The Black Serpent slowly docked alongside the island's shore. Wilder and his group disembarked.
Ashin and several dozen crew members remained aboard the Black Serpent to stand guard and begin repairs on the damaged ship.
Claire, Bacon, Yves, and ten crewmen followed Wilder onto the island.
Their landing spot was a desolate, rocky beach strewn with gravel. Just ahead lay a dense thicket of shoulder-high thorn bushes interspersed with massive boulders.
Wilder and his party pushed through the dense undergrowth. After walking for another ten minutes or so, a small town appeared before them.
The moment they stepped into the town, a strange, eerie atmosphere settled over the group.
Whoosh…
A gust of wind swept through, lifting fallen leaves from the street, swirling them around a few times before depositing them further down.
An unnerving silence permeated the air.
The entire town presented a scene of decay and dilapidation.
Few people could be seen on the straight main street. The houses and shops lining it were mostly shuttered tight. Only a handful still had their doors open, revealing empty interiors devoid of occupants.
The streets were paved with grayish-white flagstones, and the buildings were constructed of the same faded material. A distinct scent of rot and decay hung heavy in the air.
Wilder paused, his sharp eyes scanning the street and the buildings on either side. After a moment, his eyes narrowed slightly before his expression smoothed back to calm neutrality. He resumed walking forward.
Soon, the street opened up into a large, wide square. A fountain statue stood in the center. About a dozen residents were scattered sparsely around the square, some sitting, others standing.
They wore ragged clothing, their bodies gaunt and emaciated; they looked no different from beggars.
Wilder's group's arrival caught the attention of these townspeople. A few turned to look, their eyes flickering with a fleeting mixture of coldness and excitement that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Something's not right with these people," Bacon muttered under his breath.
"That much is obvious," Wilder replied, standing tall and straight. His eyes swept over the residents, and a faint smirk touched his lips.
"Someone's coming over," Claire observed. The group followed her gaze and saw an old woman, her body hunched with age, her face deeply wrinkled, slowly approaching them. She held a chipped pottery bowl in her hands.
"Young man, could you spare a little something to eat?" the old woman asked as she reached Wilder, tilting her head back to look up at his towering figure. Her voice was hoarse and weak.
The others behind Wilder fell silent, sneaking furtive glances at him.
Wilder remained utterly expressionless, simply gazing down at the old woman standing less than half a meter before him. She was as small and frail as a child. He didn't speak.
"Please? Young man, I haven't eaten a thing in two days," the old woman pleaded when Wilder didn't respond.
Wilder continued to stand perfectly still, silent, his eyes fixed downwards on her. His gaze wasn't overtly cold, yet it held not a shred of pity – it was like still, dead water, utterly without ripples.
Behind him, the reactions varied.
Bacon, for once, was uncharacteristically quiet.
Yves remained as cold and detached as ever.
Only Claire seemed hesitant, as if wanting to speak but holding back.
Sensing something, Wilder's eyes shifted slightly backwards for a fraction of a second before returning to the old woman.
The pleading look on the old woman's face intensified.
Their eyes met and held for a long moment…
"No," Wilder finally said, his voice devoid of warmth.
"Boss…" Claire began, her voice cautious and soft.
Before she could continue, Wilder turned his head, his eyes utterly empty of emotion, containing only ice and indifference.
His gaze landed on her face, and cold, emotionless words fell from his lips: "I am very disappointed in you… Claire."
Claire visibly flinched, her body trembling slightly. She looked up, meeting his glacial stare, and felt a chill seep into her very core, colder than anything she had ever experienced.
Her pupils trembled slightly. She lowered her head, her voice tinged with fear, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"
"Remember!" Wilder interrupted her coolly. "We are not great Samaritans. Let kind people perform kind deeds!" His tone was calm but firm. He turned his gaze away, his expression returning to its usual placid state.
With that, Wilder stepped forward, brushing past the old woman.
He glanced back slightly, casting a sideways look at her. The old woman's body went rigid, and she stood frozen to the spot, staring blankly ahead.
Yves and Bacon silently fell into step behind Wilder. Claire watched his retreating back, her eyes beginning to redden. Sniffling quietly, she quickly hurried to catch up.
After Wilder's group had departed, the pitiful expression vanished from the old woman's face. Her features twisted into a savage snarl, her eyes burning with vicious, malevolent hatred as she glared in the direction they had gone.
Kindness…
Wilder didn't deny that kindness could sometimes yield positive results, but that was predicated on the recipient also possessing a kind nature.
Otherwise… the harvest wouldn't be good fruit, but rotten.
That old woman was clearly rotten to the core. The faint, underlying scent of blood clinging to her hadn't escaped his Observation Haki.
He didn't blame Claire for her lack of judgment. What truly bothered him was that she hadn't chosen silence, as Bacon and Yves had.
As they continued walking, Claire kept trying to edge closer to Wilder. Catching sight of her attempts, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of dark amusement.
She looked exactly like a small child who had misbehaved, head down, anxiously trailing behind a parent, radiating nervousness and timidity.
They crossed the square. An old newspaper tumbled across the dusty ground, caught by a gust of wind that sent it skittering along with the dust until it landed at Wilder's feet.
He picked it up and glanced at it. The date was quite old.
"A forty-year-old newspaper…" Wilder murmured, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, his eyes thoughtful.
After reading some of its contents, the smile on Wilder's face deepened. He carefully folded the newspaper and tucked it away, his gaze shifting towards a building on a corner of the street ahead.
A sign glowed with a dim, yellowish light. Six characters spelled out: Small Home Tavern Inn. The establishment had swinging half-doors, the kind often seen in saloons, which were currently propped open, revealing the same dim, yellow light emanating from within.
"Looks like we can sleep somewhere comfortable tonight," Wilder said with a smile, heading towards the inn first.
The Small Home Tavern Inn lived up to its name – it was both a tavern and a place offering lodging.
"Welcome." The wind chime above the door jingled pleasantly as they entered. Behind the bar counter, a person – perhaps the owner, perhaps an employee – looked up, offering Wilder's group a friendly smile.
In stark contrast to the chilly air outside, a wave of warmth washed over them as they stepped inside the tavern.
The interior wasn't large, with only a few tables scattered around. There wasn't a single customer in sight.
Wilder walked up to the bar, returning the person's smile slightly as he unfastened the greatcoat from his shoulders and laid it on the counter.
"What can I get for you, esteemed guest?" the person behind the bar asked, their eyes crinkling into friendly crescents.
"Anything," Wilder replied easily. "As long as it's drinkable."