Crocodile was feeding the crocodiles.
He could no longer be considered young. At forty years old, he no longer possessed the vigor of youth.
In its place was the restraint and depth of a mature man.
He tossed large, blood-dripping chunks of meat into the pool before him. The massive crocodiles in the pool scrambled to tear into the crimson flesh.
Crocodile liked crocodiles, and not merely because his name also meant crocodile.
He preferred their habits.
They lurked beneath the water's surface, disguising themselves as harmless logs, then struck fiercely when their prey let down its guard, snapping the prey's neck in one blow.
Only green little brats charged around noisily and recklessly.
Crocodile often said those words.
He was no brat, of course. He had already made plans for everything; all he needed to do was proceed step by step.
After feeding the crocodiles, Crocodile's lips curled slightly. He was in a good mood.
The crucial person had finally arrived not long ago. After waiting a little longer, the Operation Utopia plan could officially begin.
Seize this country, then obtain Pluto.
Once the Ancient Weapons were in hand, who could stop him from becoming the Pirate King?
Hmph. By then, what would the emperors of the New World amount to?
Whitebeard, Kaido, Red-Hair, Katakuri—under the nation-destroying power of a single strike from the Ancient Weapons, they could only be reduced to ashes in an instant!
"You seem to be in a pretty good mood."
A voice suddenly came from behind him.
Crocodile was startled for an instant, then abruptly turned around.
His neck nearly twisted one hundred and eighty degrees. An ordinary person's neck would already have snapped, but Crocodile was a Logia-type Sand-Sand Fruit user. Turning his head that far was naturally nothing to him.
What was