Chapter Eight: The Iceberg

Buffon stood before Warehouse No. 9, counting the general-level zombies that had already been stitched together.

In the three years since Moria had departed, he had cleansed hundreds of general-level corpses, with thousands more of lower ranks. After inspecting the finished goods warehouse, he proceeded to the ice storage, gazing at the gradually diminishing stock with a faint sense of unease.

“Is this meant to force me out to sea as a doctor?” he wondered privately.

At that moment, the voice of the Den Den Mushi interrupted his thoughts.

“Moshi moshi! Brother Buffon, Lord Moria and his crew have returned, bringing back a great treasure! Come help out, yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho!”

Buffon hung up, locked the ice storage door, and headed towards the port.

Arriving at the harbor, he saw Moria’s ship followed by a line of vessels bearing various pirate flags—no doubt spoils from his latest rampage.

Yet the most striking sight was at the end of the convoy.

Three navy warships were towing an enormous iceberg, anchored outside the walls of the Thriller Bark.

“Oz has finally arrived?” Buffon silently mused.

He then focused his now level-three vision onto the three warships. A tall man clad in a white coat, wearing a sleep mask across his forehead, stood at the prow.

“Unbelievable, Aokiji is being used as a mobile refrigeration unit! The World Government must truly value Moria this time.”

Soon enough, Moria leapt off his ship and lazily said, “Buffon, take a team and collect the corpse from the navy. That big fellow will surely excite you.”

Buffon nodded, silently led a squad of zombie puppets aboard a vessel, and set off.

His ship brushed past the warships, and at that moment, Buffon and Aokiji were separated by only a few meters.

Aokiji asked coolly, “Do you need our warships to blast apart the iceberg for you?”

“Suit yourself,” Buffon replied coldly, though inwardly he thought, “That’s a bit blatant for a provocation. Isn’t this iceberg something you could erase with a snap of your fingers?”

Buffon’s boat reached the foot of the iceberg as the warships turned for home.

He could now make out Oz’s features—massive horns atop his head, tusks jutting from his lower jaw up to his brow.

At sixty-seven meters tall, Oz was a giant whose corpse could only have been delivered thanks to Aokiji’s assistance; otherwise, Buffon might have had to bring the entire Thriller Bark over to retrieve him.

Just then, the roar of cannons sounded behind. Navy shells burst forth, slamming into the iceberg above Buffon’s vessel.

With a thunderous crash, a massive chunk of ice broke loose, plummeting towards his deck.

Buffon looked up, smiled faintly, bent his knees and pushed off the deck, sending the ship downward as his body soared into the sky.

His right leg swung high and kicked forcefully, shattering the ice block.

A voice echoed in his mind, “Goalkeeper’s Secret Art: Backfield Volley.”

“Well now, even the names match! Not bad,” Buffon muttered internally as he landed back on the deck.

A stray shell now flew directly at his ship. He donned his gloves, caught the shell single-handedly, and tossed it back into the sea.

“Goalkeeper’s Secret Art: One-Handed Catch,” the voice chimed in his mind.

“Nice!” Buffon praised silently.

Moria’s voice now rang out, “Aokiji, you bastard! Damage Oz’s corpse again and I’ll storm Marine Headquarters!” Buffon heard this and could only shake his head helplessly.

In the end, Moria himself dragged Oz’s body back.

As for Buffon’s feats, his obedient zombie puppets aboard would never breathe a word to Moria.

Back at the castle, Oz’s corpse was placed inside the massive ice storage marked with the number 900.

Moria and his four companions, along with Buffon, stood in the air corridor of the ice room, gazing at the “sleeping” giant. Moria spoke carelessly, “Hogback, Buffon, this big fellow is yours—get him patched up as quickly as possible.”

“Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! At your command, Lord Moria!” Hogback replied cheerfully.

Buffon merely nodded, his expression unchanged.

…

The next day, some general-level zombies from Warehouse No. 9 were delivered to the castle’s banquet hall. Clearly, Moria intended to imbue them with shadows.

In the hall, Moria admired the zombies, indistinguishable from living men, exclaiming, “Buffon, you rascal, after years away you come back with such a surprise! With this level of stitching, I could sell these bodies to those Celestial Dragons…”

He chuckled wickedly. “Hogback, let Ryuma’s zombie puppet serve as Buffon’s bodyguard. Give him a ship, too—let him roam the seas.”

With that, Moria took a shadow from the shadow box and placed it into Ryuma’s corpse.

Half a day later, Buffon was in his laboratory, preparing potions for Oz, when the clatter of wooden clogs echoed from the corridor.

“Ryuma, is that you? Without Brook’s shadow, I wonder what interesting shadow Moria gave you?”

As he pondered, the lab door opened and Hogback entered, bringing Ryuma with him.

“Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! Buffon, this is Lord Moria’s gift to you—a bodyguard to ensure your safety!”

Hearing this, Buffon turned to Ryuma.

Ryuma looked at him and spoke, “Yo-ho-ho-ho, Lord Buffon, please take care of me from now on!”

Buffon’s mind immediately filled with dark lines. “Brook, you fool, didn’t I send you away already? Did Moria just happen to catch you again on his return?”

Still, he found the matter of having a personal bodyguard rather agreeable—it would allow him to begin certain small schemes.

After Hogback departed, Buffon took Ryuma back to his room. Confirming there were no spider-mouse spies, Buffon took out a packet of salt, pinched a bit, and placed it in Ryuma’s mouth.

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Ryuma stepped back three paces, drew his sword Shusui, and pointed it at Buffon.

“You! Are you the young man who threw me and my ship out that day?”

Buffon nodded. “How did Moria catch you again?”

“My name is Brook…”

He then launched into a half-hour tale. Though Buffon already knew his story well, he allowed the poor fellow—whose soul had wandered the sea for decades before finding his body—to vent.

After listening, Buffon said, “Brook, if I return your shadow now, I suppose…”

He paused, then continued, “Defeat me, and I’ll let you go.”

Ryuma straightened, thumbed Shusui from its sheath, and then—

Buffon snapped his fingers crisply. Ryuma instantly collapsed into a pile of corpse fragments.

Buffon intoned aloud and in his mind, “Advanced Stitching: Unthread!”