69novels Chapter 1129 1,128: The Fishmen of the East Blue, Arlong!
Chapter 1129 1,128: The Fishmen of the East Blue, Arlong!
The sun over the East Blue that day was viciously bright.
Light slammed down onto the sea and shattered into blinding flakes of gold.
Cocoyasi Village looked the same as always—lazy, unhurried.
Fishermen mended nets. Old women sat under the eaves shelling beans. Barefoot kids chased crabs along the beach.
No one thought there was anything special about the day—
until the bell at the village entrance started ringing like it had gone mad.
The sound was urgent and shrill, like a knife scraping against your ears.
Then came screams—women's, children's, men's—blending together and detonating all at once.
"Fish-men! Fish-men are ashore!"
No one knew who shouted it first.
The whole village went up like a kicked beehive—instant chaos.
A wave crashed onto the sand, and a pack of dark silhouettes strode out of the water.
Their scales glinted under the sun with a cold shine, like blue-black iron plating.
They dragged blades and carried guns, mouths split wide with jagged teeth.
They smashed anything they saw.
A fish stall by the road got kicked over in one blow—flipped completely. Wooden tubs rolled far away, dead fish staring blankly up from the mud.
Clotheslines were torn down. Sheets and blankets scattered across the ground, trampled into dirty footprints.
Someone poked their head out a window to see what was happening—only to be nailed by a flying rock. Glass exploded everywhere with a sharp crash.
"Run! Run!"
Only then did the villagers react, spinning and bolting deeper into the village—dragging family members, stumbling, crawling, scrambling.
But how could they outrun fish-men?
Those monsters—over two meters tall—caught the old man who lagged behind in just a few strides. One of them grabbed him by the collar, hoisted him up, and tossed him away like trash.
The old man slammed into a dirt wall with a dull thud—and didn't move.
"Hahaha! Weak as bugs!"
The fish-men roared with laughter, voices rough and hoarse.
The one in front stood out even among them.
Greenish-blue skin, wrinkles deep enough to pinch a fly to death.
A cigarette hung from his mouth, the ember flaring and fading.
He was taller than the others by a head, arms as thick as a normal man's thigh. When he stood there, his shadow could swallow someone whole.
Arlong.
He walked to the open patch in the center of the village where nets were usually spread out to dry, lifted his foot—
and stomped down.
Crack—
The tightly woven fishing net crumpled under his boot like paper, snapping into several pieces. Threads sprang loose and sprawled in a tangled mess across the ground.
The village went silent.
All that remained was the villagers' stifled breathing—and the whimpering of children trying to cry without daring to.
Arlong pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked off the ash.
"Listen up."
His voice wasn't loud, but every word hit like a chisel being driven into your ears.
"From today on, this village is under my control."
He paused, eyes drifting slowly over face after face drained white.
"Adults, one hundred thousand berries a month. Kids, fifty thousand. One berry short—"
He bared his teeth in a grin, needle-sharp.
"—and you pay with your life."
One hundred thousand berries.
Someone's legs gave out; they dropped straight to the ground.
"Th-that's impossible! We can't pay that!"
A young fisherman couldn't hold it in and shouted.
Arlong didn't even lift his eyelids.
A fish-man beside him moved—so fast it kicked up wind. In a blink he was in front of the fisherman, fist coming down.
Thump.
A dull impact.
The fisherman didn't even get a sound out before he flew backward, crashing into two people behind him before hitting the ground.
Blood poured from his nose and mouth. His chest caved in. He was breathing out—but not in.
The blood seeped into the mud, dark as ink.
No one dared speak again.
Dead silence.
Arlong liked the effect. He put the cigarette back between his lips, inhaled deep, and exhaled a crooked smoke ring.
"Collect it, house by house," he told his men with a lazy wave.
"If they don't pay—dispose of them."
The fish-men answered with a roar and surged into the village.
Banging doors. Wailing. The sound of things breaking—mixed together into a boiling stew of despair that churned the whole village.
Arlong and a few close followers strolled toward the edge of the village.
They passed a house and kicked the door open.
Inside, an old woman was on her knees, bowing and scraping her forehead against the floor. She dug out a few copper coins she'd hidden at the bottom of a water jar, hands shaking so badly she could barely hold them up.
A fish-man snatched the coins, weighed them in his palm, sneered at how little it was—then casually smashed the iron pot on the stove.
"Can't scrape together the full amount next month? Then die."
They kept walking.
Finally, they stopped in front of a small wooden house at the very outermost edge of the village.
It wasn't big, but it was clean.
Morning glories climbed along the fence, blooming wildly—purple blossoms swaying in the breeze.
A few clothes hung out front, washed to a pale white, sleeves clipped with wooden pegs, still dripping.
A fish-man walked up and kicked.
The fence collapsed with a loud clatter, half of it caving in. Broken slats jutted out like splinters.
The morning glory vines tore and sagged limply.
The wooden door slammed open.
Belle-mère burst out and planted herself in the doorway.
The coarse blouse she wore had been washed so many times the color had faded; the cuffs were worn fuzzy.
In her hands was an old hunting rifle, patches of rust blotching the barrel.
But her grip was rock-steady, knuckles stretched white.
Her back was straight as a rod.
"Don't come in."
Her voice wasn't loud, but every word was bitten off clean—
"Don't touch my children."
In the crack of the doorway, two small faces were squeezed tight.
The orange-haired one was Nami. The blue-haired one was Nojiko.
They clung to each other, small hands gripping each other's clothes so hard their knuckles went white.
Their eyes were huge, filled with tears trembling in the corners—but not falling.
They bit their lips hard, not daring to make a sound.
Arlong stopped and looked Belle-mère up and down.
Then he laughed.
"Interesting."
He pulled the cigarette away and crushed it out between his fingers.
"You? A plain human woman with a piece of junk like that—trying to stop me?"
Belle-mère didn't answer.
She leveled the rifle, muzzle aimed straight at Arlong.
The motion made the fish-men around him freeze for a beat—then burst into loud laughter.
"Boss, she wants to shoot you!"
"That thing even fire? Don't blow your own hand off!"
"Hey, lady, hurry up and kneel and beg—maybe our boss'll be in a good mood and leave you a whole corpse!"
Arlong lifted a hand, and the laughter died.
He stared at Belle-mère, contempt in his eyes like he was looking at an ant blocking the road.
"Brave," he said. "But stupid."
The instant the words left his mouth, he moved.
He didn't rush forward—he only raised an arm, and somehow there was a gun in his hand.
New model. Metal gleaming cold under the sun.
The barrel pointed at Belle-mère.
Almost at the same time, Belle-mère pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The old rifle boomed, low and heavy, coughing out a puff of black smoke.
The bullet tore past Arlong's fin-like ear, grazing it—then struck a fish-man behind him in the shoulder.
The fish-man howled and dropped, clutching the wound.
Arlong tilted his head slightly and reached up, touching his ear-fin.
His fingertips came away with a smear of blood.
The smile drained off his face, bit by bit.
"Looking to die."
Two words—cold as ice shards.
He squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
This shot was sharper. Cleaner.
Belle-mère's body jolted hard.
She looked down at her chest.
A red flower had bloomed there, spreading fast, soaking through her washed-faded blouse—wet and hot.
The hunting rifle slipped from her hands and clattered to the ground.
She swayed.
But she didn't fall.
Instead, she stepped forward half a step, blocking the doorway even more completely.
"Nami…" Her mouth moved; blood seeped from the corner of her lips. "Nojiko…"
Her voice was already hoarse.
"Run…"