Dragged by the chain connected to his neck and handcuffs, forced to walk without resistance, he now knew perfectly well where he was and what was happening to him.
"If I disobey, I'll die. If I don't please, I'll die. If he gets bored of me… I'll die."
He whispered to himself the many ways he could die, his life in the hands of someone else's whims.
"It's good that you know your place, slave," said the man dragging him along—different from the one who had purchased him. He raised his head but felt no will for anything.
"Who are you?" I asked, receiving no response, only silence. I sighed, trying to calm myself in the midst of it all, already desperate before even meeting the Celestial Dragon. But with their reputation… the despair was justified.
"Could you at least take off the blindfold?"
It was a bold request, but he held onto the hope of finally seeing something, of not being kept in the dark any longer.
No answer.
I felt him stop, which made me halt in confusion. I sighed again, exhausted, my throat dry and aching for water.
I heard footsteps. Having been blindfolded for so long had sharpened my hearing and other senses.
The footsteps ceased, but I could feel someone standing in front of me.
"Saint Gilert, I've brought your slave. Payment has already been made," the man holding my chain said with great care and respect, making me realize I was now standing before the Celestial Dragon. I swallowed hard.
"Yes, I can see that. He seems to have some muscle. But that's not why I bought you, slave," he said to me directly, making me swallow what little saliva I had left. His footsteps approached, stopping close to me.
"You have a very strong will to live—I can see that. People like you… are my favorite to play with."
Nervousness spread through my body. My mind frantically searched for any One Piece knowledge that could get me out of this situation. But one truth became painfully clear:
Without power, there is no escape.
With that realization, his hell began.
---
"AAAAAH!! P-PLEASE!! IT HURTS!! STOP!! I'M BEGGING YOU!"
Chains clanked in the dungeon where, at last, he could see something with bloodshot eyes wide open, screaming and begging in pain.
The reason? A servant of the Celestial Dragon held an iron rod with a symbol at the tip—a circle with three spikes—glowing red-hot. It was pressed into his back by the servant, whose expression showed slight irritation at the screams, searing his flesh and leaving an unerasable mark.
The slave brand—an eternal reminder that you are, and always will be, property, not a living being.
From that moment on, you ceased to be human. Even a pet would have more privileges than you.
"Yes! That's what I meant! Your screams are magnificent! Hahaha!"
The Celestial Dragon watched it all, clapping slowly, laughing with his greasy, aged face. He was clearly over sixty, his white-streaked beard and receding hairline betraying his age.
After what felt like hours, the iron was finally pulled away, leaving bits of melted flesh stuck to it. They had to separate it carefully so it wouldn't fuse to him.
"No more… please…" he whimpered in agony, trembling. His arms were raised, shackled to the ceiling, keeping him upright yet kneeling.
His face was a mess of tears, mucus, and pure agony. Every part of him begged for the pain in his back to end.
"Hey! Don't break so fast, you stupid slave!"
The Celestial Dragon shoved his servant aside with a grunt and began kicking his new acquisition in the stomach.
"I paid a lot for you."
Kick
"I want to have more fun with you before you break—or kill yourself."
Kick
"Do you understand me!? You don't have the right to die until I'm completely done enjoying you, you damn dog!!"
Kick
Breathing heavily from the effort, sweat dripping from his face, the Celestial Dragon looked down at the broken slave. Realizing he'd have to come back later, he clicked his tongue in annoyance and walked away.
"Bring the new ones to my chamber," he ordered without looking back. The servant bowed deeply.
"Understood, Saint Gilert," he replied, exiting the dungeon and locking the gate. He walked past numerous other cells, filled with sobbing, prayers, and death. The stench of rotting corpses flooded his nose—though after the pain subsided, it was finally the mind's turn to awaken.
"Why me…?" he whispered, lost in countless questions.
Did the world hate him? Had he done something wrong in a past life?
Or maybe… was all of this just a bad dream?
"A bad dream… I doubt it…"
The searing pain in his back reminded him of the brutal, inescapable truth. He clenched his shackled fists.
"I always read in fanfics about transmigration: you wake up, get a system, become strong, and all the girls fall for you…"
He recounted the stories from his world, tears streaming down his face—but a broken smile appeared on his lips.
"Is it just bad luck? I landed here with no advantages, no freedom, no power… this has to be some sick joke…"
His fists tightened further, nails digging into his skin and drawing blood—but it was nothing compared to what he'd just endured.
"THIS HAS TO BE A FUCKING JOKE!!!"
He screamed at the sea-stone ceiling, his voice echoing through the dungeon. His eyes burned with rage.
The sorrow was gone. The pain, too.
Only one thing remained:
Anger. Fury. Wrath and resentment.
Toward everything and everyone.
Furious at the injustice of this fate he didn't deserve.
Reason abandoned him, leaving only pure hatred.
And because of all that rage… he didn't notice something:
In his vision, small letters appeared briefly before fading away.
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