Several days later, Gern and Mihawk's warship slowly surfaced, passed through an enormous soap bubble, and docked at the Marines' exclusive harbor in the Sabaody Archipelago.
Sunlight filtered through layers of mangrove branches and leaves, casting dreamlike colors across the countless drifting soap bubbles.
The islands were as noisy and bustling as ever. Pirates' shouts, merchants' calls, slaves' cries of anguish, and nobles' affected laughter mingled into a bizarre yet vibrant tapestry.
Stepping onto solid ground, Mihawk looked toward the crowded streets beyond the harbor, where all sorts rubbed shoulders, and frowned slightly.
He preferred quiet surroundings.
He turned toward Gern, who had already taken off his Marine coat and changed into an expensive black casual suit, and finally voiced the question that had been troubling him:
"Why are you so concerned about that island beneath the sea?" Mihawk's voice remained cool, but there was a trace of genuine confusion in it.
"With your strength and standing, the trouble of protecting it seems to far outweigh the benefits." To him, Gern's actions on Fish-Man Island seemed more like taking on a burden.
Gern straightened his collar and scoffed, his tone tinged with mockery and resignation. "Benefits?"
"Do you think I'm like you lone wolves, with no mouths to feed but your own?
I've got an entire base to support. Warship maintenance, weapons research, personnel allowances, daily expenses... which of those doesn't cost a fortune?"
He glanced at Mihawk and continued grumbling. "Those old foxes in the World Government always keep funding on a painfully tight leash.
They expect me to stretch every last penny and still risk my life for them? In their dreams. So I have to find ways to 'generate revenue' myself."
He patted the bandage-wrapped Black Blade: Eight Desolations at his waist. "Fish-Man Island's passage tolls will