Chapter Twenty-Two: Villagers Who Have Not Changed

Staring at the timid little girl watching him, something stirred within Roland, and a surge of anger washed over him. He recalled how, ten years ago, he had told Golden Lion that the villagers might feel some guilt over his death. Yet now, it was clear that this was never the case. A decade had passed, and not only had they failed to change, but there wasn’t even the slightest hint of remorse.

“Kill them. They’re not worth your sympathy.” A voice echoed in Roland’s mind, tempting him. If not for his steadfast memory that he had once been a lawyer, not an executioner, Roland might have already been consumed by his fury. Though some people indeed do not deserve to be called human, nor even to live, Roland was not one who thirsted for blood. Sin should be judged by law—that was the creed Roland had carried for over twenty years in his previous life.

Just as he hadn’t killed the pirates who became prisoners, so too did he restrain himself. Deaths in battle were inevitable, so when fighting the Krieg Pirates, Roland had shown no mercy, cutting down countless foes with his flying slash. But after the battle ended, those who surrendered became captives; as long as they behaved, Roland had no further wish to kill.

For reasons unknown, Roland began to feel unworthy of the fruit he possessed. At the same time, a new idea quietly took root in his mind—a mere seedling, but present nonetheless.

“Is your family a pirate as well?” Suppressing his anger, Roland forced a gentle smile and slowly approached the little girl.

“Family? Pirate?” Hearing these words, the girl’s fear deepened, as if she remembered something terrible.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not one of them. My father was a pirate too, but he died, and then the villagers drove me out. Today, I’ve come back just to visit his grave.” Roland pointed to the distant mound and the newly erected tombstone, explaining in as gentle a voice as he could, afraid any harshness might frighten the girl.

His warmth and genuine smile seemed to ease her fear a little, though she still hid behind the tree, only peeking out. She glanced at the grave mound and at Nami, who stood nearby smiling sweetly. Perhaps she believed Roland’s words, for she had never seen either of them in the village before.

“My father wasn’t a pirate. He was framed by those people in white uniforms and hats. He was just an ordinary sailor,” the girl whispered, her eyes reddening.

“Framed by the navy?” The anger Roland had worked so hard to suppress surged back. In this world, the navy was not just tasked with capturing pirates, but also maintaining local order—in short, they were the enforcers. For enforcers to break the law was something Roland could not abide.

But before this little girl, Roland could not unleash his fury; he feared frightening her.

“Hey, if we’re not mistaken, you’re Roland, the brat who should have died ten years ago.” Just as Roland pondered how to comfort the girl, a group of men from the village suddenly appeared, carrying hoes and harpoons, glaring at Roland and the girl beside him with undisguised contempt.

When Roland turned around, the villagers, seeing that all-too-familiar face, grew even angrier.

“So it’s really you, Roland. Ten years ago, you lucked out and survived. Why has a scoundrel like you come back?”

“If I’m not wrong, that pirate ship at the dock is yours, isn’t it? Who would’ve thought the father’s a scoundrel, and now the son’s turned out just as worthless.”

“Looks like scoundrels get along best—two pirate children sticking together.”

As Roland faced them, the villagers immediately confirmed his identity and began cursing him loudly.

“Hey, what do you mean, calling him a scoundrel? Even if Roland is a pirate’s son, what fault is that of his? Was it his choice? And that little girl—how could you cast out such a young child?” Nami couldn’t hold back any longer as she heard their insults. Her impression of Roland had been positive along the journey; she even thought he’d make a fine navy officer, capable of changing the navy’s culture. But these villagers, simply because Roland was a pirate’s son, labelled him a scoundrel and a waste. That was more than Nami’s fiery temper could bear.

“That tattoo on her hand—I’ve seen it on the wanted posters. The leader of the Arlong Pirates, who looks more monstrous than a demon, has the same mark. She’s with that monster too, a pirate.” One villager suddenly exposed Nami’s identity.

“They’re both pirates.”

“I knew it—who else would sympathize with pirate trash? Turns out she’s trash herself.”

“Trash! Get out of our village!”

“That’s right. Get out! You don’t deserve to be on Rossia Island!”

“Leave, or we’ll beat you to death!”

The villagers continued to curse, faces reddened, necks bulging with anger. The louder they shouted, the more righteous they seemed to themselves.

“I once fantasized that you might feel some guilt over the death of an eight-year-old child like me. Now, I see I was wrong.” Roland gently stroked the girl’s hair, handed her to Nami, then his gaze turned cold as he stared at the villagers.

After the villagers had arrived, the little girl beside him began to tremble—trembling with fear.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through that makes you hate pirates so much.” Roland gripped his short sword, approaching the villagers as he slowly drew it.

The cold gleam of the blade made the villagers finally fearful, and they stepped back. But seeing their numbers, they quickly grew enraged at being intimidated by a single youth, raising their hoes and harpoons, ready to attack Roland.