The small boat, the "Shimozuki Maru" (Omamori Heisaburo, with Shikamaru's tacit approval, named this boat carrying their last hope after their master's family name), bobbed and swayed like a stubborn leaf on the dark, turbulent New World sea.
The days of sailing were a hellish ordeal.
First, the body.
Despite Bing Sanlang's best efforts to clean Shikamaru's severed arm wound with the herbs and fresh water he carried, and to change the bandages, it inevitably became infected under the combined torment of the crude cabin, salty sea breeze, and violent pitching.
Redness, festering, and a persistent high fever clung to him like maggots, frantically devouring his already weak life force.
Excruciating pain, like a tide, crashed against his nerves, rousing him from unconsciousness and dragging him back into a deeper darkness in his weakness.
His consciousness often wavered between clear planning and the delirious ramblings of a fever.
Fragments of his original memories—the towering figure of his father, Shimotsuki Ushimaru, the cherry blossom-filled courtyard of Wano Country, Orochi's nauseating sneer, Kaido's sky-obscuring transformation into a Azure Dragon—mixed wildly with the chaotic information in the transmigrator's mind about the Marineford War, the Four Emperors' dynamic, and future technology, making it impossible for him to distinguish between illusion and reality.
Only the bone-deep pain in his left arm was the sole anchor of his existence.
"Young Master! Hold on! Drink some water!"
Bing Sanlang's voice always carried an undisguised panic.
His rough, large hand clumsily wiped Shikamaru's burning forehead, and seeing his young master's face twisted in pain and his cracked lips, his heart was wrenched.
He wished he could take his place, but he could only pray in vain, while simultaneously exerting all his strength to control this small boat, which was far too unfamiliar to him.
The New World lived up to its name as a "monster's nest."
Violent weather was commonplace; one moment it would be calm, the next they could be caught in towering waves carrying thunder.
Bing Sanlang, a samurai accustomed to the "inland seas" of Wano Country, was completely new to sailing a ship.
He relied on his strong physique and will to survive, clinging desperately to the mast through one storm after another, straining to turn the rudder to avoid shipwreck and death.
The crude sea chart and the old, unreliable compass seemed ridiculous in the face of the complex and ever-changing New World currents.
They deviated from their intended "southward" course more than once.
Even more terrifying were the threats from the sea.
Once, a giant Sea King, tens of meters long, was attracted by the smell of blood (possibly seeping from Shikamaru's wound) and emerged from the deep sea, its massive shadow engulfing the small boat.
Its tooth-filled maw, like an abyss, rushed towards them with a A fishy wind blows straight at you and Come.
Bing Sanlang's eyes were bloodshot, and he roared, drawing the katana from his waist—it was the treasured sword "oathkeeper," bestowed upon the Omamori family by Shimotsuki Ushimaru.
He would never allow anything to harm the Young Master behind him!
Bing Sanlang, with the long sword in hand, stared intently at the enormous Sea King in front of him.
He took a deep breath, then suddenly drew his sword with lightning speed, instantly producing a dazzling flash of light.
"Iai Slash: Pale Moon!"
As Bing Sanlang roared, the sword light, like a bright moon in the night sky, cut through the darkness and directly cleaved the Sea King.
The sword light collided with the Sea King's body, making a crisp sound.
Immediately after, a shocking scene unfolded—the giant Sea King was directly split in half by that single strike!
The cut was as smooth as a mirror, without the slightest obstruction or pause.
Bing Sanlang sheathed his sword, the entire movement fluid and seamless.
He stood silently, watching the Sea King, split in half, slowly fall, splashing water.
In the midst of violent pitching and the haze of fever, Shimotsuki Lumaru, relying on a vague sense of direction from the "plot" and his last clear understanding of the sea chart, hoarsely shouted a direction: "Left... full rudder! Into... that fog!" He vaguely sensed the presence of living beings there.
Bing Sanlang did not hesitate for a moment, using all his strength to turn the rudder sharply.
Bing Sanlang was soaked in cold sweat and seawater, and the hand gripping the hilt of his sword was still uncontrollably wrapped in Armament Haki.
After a long time, he saw land.
Entering the cabin, he looked at his young master, curled in the corner of the cabin, breathing faintly, and his shock and loyalty reached an unprecedented level.
Because they had been sailing at sea for half a month.
The dry food and fresh water prepared by Shimotsuki Yasuie were limited.
Bing Sanlang prioritized giving most of the food and clean water to Shikamaru, while he himself survived by catching fish from the sea and collecting rainwater.
Fresh water was especially precious, consumed quickly under the scorching sun.
The crude filtration device was inefficient, and the collected rainwater also carried a salty taste.
Shikamaru's high fever further exacerbated his dehydration.
Amidst storms, currents, and detours to avoid danger, they unknowingly strayed from Shikamaru's designated "southward" main course.
The crude sea chart had blurry markings, and the surrounding sea area was completely unfamiliar to them.
Fortunately, they saw land, and Shikamaru's injury could be treated.
Shikamaru, still suffering from a high fever and a muddled consciousness, was jolted awake by a pungent odor.
It was a strange smell, a mixture of sulfur, chemicals, and some kind of... decaying scent.
He struggled to open his eyes, certain he was on land. Bing Sanlang was asleep at the door. Shikamaru looked out the window.
In the distance, on the horizon, stood a massive island.
The island was shrouded in a strange, colorful mist.
"What... what the hell is that place?"
Shikamaru's face was filled with shock and vigilance.
The ominous aura emanating from the island.
Shimotsuki Lumaru's cloudy pupils suddenly constricted!
Although the high fever dulled his thoughts, the sight before him instantly ignited a spark deep within his heart.
"Hyo... Bing Sanlang!" Shikamaru screamed with all his might.
"Young Master!!!" Bing Sanlang's cry of alarm was scattered by the sea breeze.
He looked at his completely unconscious, barely breathing young master in his arms.
He could only grit his teeth, with only one frantic thought remaining: Zoro Bei Kingdom! Bartholomew Kuma! Only by finding that person would his Young Master have a glimmer of hope!
The next day, Bing Sanlang left the Twin Islands with living supplies in the morning.
The small boat, the "Shimotsuki Maru," carrying a heavy shadow of death and a glimmer of hope so faint it was almost extinguished, continued to sail on the sea.
Bing Sanlang, like a battered lone wolf refusing to fall, battled the dangers of the sea while doing everything possible to maintain Shikamaru's vital signs.
He dripped clean water onto his young master's cracked lips little by little.
Based on his remaining sense of direction and Shikamaru's repeated emphasis on words like "south" and "Zoro Bei" before he lost consciousness, he stubbornly adjusted their course.
After an unknown number of days, the Shimotsuki Maru passed through the Calm Belt region.
Just as Bing Sanlang's spirit and physical strength were on the verge of collapse, and food and fresh water had completely run out, a touch of green, representing life, finally appeared on the distant horizon.
It was a lush coastline, with some simple fishing boats anchored in the harbor.
The sea breeze seemed to carry the fresh scent of earth and plants.
This was the place indicated by the map markings and the permanent log pose.
Bing Sanlang's bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at the green, his cracked lips moving, barely able to make a sound.
He used his last ounce of strength to maneuver the dilapidated "Shimotsuki Maru," its canvas riddled with holes, towards the unknown port.
The small boat struggled to run aground next to a secluded small dock.
Bing Sanlang, carrying Shikamaru, who was still unconscious, feverish, and whose severed arm wound emitted an ominous odor, stumbled onto solid ground.
He looked around and saw a scene of poverty but relative peace.
Simply dressed fishermen looked curiously at the two disheveled strangers, especially the child with the horrifying injuries.
"Please... please..." Bing Sanlang spoke hoarsely, his common tongue (Wano Country was isolated, but as a high-ranking samurai retainer, he knew some basics) heavily accented and filled with desperate pleading.
"Doctor... save... my child! Where... is there a doctor? Or... a church? A priest? Bartholomew... Kuma Priest?"
He struggled to utter the name his young master considered their last hope.
The fishermen exchanged glances, their eyes showing sympathy and a hint of caution.
One elderly fisherman hesitated, then pointed towards a muddy path deeper into the town: "Follow this road... to the end of the slum... there's an old church... Kuma Priest... he's often there... helping the poor with their illnesses... but you two..." He looked at Shikamaru's terrible injuries and Bing Sanlang's almost collapsed state, "...he might be able to help..."
"Thank you! Thank you!" Bing Sanlang, as if grasping a lifeline, disregarded etiquette and stumbled, carrying Shikamaru, towards the direction the fisherman had indicated.
He hurried through the dirty, narrow streets, ignoring the strange looks cast his way, with only one belief in his heart: find Kuma Priest! Save his Young Master!
The dilapidated church appeared before him, its wooden door ajar. Bing Sanlang pushed the door open with his shoulder and rushed inside.
The church interior was dimly lit, sparsely furnished, yet exceptionally clean.
An unusually tall figure stood with his back to the door, bent over, treating a festering sore on a scrawny old woman's leg.
He wore a black priest's robe, but his movements were remarkably gentle and precise.
Hearing the door crash open, the giant figure slowly straightened and turned.
What met Bing Sanlang's gaze was a gentle face.
He wore a trapezoidal white hat with scattered brown spots and two bear ears on top. He wore rimless glasses and had black, curly hair. He was not one to smile.
Beneath the brim of his hat was an unusually stern, even somewhat fierce, countenance.
His physique was exceptionally robust and imposing, far beyond that of an ordinary person; simply standing there, he exuded an invisible sense of pressure.
Most striking was the huge, thick book he held in his hands—the "BIBLE."
Bartholomew Kuma—the future "Tyrant" Kuma, currently the "Benevolent" Kuma, an officer of the Revolutionary Army, and the guardian of the Zoro Bei Kingdom's slums—calmly regarded the unexpected intruders.
His gaze swept over Bing Sanlang's tattered Wano Country-style samurai attire, finally resting on the barely breathing child with horrifying injuries on his back.
His eyes were as deep as the sea, showing no ripples whatsoever.
"Priest... sir..." Bing Sanlang fell to his knees with a thud, this iron-willed samurai now in tears, his voice choked and broken.
"Please... save my Young Master! He... he's dying!"
Kuma said nothing, only walked forward quietly.
His massive body cast a huge shadow in the small church.
He extended his giant hand, yet gently reached for Shimotsuki Lumaru's burning forehead, while his sharp gaze scrutinized the terrible severed arm wound and signs of infection.
Just as Kuma's fingers were about to touch Shikamaru's forehead, the long-unconscious Shimotsuki Lumaru, as if sensing something on the brink of death, his eyelashes trembled violently, and his cracked lips moved, using his last remaining consciousness and strength.
He uttered a few faint but incredibly clear words, pointing directly to the core of the giant's identity: "Thank you!"
"Good child, you will be fine." Kuma's voice was very gentle.
Kuma lifted Shikamaru, and with his right hand facing Shikamaru's small body, the damage Shikamaru had endured over the past few months was expelled by Kuma.
Simply put, it means all the target's pain and fatigue are repelled from within their body, forming a red paw-shaped bubble. This bubble can be transferred to another target's body, and that target will then experience all the pain and fatigue of the first target.
"Kuma, I heard there were shipwreck survivors on the island today?"
"There's a child, badly injured!"
The person arrived before her voice, and it was indeed Ginny.
18-year-old Ginny had long, straight pink hair, wore denim shorts, a white short-sleeved shirt, and brown ankle boots with low heels, with a curvaceous figure. She was a big eater, never without food in her hand.
