Chapter 09: The Lostvayne Treasure

Chapter 09: The Lostvayne Treasure.

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The forest had finally settled into an eerie stillness. The colossal form of the giant, Nindo, lay sprawled across the clearing, his massive body heaving with labored breaths. His crimson hair spread across the forest floor like gnarled roots, dirt and debris tangled in its strands. Around him, nature cautiously reclaimed its domain. Tiny birds fluttered down from the charred treetops, perching tentatively on his unmoving frame. Their melodies hesitated, as if unsure whether it was truly safe to sing. A family of squirrels scurried past, their frantic movements betraying lingering fear, the smell of burnt wood still heavy in the air.

The once-majestic trees bore the scars of their ordeal. Their bark had turned to brittle charcoal, stripped of life by the battle's searing lightning strikes. Yet, despite the destruction, the fires had been extinguished, leaving a haunting landscape of blackened trunks against the dim, smoky light filtering through the canopy. The air was thick, carrying the mingled scents of ash and damp earth, a stark reminder of the chaos that had transpired.

Nindo, his hulking form now still, stared at the sky with glowing red eyes that reflected both pain and resignation. White clouds drifted lazily across the blue expanse above him, their serenity a cruel contrast to his turmoil. His hand, massive enough to crush boulders, now clutched weakly at the deep wound in his chest—a gash carved by the small yet relentless warrior who now stood triumphant.

"I've spent decades in battle," Nindo thought, his mind a storm of reflection. "I've been defeated before, but this… this is the first time I've been bested by a mere child. This world… it's still vast, still full of wonders far beyond even a giant's reach."

Milky sunlight filtered through the thinning canopy, highlighting the torn and dirtied figure of Meliodas as he walked away from the battle site. His blonde hair was a wild mess, and his shirt hung in tatters, a testament to the fierce encounter he had endured. His green eyes burned with a quiet determination, contrasting with the deceptively calm expression on his youthful face. Behind him, Marshall D. Teach followed, slinging a pair of daggers into a leather satchel strapped to his back.

Teach's dark eyes narrowed as he observed the boy's back, his mind racing. "He can't be older than eleven," he mused. "Yet he wields power like that? Sure, some might say it's all thanks to his Devil Fruit, but that's not it. He's gifted, a natural-born fighter. And to think he's only had his fruit for three weeks… What kind of potential could he reach?" Teach adjusted the strap on his bag, his lips curling into a calculating smirk. "If only I could persuade him to join me. But how? How do you convince someone like him?"

Meliodas came to a halt before the fallen titan's face. Nindo's red hair spread across the ground like a fiery halo, and the boy's small figure seemed almost comically insignificant against the sheer scale of the giant. Yet, as Meliodas approached Nindo's right eye, there was no trace of fear in his demeanor. Instead, a faint smile tugged at his lips, playful yet unnervingly confident.

He leaned closer, his green eyes gleaming as they met Nindo's. His reflection shimmered in the giant's pupil like a flame flickering against the void.

"Sate sate sate," Meliodas began, his tone light but his words sharp. "What do you say you tell me where that treasure is, my oversized friend?"

Nindo's massive eye blinked slowly. Despite the boy's audacity, there was no anger in the giant's expression—only curiosity and a faint trace of respect. His deep, rumbling voice finally broke the silence.

"Boy," he began, his tone measured, "remind me of your name."

"I'm Meliodas," the boy replied without hesitation. "Meliodas Yuleon."

Nindo closed his eyes for a moment, a weary smile curling his lips. "Meliodas Yuleon… I'll remember that name for the rest of my days."

When his eyes reopened, the faint clouds of weariness had parted, replaced by a stern yet thoughtful gaze. Teach had caught up, his boots crunching softly against the scorched earth as he stood beside Meliodas, his curiosity piqued.

"Tell me, boy," Nindo rumbled, his focus fixed on Meliodas. "Why do you seek the Lostvayne blade? What is it you hope to achieve with it?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. Even Teach, whose mind rarely strayed from his own ambitions, found himself captivated by the exchange.

The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the devastated forest. Meliodas tilted his head slightly, his green eyes locking with Nindo's crimson ones. For a moment, words seemed unnecessary as their gazes communicated something unspoken—a connection, perhaps, or an understanding born from two lives shaped by power and struggle.

Then, with a wry smile, Meliodas spoke. "I've lived a life most people would envy. A life without fear, without hunger, without hardship. I've had everything—everything material, at least. But there's one thing I've never had: joy. Real joy. Adventure. Excitement."

Teach's eyes widened, confusion and disbelief flickering across his face. "Joy?" he thought, struggling to reconcile the boy's words with his past. To Teach, Meliodas was the spoiled son of a Yonko, raised in comfort and privilege. But what Teach didn't know was that the boy spoke of a different life altogether—a life as a king, one that he chose to leave behind.

Meliodas continued, his voice steady. "So long as I'm on a journey—seeking treasure, making allies, finding rivals—I'll be happy. That's all I want. A life that's worth living."

Nindo's expression shifted, a glimmer of something almost paternal softening his features. Then, as if unable to contain himself, the giant erupted into booming laughter. The sound echoed through the forest, shaking loose leaves and scattering the birds perched on his body.

"Ah, it's been so long since I've heard words like those!" Nindo roared, his pain momentarily forgotten. "The last person who spoke to me with such reckless simplicity was Gol D. Roger. I can't believe it… you reminded me of him."

Teach froze, his jaw slack. "You… you knew Roger?" he stammered. "The Pirate King, Gol D. Roger?"

Nindo's gaze shifted to Teach, his red eyes narrowing. "Gol D. Roger," he corrected, his voice sharp, "and don't you dare mispronounce his name again. It's Gol D. Roger."

Teach, regaining his composure, smirked. "Of course I know that. After all, I bear the same initial. I'm Marshall D. Teach."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Nindo's calm demeanor vanished, replaced by an almost feral anger. His eyes burned brighter, his voice a growl. D? You?? Nah, You're no true inheritor of that legacy. You're nothing but a cowardly scavenger."

Meliodas, sensing the tension rising, stepped forward. "Nindo," he said firmly, "what's your connection to Roger? And why are you protecting the Lostvayne treasure?"

Nindo's anger subsided, his attention returning to Meliodas. "That fool Roger," he muttered, his voice softer now. "He was a dear friend. He entrusted me with guarding the Lostvayne blade, to keep it from unworthy hands. But for the first time… I think I've found someone worthy of it."

The clearing fell silent once more as Nindo's gaze bore into Meliodas. "Meliodas Yuleon," he said solemnly, "can I entrust the Lostvayne to you?"

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