The docks

Boer and Bobo floated slowly fifty centimeters above the uneven ground of the Old Port district, like gods who defied the laws of gravity.

The gaps between the stones were packed with blackish-green sludge, rotting fish guts, and years of accumulated, foul-smelling filth.

Most residents of this forgotten district wore rags and looked sallow and emaciated. At the sight of the eerie floating pair, they lowered their heads as though they had encountered the plague, fleeing in panic into dark alleys or beneath crumbling eaves, not daring to meet that inhuman power with their eyes.

Only one child, about five or six years old, had eyes that shone especially brightly in his filthy little face. He broke free of his mother's skirts and pointed excitedly into the air, calling in a clear voice, "Mom! Mom, look! They're flying in the sky! They're like birds!"

That childish cry sounded especially piercing in the oppressive silence.

The child's mother, a woman as withered and frail as a candle guttering in the wind, turned deathly pale when Boer's indifferent gaze swept toward her.

As though burned by a branding iron, she abruptly reached out with a bony hand and clamped it over the child's mouth, so hard that he gave a muffled grunt.

Then she dropped to her knees on the filthy ground with an undignified thud, pressing her forehead tightly against the cold, slimy paving stones. Her voice trembled and distorted with extreme terror:

"My lord! Spare us, my lord! He's only a child, he doesn't know any better, he offended you... Please don't hold it against him! If you must punish someone, punish me!"

Boer's gaze lingered on the mother and child for a moment. The woman's trembling back and the child's muffled whimpers stirred not the slightest ripple in his eyes. He paid them no attention and continued floating forward.

Behind him, Bobo hurriedly picked up the conversation, trying to dispel the awkward, heavy atmosphere. "Captain Thatch saved me, so I decided to follow him." He forced a fawning smile onto his face beneath his comical center-parted hair.

Boer did not turn his head. His voice was level. "No wonder you dared charge at me with a dagger to protect Thatch when I sent him flying. Quite brave."

A flush instantly spread over Bobo's face, making his already comical features look even more ridiculous. "Bobo... Bobo's family was poor when he was little. We couldn't afford food."

He hunched his neck, his voice dropping with a trace of distant nostalgia. "My family sold me to a traveling circus."

But that trace of nostalgia was immediately replaced by deeper fear. He instinctively hugged his thin arms around himself, as though that could give him some sense of safety.

"I traveled around performing with the circus. Getting beaten and going hungry were normal... Later, Bobo grew up and wasn't cute anymore. I couldn't earn more money, so the ringmaster started disliking me..."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. "The woman who trained the animals secretly told Bobo that she'd heard the ringmaster holding her after drinking and saying... saying he wanted to turn me into a 'human swine,' put me in a jar like a caterpillar, and present me to noble lords with peculiar tastes to please them..."

An almost imperceptible tremor ran through his voice. "After that, Bobo ran for his life... I was cold and hungry, and just when I was about to die, I met the captain. The captain gave Bobo food and didn't mind that Bobo was useless. He let Bobo follow him."

Boer listened quietly, but his gaze turned into the distance. His Extrasensory Vision divided the entire dock district in two-

On one side lay the filthy, impoverished, despair-filled “Old Sailor’s Stomach” beneath his feet, its low, dilapidated redbrick houses covered in moss, its air thick with the smell of cheap alcohol and rotting food;

On the other, across a symbolic ditch, lay the clean, level, heavily guarded noble district and the new docks, where the roads were orderly and private armed forces stood guard.

Upscale entertainment establishments stood like magnificent jewel boxes on the heights with the best views.

Through their bright glass windows, Boer could even "see" gleaming silver dice cups shaking inside, and well-dressed, rosy-cheeked children taking great bites of steaks drenched in sauce.

One was hell, the other heaven. And the line dividing them was so stark, so glaring!

The iron disk carrying the two of them adjusted its course slightly, floating toward the shabbiest, noisiest tavern in the Old Port district, a place called Breaking Waves.

Boer suddenly spoke, his voice as level as ever. "Then, Mr. Bobo, what sort of person do you think I am?"

Almost without thinking, Bobo answered quickly in his distinctive, ingratiating tone, "You're a good man! A kindhearted good man!"

Boer tilted his head slightly with interest. "Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Because..." Bobo struggled to organize his words, an almost crafty expression appearing on his face. "Because mercy is the privilege of the strong. Only someone as powerful as you has the right to choose whether to be merciful."

"Hahaha..." At this, Boer could not help laughing. His clear laughter sounded somewhat out of place in the oppressive harbor district. "You're practically a poet, Mr. Bobo."

Young Aaron Ball found that answer interesting, but deep down, he knew it was not funny at all. The truth of this world was far crueler than that.

The iron disk slowly touched down, and Boer pushed open the battered wooden door, which creaked as though it might fall apart at any moment. The murky air inside the tavern seemed to freeze instantly.

A mixture of tobacco, stale sweat, cheap rum, and spoiled food hit him in the face.

Most of those sitting inside were vicious-looking, scarred pirates, laborers, and down-and-out adventurers.

Boer's spotless black clothes, excessively delicate features, and conspicuous short, snow-white hair were utterly out of place here. His appearance instantly silenced the noisy tavern.

Every gaze focused on him, filled with surprise, suspicion, wariness, and a barely perceptible trace of fear.

A middle-aged waiter in a greasy apron froze for a moment, then forced a professional smile and approached cautiously. Bowing, he said softly, "Perhaps... this distinguished young gentleman has come to the wrong place. You should go over there..." He pointed toward the glittering district outside the window.

The others in the tavern seemed to agree. They withdrew their gazes and resumed drinking and speaking in low voices, trying to ignore this "outsider" who should never have appeared here.

Boer paid the waiter no heed, merely saying quietly, "Thank you, but this is precisely where I meant to come."

Bobo understood and immediately held out the heavy-looking black leather bag behind him. As though supported by an invisible force, the bag rose into the air and snapped open, revealing neatly stacked, brick-thick bundles of high-denomination Beli notes!

Countless sharp intakes of breath sounded throughout the tavern. Every conversation stopped short once again. This time, the gazes directed toward him grew more complicated, greed burning like wildfire in every pair of eyes.

Through Boer's Extrasensory Vision, the life magnetic fields of the people around him twisted violently, refracting a spectrum of intense emotions-the scarlet of greed, the eerie green of envy, the dark yellow of anger... Like an overturned palette, chaotic and filthy.

Boer casually took a thick stack of banknotes from the bag, enough for anyone here to live comfortably for several years. He set it on a grease-stained wooden table, his voice carrying clearly throughout the tavern:

"Can anyone tell me what grievances he has against the nobles here, or against the Kent Family?" "Whoever gives a good answer can have this money."

Those words were like a bucket of ice water abruptly poured over the newly kindled flames of greed. The temperature in the tavern plunged, the restless atmosphere instantly giving way to deathly silence.

Several fierce-looking men seated near the front instinctively started to rise, their lips moving, only to be held firmly in place by more cautious companions beside them, who stopped them with stern looks.

Those looks were full of fear, a bone-deep fear of the Kent Family's ubiquitous informants and brutal methods.

Boer waited a few seconds. When no one answered, he changed his question, his tone still flat. "Then does anyone have any grievances against the gangs entrenched here?"

There was still only deathly silence. Nothing but heavy breathing and the faint friction of glasses being unconsciously gripped tighter.

People lowered their heads, not daring to look at the tempting stack of banknotes, much less the black-clad youth offering the bait.

I think I've found my answer, Boer thought indifferently. He lingered no longer, turning and signaling for Bobo to follow. "Let's go, Mr. Bobo."

Before leaving the tavern, he pointed to the stack of banknotes on the table and told the dumbstruck waiter, "Consider that a round of drinks for everyone."

The door closed behind him, shutting out the tavern's countless, immensely complicated gazes.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the city.

"Faster! Faster!" Young Master Daniel Kent stamped his foot impatiently in an elaborately decorated rickshaw, constantly urging on the sweat-drenched puller ahead.

Two bodyguards in Kent Family uniforms ran silently behind the rickshaw without a word. Their breathing remained steady, but their tightly pressed lips betrayed their tension.

Daniel tugged at his crisply laundered silk collar, which made him feel inexplicably hot. His mind was already filled with burning ambition.

He could almost see the surprise and approval on his usually imposing uncle the marquess's face when he brought him this news.

Uncle will definitely recognize my worth! he thought excitedly. He'll make me first in line to inherit! And with the power of this Magnet-Magnet Fruit, the Kent Family will no longer be confined to this tiny Bernia! West Blue! The entire Underworld of West Blue will grovel at our feet! When that happens, that damned Five Great Mafia Alliance will be history! I, Daniel Kent, will establish a more glorious reign than that Donquixote Doflamingo in North Blue!

The thought made him tremble with excitement, leaving him barely able to stay seated.

Yet he did not know that the moment those weapons crates at Baron Caffia's estate had been pried open, encrypted intelligence concerning a "mysterious arms dealer," "high-quality standardized weapons," and "Baron Caffia's unusual behavior" had already passed through the Kent Family's secret informants throughout the city and landed on Marquis Kent's desk, carved from a single piece of ebony.

Inside the study, Marquis Kent—Bar Kent, a man of about fifty with meticulously combed hair and eyes as sharp as a hawk's—was frowning over the brief report. His fingers tapped lightly on the smooth desktop, producing dull knocking sounds.

"So many fine weapons appearing in a single day... Is this a powerful outsider, or a fool with a death wish?" he murmured, his voice carrying the composure and chill of someone long accustomed to power. "Ever since I signed that damned three-billion Heavenly Tribute agreement, I've racked my brains, combing through this country like wool, to bring the family to where it stands today... And now there are always restless little insects trying to gnaw at the fruits I've so carefully cultivated."

His considerations went deeper. Was this merely a tentative transaction, or did it signify the establishment of a stable, large-scale new weapons supply channel?

If it was the latter... it would utterly destroy the balance he had worked so hard to maintain and shake the foundations of the Kent Family's monopoly on military force and trade.

"Uncle! Uncle! Don't stop me, I have something important to report!" Daniel's urgent, even somewhat discourteous shouting came from outside the study, accompanied by the butler's quiet attempts to dissuade him.

Marquis Kent's frown deepened. He rubbed the space between his brows and said gravely, "Let him in."

He had always felt worried and helpless over the matter of an heir. The Kent Family wielded immense power, but its members were few, especially in his own line. The brutal internal struggles for power in his early years had cost him dearly.

He had lost his ability to father children. Fortunately, he had left himself a son in his youth, but that son... A flicker of disappointment passed through the marquess's eyes. He had entirely inherited the genes of his mother, a woman who cared only for pleasure and had no political sense. Obsessed with gambling and women, he behaved arrogantly and overbearingly, lacking the composure, ruthlessness, and wisdom a ruler should possess.

By comparison, his sister's son, though mediocre in talent, at least understood how to manage affairs and could barely keep pace with his instruction. He was passable.

Daniel practically charged into the study, his face flushed from excitement and running.

"Uncle! Wonderful news! The Kent Family's chance to rise has come!"

In a jumbled rush, he began recounting everything he had heard from Camille about Thatch, the Magnet-Magnet Fruit user, and a daily output worth a hundred million Beli.

As Daniel spoke, Marquis Kent's initial impatience gradually gave way to shock.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes growing brighter and brighter. When he heard "two hundred weapons a day, each at the Skillful Grade Blade level and worth five hundred thousand Beli," his throat felt dry. Unable to help himself, he rose and paced back and forth across the study's thick carpet.

"Are you certain? Is the source reliable? Could that Camille be a smokescreen Thatch deliberately put out?" The marquess's voice remained calm, but he was speaking noticeably faster.

"It's absolutely true, Uncle! That woman Camille wouldn't dare lie to me! Besides, Baron Caffia really did receive a large shipment of high-quality weapons. That matches our informants' reports!" Daniel assured him eagerly, his face full of longing for approval.

Marquis Kent stopped pacing and scrutinized his nephew with a sharp gaze.

After a moment, a rare smile of approval appeared on his face. "Good! Very good! Daniel, you've done extremely well this time! You've rendered a great service!"

He went to his desk and took an antique-looking ring from a drawer. Set with an enormous black gemstone, it bore an intricate "K" family crest engraved on its surface.

Solemnly, he pressed the ring, a symbol of immense authority within the family, into Daniel's hand.

"Now, I order you!" The marquess's voice became supremely commanding. "Take my ring at once and mobilize the Black Raven Knight Order directly under the family. Secretly seal every exit from the dock district. Keep appearances relaxed while tightening control underneath. Do not alert them, but under no circumstances allow a single suspicious ship to leave! Strip the covers off the harbor patrol cannons and aim them at those two unfamiliar sailing ships! At the same time,"

He paused, a cold gleam flashing in his eyes. "Invite Miss Nightingale to the family's villa as a guest and 'entertain' her properly. Without my orders, she is not to leave, nor is anyone to contact her."

"Finally," the marquess looked out the window, as though he could see through the buildings to the chaotic Old Port, "send word in my name to that pirate Thatch, and put pressure on that fence-sitter Caffia as well. Tell him that the Kent Family will host a grand banquet at the family estate tomorrow at noon, and cordially invites him and that... young 'master smith' to join us for a talk. Make absolutely certain that tomorrow I meet that young man who can turn stone into gold."

His words were calm, yet carried unquestionable force and cold calculation.

The predator who had dominated Bernia for decades had opened his enormous jaws, baring his gleaming white fangs.