Then Red-Haired naturally became interested in the farmland Ivankov had mentioned, cultivated by captured Marines.
Ivankov did not keep them in suspense and said directly, "It was a farming competition."
"Each person wagers their annual output. Whoever produces the most wins."
His words made Red-Haired's officers widen their eyes. That was it?
"That's it?" Red-Haired asked in disbelief.
"That's enough to turn Bullet, that once-unruly former Roger Pirate crew combatant, into someone so docile?" Shanks had spent a very long time with Bullet. In his eyes, Bullet was one of the hardest people in the world to get along with—stubborn, obstinate, headstrong, powerful, and dangerous.
He was the most dangerous kind of person, someone capable of turning his own stubbornness and obstinacy into reality.
But why would a man like that be bound by something as trivial as farming, even competing with the Marines over it?
"Of course, it's because they have old rivals here."
"Though they compete as individuals, Marines and pirates are ultimately irreconcilable. The pirates in the Underwater Great Prison with no serious offenses form one team, while the Marines form another, both holding their breath and trying to beat the other side." Ivankov chuckled.
Clearly, this kind of competition was extremely beneficial to the Revolutionary Army.
"And while we calculate how much food each person can grow, we never placed a limit on the maximum amount of farmland they can reclaim."
"In other words, as long as they can manage it, they can reclaim a hundred qing of land if they want."
Ivankov's smile carried a sly, cunning edge, and Red-Haired's group finally understood. No wonder they had not seen anyone farming along the way—the fields were all being cultivated by Bullet.
"You people..." Shanks could not help laughing bitterly.
These were the world's top fighters,