Chapter 15: Sailing Alone

Chapter 15: Sailing Alone

Yulion had always been a serene king, a ruler who never needed to sweat for his livelihood. While he may have lacked the rugged experience of those who fought for survival daily, his strategic mind had been unmatched. Through well-crafted investment deals, he brought prosperity to his kingdom, navigating its fortunes with the precision of a seasoned mariner, even if his reign had been short-lived.

But here, in this world, as Meliodas Yulion, he faced an obstacle he had never accounted for.

He lay sprawled across the wooden floor of his small boat, his golden hair splayed around him like the rays of a setting sun. His vibrant green eyes, now dulled with exhaustion, stared up at the vast blue sky. His stomach growled incessantly, a symphony of hunger pangs that seemed to echo in the stillness around him. His throat was parched, dry as the barren lands he'd once only read about. Beside his head lay his green satchel, now empty of provisions. Only scraps of cloth and a crumpled map remained—a cruel reminder of his unpreparedness.

It was the third day since he had parted ways with the Whitebeard Pirates. Three days since he had felt the camaraderie of their boisterous laughter, the strength of their shared meals, and the warmth of their brotherhood. Now, adrift and alone, he was at the end of his tether.

Above him, the cries of seabirds pierced the tranquil air, their presence a whisper of hope. Land was near. But Meliodas, too drained to act on the possibility, closed his eyes, seeking escape from the gnawing pain of hunger and thirst.

He drifted into uneasy sleep, lulled by the rhythm of the waves. When he awoke, the world around him had shifted violently. The sound of rushing water roared in his ears, and before he could fully grasp what was happening, he found himself airborne.

The boat, his satchel, and even his sheathed blade Lostvayne were hurled into the air alongside him as a powerful wave pushed him toward the edge of an island. For two blissful hours, he had slept, only to be rudely awakened by nature's unrelenting force.

With a resounding crash, Meliodas landed face-first in the soft sands of the beach, his boat tumbling after him and landing heavily on his back. His blade and satchel thudded into the sand nearby.

Groaning, he pushed himself up, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. He shoved the overturned boat off his back, sand cascading from its sides. His right boot had been wrenched loose, leaving his foot buried in the coarse grains. He sighed, pulled it free, and shook the boot vigorously to rid it of sand before slipping it back on.

Gathering himself, he strapped Lostvayne onto his back, the belt securing the blade crossing his chest. He picked up his satchel, its lightness a grim reminder of his plight, and began walking.

The island stretched out before him, its beauty both a blessing and a taunt. The gentle lapping of waves against the shore provided a soothing backdrop as he unfolded the map from his satchel.

"Let's see…" he murmured, tracing his finger across the faded parchment. "I was with the Whitebeard Pirates here." His finger landed on an island marked with a bold X. "From what Marco explained, I followed the currents from the third route to the fourth. Three days… That's far too long. Sailing the Grand Line in a dinghy is no small feat."

He looked up, his green eyes scanning the dense forest that lay ahead. "Is there even life on this island? The map calls it… Matarota. Let's hope I read that right."

He squinted at the poorly drawn lines. "Whoever made this map clearly wasn't a cartographer. I need a navigator if I'm to survive this journey."

He folded the map carefully and began trudging inland. The forest welcomed him with its towering trees and thick underbrush. Hours passed as he navigated the island, his senses attuned to every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs. He discovered a winding river and marveled at the herds of deer that moved gracefully through the greenery.

Hunger gnawed at him, but fortune favored him when he managed to catch a deer after a spirited chase. By dusk, a small campfire crackled warmly, and the scent of roasting meat filled the air. Meliodas sat cross-legged beside the flames, Lostvayne resting beside him.

"Sorry, old friend," he muttered, wiping the blade clean after using it to skin the deer. "I'll find a better use for you soon."

The roasted meat was a blessing. He ate until he was full, leaning back against a tree to stare at the twilight sky. The deep blue hues, tinged with orange, mirrored the calmness he felt after his meal.

"This," he said aloud, a faint smile playing on his lips, "this is what it means to be free. No orders from Oyaji. No obligations. Just me, deciding where to go and what to do."

Yet, as the words left his lips, his smile faded. Sitting upright, he grabbed his satchel and strapped his blade back onto his back.

"But still… I can't shake this feeling of loneliness."

Far from Meliodas, on the other side of the island, five figures stood in a clearing. Members of Cipher Pol 6, they wore loose yellow uniforms and masks that obscured their faces. Two were unmistakably women, their figures lithe yet strong, while the other three were men, broad-shouldered and imposing.

Before them, a line of prisoners shuffled forward, their wrists bound in heavy chains. Fear and despair hung in the air as the group was herded toward the coast. At the edge of the island, three kilometers from where Meliodas had landed, a sleek World Government ship awaited—the CP6.

Among the captives was a small boy who stumbled and fell, his knee scraping against the rough ground. He whimpered in pain, drawing the ire of a harsh voice from the rear.

"You stupid brat!" the voice growled. "Can't you see you're holding everyone up?"

The boy stammered an apology, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. He glanced up—and froze in terror. Standing before him was a Celestial Dragon, clad in a pristine white suit and an imposing helmet that separated him from the "filth" of commoners.

"You dare slow us down?" the Dragon snarled, raising a whip. "Why were you even born?"

The whip lashed out, striking the boy's cheek and leaving a bloody gash. The boy screamed, and the other prisoners averted their eyes, their fear palpable.

As the whip rose again, a slender hand caught it mid-air. A young woman stepped forward, her delicate dress marred by dirt and tears. Her long hair, a pale greenish-white, shimmered in the fading light, and her sapphire-blue eyes shone with quiet defiance.

"Please stop," she said softly. "He's just a child. If you must punish someone, punish me instead."

The Celestial Dragon stared at her, his rage momentarily tempered by surprise. The other prisoners whispered among themselves, awe and hope flickering in their voices.

"The Princess… Elizabeth…"

Meanwhile, Meliodas wandered through the forest, his thoughts consumed by a single question.

"When will I find someone to talk to in this island?" he wondered aloud, his eyes scanning the wilderness ahead.

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