Cipher Pol

Just as Shack Yak and the Nicos parted on bad terms, a call came through to Bred's phone.

"Bred, it's me."

A familiar voice.

Bred slowly surveyed his surroundings, casually moving to a secluded corner. "Uncle Raschi."

"A week from now, I'll be passing through the Mafia Federation Kingdom and will drop by to see you."

With that brief sentence, Raschi had already ended the call.

Clearly, Raschi was not truly passing through the Mafia Federation Kingdom, nor was he merely dropping by to visit Bred. He had come specifically for the Mafia Federation Kingdom and Bred. As P9's representative carrying out the "cast a long line to catch a big fish" strategy, he was contacting Bred, an important figure needed to assist with its implementation. He simply was not sure whether Bred's surroundings held any risk of information leaks, so he used their habitual code. He trusted that Bred would understand.

"What a pain." Bred leaned against the wall and let out a stale breath.

His pupils gradually grew vacant and unfocused as Bred sank into deep thought. He truly, truly hated the feeling of being in an enemy camp—especially when there were factors beyond his control.

"Cipher Pol isn't a place to stay for long!"

"The Navy? The Navy would leave me even more passive. And they've grown increasingly resistant to the World Government meddling in their internal military affairs, so they would never allow someone from an organization like Cipher Pol—one whose functions apply both externally and internally—to join them. After all, nobody likes having an extra spy at their side. Even if you have no intention of monitoring them, they'll still eliminate every potential hidden danger."

"The Holy Land Guard? They're permanently stationed at the World Government's central core, responsible for defending the capital of the world. But... they also seem to be responsible for developing the Dark Continent, turning that savage and dangerous land into the Red Line?"

"..."

"Power... in the end, it all comes down to strength, doesn't it? If someone is strong enough, they'll be forgiven no matter how willful and reckless they are, right?"

"..."

Bred let his thoughts run wild until Doctor Lansiklin came looking for him with Altair in her arms.

"She's asleep. Look! She's sleeping so soundly~" Doctor Lansiklin smiled with extreme kindness, though her rough, even fierce appearance had absolutely nothing to do with the word "kind."

Bred took Altair from her arms. Cleaned of her stains and wrapped in fresh swaddling clothes, the little thing did look a bit better—ugly-cute in an ugly-cute way. "Thank you, Doctor Lansiklin."

"Can you take proper care of her, Bred?" Even crouching down, Doctor Lansiklin's massive, muscular frame still towered far above Bred. She was actually around three meters tall and two and a half meters wide; one of her arms alone could hold Bred. "Raising an infant takes more than determination. She's far too fragile. Eating, drinking, relieving herself, sleeping—everything must be handled with care. You need to devote a great deal of time and energy, and you must understand every detail that requires attention. One careless mistake, and the consequences could be disastrous."

Bred gently kissed Altair's forehead and smiled as if answering a different question. "I have money!"

"..." Doctor Lansiklin was speechless.

Doctor Lansiklin understood what Bred meant. He could not take care of Altair himself, but his money could find someone who could. Money could make the devil turn millstones, much less people.

So Bred acted with decisive efficiency. Through the Hunter Association's West Blue branch channels in the Mafia Federation Kingdom, he spared no expense, pouring in every bit of commission he had earned over the past half year to buy a house, hire a wet nurse and maids, and swiftly settle down.

A week later, before Raschi arrived.

"She opened her eyes! Young Master Bred! Altair is about to open her eyes!"

The wet nurse excitedly called out to Bred, who was diligently training Nen, while also remembering to draw the curtains and dim the room.

Bred approached the cradle and waited for a while. Sure enough, Altair opened her eyes—those were bewitching eyes, even more striking than Bred's golden ones. Their outer rings were blood-red, their inner rings pale green, and at their deepest point, her pupils were actually square and dark blue. Though they still lacked much light, they were unmistakably extraordinary!

"Altair, you're Altair. There's no mistake." Bred felt a rare, heartfelt joy.

Screeeech~~~

A piercing scrape rang out.

"Stop scratching the wall, Joanna. What if you hurt Altair's eardrums?" Bred shot her a sidelong glance.

Joanna, peeking in through the doorway, pouted. Filled with envy, jealousy, resentment, and grievance, she said nothing. ...Have I fallen out of favor?

Glancing at the clock, Bred said, "Time for work, Joanna."

Work was naturally just an excuse. Bred was going to meet Raschi, and he did not dare arrange their meeting at home. His property, the wet nurse, and the maids had all been obtained through the Hunter Association's West Blue branch channels in the Mafia Federation Kingdom. Who knew whether Shack Yak had tampered with anything?

More than ten minutes later.

In the desolate mountains outside the city.

"Have you been doing well, Bred?" Raschi asked in greeting.

Bred spoke bluntly. "Not well. I've realized I don't like being an agent."

"But Minister Honest thinks very highly of you. He's lavish in his praise of your talent, calling you a genius agent, and hopes you'll grow quickly and become his right-hand man." Raschi smiled faintly. "Perhaps in fifteen years? Ten years? You'll be my superior."

Bred shook his head. "You believe polite words like that, Uncle Raschi?"

"Let's talk business." Raschi's expression changed as he said, "Is the whereabouts of that Poneglyph still under your control?"

"Its final destination should be Ohara Island, the 'Holy Land of Archaeology.'" Bred answered with certainty.

Raschi was not entirely satisfied. "Should be?"

"I'm certain." Bred countered, "What's the attitude of that superior of yours? As far as I know, he isn't a patient man. All he thinks about every day is earning merits, earning great merits, dreaming of rising to the top in one step and then lying back to enjoy himself on the merit rolls."

Raschi laughed. "You certainly understand his personality! He's quite eager. The results expected from the 'cast a long line to catch a big fish' strategy you devised have him drooling. He'll be patient. Even if he isn't, the double resistance from above and from us will keep him from acting recklessly."

"He's unlucky to be P9's superior," Bred remarked.

Cipher Pol was the World Government's most complex organization. Aside from the headquarters, Cipher Pol N0, abbreviated as P0, it also had nine major branches, P1 through P9—ten departments in total, each with its own duties.

P1~P, protection of political figures.

P~P4, intelligence gathering.

P5~P6, emergency response.

P7–P8: undercover agents, spies.

P9: assassinations.

P0 recruited the finest elites from P1–P9, serving the Celestial Dragons directly.

P9's most unusual feature was its authority to execute on the spot anyone who refused to cooperate with the World Government. Like P0, P9 was generally kept hidden from the World Government's public records, lest it create a bad impression.

Most elite agents of P9's First Group were cold-blooded, ruthless executioners with countless lives on their hands. They did not spare a glance for a worthless commander like Spandine, who could barely fight at all. If his orders suited them, they obeyed; if not, they treated his words as nothing but hot air.

"In any case, the strategy of 'casting a long line to catch a big fish' is a long-term operation. It'll take at least three to five years," Bred said, laying down a precaution.

Raschi nodded. "There isn't enough time, and the school of fish we've gathered isn't large enough either... Keep tracking the whereabouts of that Poneglyph. We also have a special mission waiting for us. We'll discuss it after we return."

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