The Spirit of the Nefertari Family

Crocodile slowly descended, the Yellow Sand beneath his feet churning and flowing as if alive, respectfully supporting his body. Once he had fully appeared, the rebel army erupted in thunderous cheers:

"Lord Crocodile!"

"Savior!"

"Lead us against the tyrant!"

Amid wave after wave of voices, Crocodile raised his head and looked toward the king atop the city wall.

"Cobra!"

"If you still consider yourself the master of this country, if you still care about this country and its people, then surrender the throne. You are no longer worthy of being king!"

"Shut up!"

A young guard could no longer contain his fury. He abruptly drew the sword at his waist, the blade sliding halfway from its sheath with a sharp hum.

"You despicable hypocrite!"

"A hypocrite?"

Crocodile sneered. His golden hook slowly rose, pointing toward the city wall.

"Ask these people who made them homeless. Ask them who let their loved ones die of thirst. Cobra, facing these suffering people, do you dare say you bear no guilt?"

"That's right! You hypocrite!"

Even fiercer roars erupted from the crowd. A ragged middle-aged man screamed himself hoarse:

"Your past kindness was all an act! My son died yesterday! He was only six! Because there was no water!"

"Tyrant! Step down!"

"We want water! We want to live!"

The cries rose higher and higher. The roars of four hundred thousand people converged into a nearly tangible shockwave that slammed against the ancient walls, making the bricks tremble and rattle.

Cobra closed his eyes.

Another scene surfaced in his mind: years ago, when Crocodile had first appeared in Alabasta as a hero and driven back the criminals attacking the port.

The people's cheers from that time strangely overlapped with their furious cries now.

How ironic.

The hero who had saved the country was