Chapter 11: First Mission
The dawn broke over Marineford, the skies streaked with soft hues of pink and orange. Stella stood on the deck of the Navy warship, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. Today marked the beginning of her first real mission—a scouting operation near the dangerous waters of the Sabaody Archipelago.
Michael stood nearby, his usual composed expression unwavering. Beside him, Rosinante leaned casually against the ship's railing, his cheerful energy balancing the tense atmosphere.
"Remember," Michael said, addressing Stella and the other recruits aboard the ship, "this isn't a training exercise. The goal is simple: gather intelligence on pirate activity in the area and avoid unnecessary engagement. This is not a combat mission."
Stella nodded, her hands clenched into fists. She had spent days training under Michael's watchful eye, pushing herself beyond her limits. Now, it was time to prove herself.
Rosinante grinned, leaning toward her. "Relax, Stella. First missions are always nerve-wracking, but you've got this."
She smiled weakly, grateful for his encouragement. "Thanks, Rosinante."
As the warship sailed through the calm waters of the Grand Line, Stella couldn't help but marvel at the vastness of the sea. The horizon stretched endlessly in every direction, the sunlight shimmering on the waves.
Michael stood at the helm, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. "Sabaody Archipelago is one of the most dangerous areas for Navy operations," he explained to the recruits. "It's a haven for pirates, smugglers, and all kinds of criminal activity. Stay alert."
Stella listened intently, her nerves settling as she focused on his words. She had read about Sabaody in the Navy's archives—a cluster of giant mangrove trees whose roots formed natural chambers. The area was infamous for its lawlessness, its proximity to the Holy Land of Mary Geoise, and its connection to the slave trade.
The ship's navigator called out, "We're approaching the outer edge of Sabaody waters!"
Michael turned to the crew. "Prepare to anchor. We'll proceed from here in smaller boats to avoid drawing attention."
Stella found herself seated in a small rowboat alongside Michael and Rosinante. The rest of the crew remained on the warship, keeping watch from a safe distance. As they rowed closer to the mangrove-covered islands, the air grew heavier, the once-crisp scent of the sea replaced by something more pungent—smoke and decay.
Michael's voice broke the silence. "We're looking for signs of pirate activity—ships, camps, or anything unusual. Stay quiet and keep your eyes open."
Stella nodded, her senses on high alert. She summoned a thin mist around their boat, using her newfound control to create a veil that would obscure them from prying eyes. Rosinante gave her an approving nod.
As they navigated the waterways between the mangrove roots, Stella's eyes caught movement in the distance. "Michael," she whispered, pointing toward a shadowy figure on the shore.
Michael followed her gaze, his expression hardening. "Good eye. Stay low."
The group approached cautiously, using the cover of the mist to remain undetected. As they drew closer, the figure came into view—a scruffy man unloading crates from a small, battered ship. The crates were marked with a distinctive symbol: a red dragon crest.
Michael's eyes narrowed. "That's the mark of a Celestial Dragon supplier. These crates are likely part of a smuggling operation."
Stella felt a surge of anger. She remembered the horrors of her captivity and the traffickers who had profited from human lives. Her hands clenched into fists, but Michael's voice brought her back to the moment.
"Stay calm," he said, his tone firm. "We're here to gather information, not engage."
As they observed from the shadows, a loud crash echoed through the mangrove roots. Another pirate ship had arrived, its crew disembarking with weapons drawn. The scruffy man on the shore stiffened, his hand instinctively reaching for a pistol.
Michael muttered under his breath. "Looks like a rival crew. This could get messy."
The pirates began shouting, their voices carrying across the water. "You're late on your payments, old man! The boss isn't happy."
"I… I just need more time," the man stammered, backing away.
The lead pirate sneered. "Too late for that."
The situation escalated quickly. The pirates advanced on the man, drawing swords and guns. Stella's heart raced as she glanced at Michael. "We can't just stand here and let them kill him!"
Michael's gaze was steely. "We won't. But we need to act carefully. If we reveal ourselves, we'll lose the element of surprise."
He turned to Stella. "Use your clouds to create a distraction. Rosinante and I will handle the rest."
Stella nodded, her adrenaline surging. She summoned a dense cloud, sending it drifting toward the pirates. The mist thickened as it spread, enveloping the area in an impenetrable fog.
"What the hell is this?!" one of the pirates shouted, coughing as the cloud obscured his vision.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Michael and Rosinante moved in. Michael's angelic wings glowed faintly as he struck with precision, disarming the pirates one by one. Rosinante, despite his usual clumsiness, moved with surprising agility, using his staff to knock weapons from their hands.
Stella stayed back, maintaining the cloud's density to keep the pirates disoriented. She felt a surge of pride as she watched Michael and Rosinante work seamlessly together, their movements synchronized like a well-practiced dance.
Within minutes, the pirates were subdued, their weapons scattered across the ground. The scruffy man stared in shock, his hands raised in surrender.
Michael approached the man, his expression cold. "You're working with the Celestial Dragons."
The man stammered, "I-I had no choice! They control everything here. If I didn't cooperate, they would have killed me!"
Stella felt a pang of sympathy, but Michael's gaze remained unyielding. "Smuggling fuels the slave trade. You're as guilty as the traffickers."
The man fell to his knees, pleading. "Please, I'll do anything! Just let me go!"
Michael hesitated, his fists clenching at his sides. Stella stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "Michael, maybe we can use him. He knows this area, the trade routes, and the players involved. If he's willing to cooperate, he could help us dismantle the operation."
Michael's eyes met hers, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh her words. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. But if he tries anything, he's done."
The man nodded vigorously. "I swear, I'll help you! Anything you need!"
As the group made their way back to the rowboat, Stella felt a sense of accomplishment. It wasn't a perfect mission—there had been chaos and uncertainty—but they had gathered valuable information and prevented bloodshed.
Michael glanced at her as they rowed back toward the warship. "You did well, Stella. Your quick thinking and control over your abilities made a difference."
Rosinante grinned, giving her a thumbs-up. "Told you she was ready."
Stella smiled, her confidence growing. She still had much to learn, but for the first time, she felt like she truly belonged. She wasn't just a survivor—she was a protector, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
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