the lid fully open—so violently that it tore free from its hinges and clattered across the stone floor.
A storm of coins erupted.
Round, jingling gold pieces flew through the air, catching the light as they spun and danced like a thousand tiny suns. The sound was glorious—metal clinking, echoing through the chamber like the laughter of every pirate who’d ever lived.
And that wasn’t all.
Inside the chest, piled high and spilling over the rim, was a kaleidoscope of treasure: necklaces of silver and pearl, jeweled rings big enough to blind a man, sapphires and rubies gleaming in every color imaginable.
It was a sea of wealth, glimmering and alive, a dragon’s hoard born of centuries of greed.
Gale stared, mouth slightly open, eyes wide enough to swallow the sight whole. The torchlight flickered across his awestruck face as he whispered, almost reverently,
“…We actually found it.”
The golden glow shimmered across their faces, the sound of coins still tinkling as they settled back into the chest.
And for the first time in a long while, even Gale couldn’t think of a single joke to say.
