Smooth Sailing

Back when they left Punk Hazard, on that ship, Crocodile had casually tossed a few pieces of clothing to Lindsey.

Crocodile had quite good taste in clothes.

A long coat, lined with a casual-style suit.

Lindsey's body was already close to "perfection."

This wasn't just about his face—whether it was the proportions of his physique or the lines of his muscles, he was the finest work of the ancients.

Even a master sculptor of the modern era would likely need years or even decades to perfectly replicate Lindsey.

A body like that naturally drew attention and was well-received.

It was life's yearning for "beauty"—nothing to fault.

And precisely because of that, those dancers were especially enthusiastic toward Lindsey.

They called out to the tall, perfectly built young man, wanting to drink with him rather than serve those stinking pirates.

But just as everyone was about to enter the tavern, a man with a mustache, accompanied by two burly guards, stopped Lindsey.

"Nice build there, kid!"

"Looks like you work out—how about making some big money?"

"..."

With just those two sentences, the word "ill-intent" was practically written all over his face.

But Lindsey's expression was so innocent that the mustache mistook him for a greenhorn who had just set sail, the kind easily fooled.

So the mustache quickly added:

"Kid, you've made it to Sabaody Archipelago—don't you want to make a name for yourself and rake in some cash before heading to the New World?"

"I've got a great opportunity here!"

The mustache raised his hand sharply, and the two guards behind him pulled out two suitcases.

Click!

The suitcases opened, revealing them stuffed full of Berries.

"I run an arena, organizing matches and such."

"You look like you can throw a punch, kid—how about coming to my place to try your hand?"

The mustache waved grandly and grinned: "Just showing up gets you a million Berries, surviving the match gets you five million, and if you win, there's a ten-million-Berry grand prize!"

"And that's just for one match!"

The spiel was smooth as silk, repeated who knows how many times.

"..."

Lindsey sized up the mustache, then followed the direction he had come from.

Sure enough, the mustache had come from the illegal zone.

Lindsey knew exactly what kind of arena operated in the illegal zone.

That so-called match and high prize money were likely just a scheme to lure people to their deaths.

As he pondered, a hand suddenly grabbed Lindsey's.

It was a brown-haired dancer, pulling at his hand, desperately signaling with her eyes for him not to go with the mustache.

Having run a shop at the edge of the illegal zone for so long, the dancers knew exactly who the mustache was.

This kid was too pleasant to look at—they didn't want to watch him get tricked into dying.

"Wait..."

The brown-haired dancer started to speak.

But before she could get a word out, one of the burly guards behind the mustache stepped forward and grabbed her by the head.

"Hey."

The guard's face darkened as he threatened: "Girl, if you interfere, you know what happens, right?"

The guard's grip on the dancer's head tightened, ready to crush this meddlesome woman.

But at the same time, another figure, far larger, appeared behind the guard.

A crimson-skinned hand seized the guard's head, mirroring the guard's hold on the dancer almost exactly.

The difference was—it was much stronger.

"Ow ow ow ow..."

The guard felt like his skull was about to be crushed, struggling involuntarily and releasing the dancer.

His head was locked tight, unable to see what was behind him, but he felt an overwhelming terror, as if awakening a primal fear in his body.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mustache and the other guard staring wide-eyed, trembling at something.

"What... is this?"

The strongman spat out these final words.

Then he felt the earth beneath his feet begin to spin, like a soft, rotten whirlpool, clamping tightly around his body.

Next, the strongman felt himself sinking, excruciating pain surging upward from below, spreading through his entire body.

Boom!

Earth Demon Form.

The demonized Lindsey grabbed the strongman's head with one hand and slammed him forcefully into the ground, leaving only a head with rolled-back eyes, alive or dead unknown.

Under Lindsey's control, the soil twisted, turning into a whirlpool that trapped the strongman underground!

"Ah!"

The dancers screamed at the eerie, terrifying sight, while Mustache and the other guard stood frozen in shock.

The latter two clearly realized they had kicked an iron plate.

Having navigated the underworld for years, Mustache was adaptable, so he immediately bent over to apologize.

"Sorry for disturbing you, sir!"

"Please, continue your drink. I'll get out of your way right now!"

With that, Mustache turned to leave while Lindsey hadn't yet responded.

But halfway, Lindsey grabbed his head too, and cold sweat poured down his face.

"Sir..."

"Don't be in such a hurry to leave!"

Lindsey, sporting two dark green demon horns, swept his crimson gaze back and forth.

He looked at the enthusiastic dancers, then at the ferociously dressed Mustache and the strongman.

Grinning, he said:

"I think you guys seem more interesting over here..."

Crocodile felt that everything was finally going smoothly.

He had successfully settled Aiven Lindsey and found the Underworld Black Market Merchant he was trading with.

As a Shichibukai with "legal plundering rights," Crocodile naturally lacked no source of funds.

But the problem was where he needed to use that money—Alabasta.

The king of that superpower, Nefertari Cobra, was a very upright and meticulous man.

With the assistance of many ministers, if a large amount of plundered funds were funneled into Alabasta, it would inevitably be detected.

So Crocodile's first task was to make his funds "legal."

And in the lawless zone of Sabaody Archipelago, Crocodile had already arranged for someone to plan this.

Sabaody Archipelago, Grove 13.

No-Rules Arena.

This was a place of entertainment for nobles and the upper class.

Slaves and beasts were locked up together, then thrown into the arena to fight each other.

The results of these matches were also used by nobles for gambling and amusement.

At this moment, in the arena's broadcast room, Crocodile had already met with the Arena Boss.

The former planned to use the arena's "gambling" mechanism to launder the plundered funds through the nobles' transactions.

Then, he would purchase some goods, letting the massive sum of money flow silently into Alabasta!

"Gambling... huh?"

Crocodile laughed darkly.

He was very skilled at handling this sort of thing.

In fact, in the near future, he would even build a massive casino in Alabasta!

But for now, Crocodile's first priority was ensuring the smooth operation of this gambling scheme.

"Hey."

Crocodile turned back to the Arena Boss and said in a deep voice, "Are your people all set? The outcome of this match is certain, right?"

"Hehehehe, don't worry, Sand Crocodile."

The Arena Boss, a short man who looked like a scrawny monkey, cackled, "No one can beat our Final Fighter this time. Our deal will go off without a hitch!"

"For now, hehehehe..."

"Sand Crocodile, let's enjoy this warm-up show together!"

Crocodile said nothing, merely turning his gaze to the broadcast screen, looking rather uninterested.

So-called warm-up shows were nothing more than bringing out a ferocious beast, then dragging in a few unlucky slaves or reckless fools, letting the beast tear them to shreds.

Such things, Crocodile couldn't care less about—he just found them troublesome.

Let me just wait for the match to end slowly, then take Aiven Lindsey back to Alabasta.

Speaking of which, what's that Primitive Man up to now?

Heh heh heh, probably already dead drunk!

Crocodile bit down on his cigar, casually glancing at the screen.

And then, among that group of unlucky slaves, he saw a familiar face—

Beaming with a smile, radiant and pure.

It was Aiven Lindsey.

Instantly, Crocodile's expression twisted in exasperation. He rubbed his temples hard, gritting his teeth as he said:

"I knew it—nothing ever goes smoothly!"