Collision and inner demons

The study door closed silently behind him, shutting out the clamor and despair of the council hall completely.

He paced over to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window. Outside lay the most prosperous sights of the Silver Capital, where pointed Gothic buildings mingled with rugged industrial smokestacks nearby, tracing the distinctive skyline of this pearl of the West Blue.

Masts crowded the distant harbor like a forest. His flag, red all over with a golden star in the upper left corner, fluttered in the wind at the harbor's highest point.

Yet the flowing hem of the flag seemed to mock him, and a sudden surge of shame forced him to turn his head away.

It was more than shame. Irritation and groundless resentment surged wildly, devouring him from within.

In less than a year, he had gone from a stowaway from another world to a towering power that had swallowed up the Kent Family and formed a close alliance with the royal family.

Authority, wealth, and power flooded in like the tide. Suddenly, his breathing grew heavy.

Th-these are what I deserve, he told himself.

A soft knock interrupted his brooding. Well-trained attendants filed in and began setting out breakfast like a set of precise, silent mechanisms. Rich food aromas instantly filled the air.

First came the appetizers before the main course, though their extravagance was staggering.

A thick-cut pork chop had been pan-fried to a crisp crust, its edges an enticing amber, seasoned only with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to highlight the meat's natural flavor.

Beside it lay smoked bacon, not ordinary thin slices but thick strips, slowly smoked over fruitwood, carrying a smoky flavor and a honeylike sheen, with fat that was almost translucent.

Next came two sunny-side-up eggs. A delicate ring of lace had fried around the edges of the whites, while the yolks in the center were full and round, like two rising suns. With the slight movement of the bone china plate, they mingled with the pasta served next.

The pasta was handmade ribbon noodles, tossed in a steaming, brightly colored sauce simmered from tomatoes, basil, olive oil, and unidentified seafood.

The head attendant, a handsome young man with impeccably combed hair and movements as precise as clockwork, respectfully laid out his napkin and adjusted the angle of the silver knife and fork. Then he silently withdrew into the shadows, becoming part of the background along with the other attendants.

An appetite like wildfire across a wilderness engulfed Boer in an instant.

He picked up his knife and fork, his movements swift and efficient. As he cut the pork chop, the sharp knife scraped against the bottom of the bone china plate with a faint hiss. He speared large chunks of meat, dipped them in the flowing yolk, and stuffed them into his mouth, the richness of meat juices and egg exploding on his tongue.

The savory saltiness of smoked bacon mingled with the pasta's rich tomato tang, creating layered satisfaction. He ate quickly, almost wolfing it down, like a ravenous beast with its enormous maw open-not savoring, but devouring.

The attendants around him kept their eyes lowered and their minds still, deliberately softening even their breathing for fear of disturbing their master's "feeding ritual."

His kitchen team had been hired from Puki, the city of fine food, and his cellar held prized vintages from everywhere between the East Blue and the New World.

As for military might? With a slight stir of his will, a pure gold paperweight on the desk floated soundlessly into the air, surrounded by tiny, almost invisible blue arcs.

Electromagnetic force... this power that defies common sense is practically an attack from a higher dimension here in the West Blue, somewhere that isn't the monster-infested Grand Line or New World.

His thoughts drifted back to a month earlier, when a blind fool of a Pirates crew with a bounty of barely ten million Beli had caused trouble at the harbor, attempting to loot the warehouses.

He had stood before this very study window, without even appearing in person. He had merely spread his perception outward, invisible magnetic fluctuations covering a five-kilometer radius like a spiderweb.

Every life was a point of light on a magnetic field map, its strength clearly defined. He had locked onto the few most agitated "signals," then merely concentrated his will-Precision Detonation.

Five kilometers away, the heads of those Pirates leaders had seemed to take blows from an invisible sledgehammer, their insides instantly pierced, compressed, and overheated by violent magnetic energy.

He could even "see" those magnetic signals flare like burning-out filaments, then go completely dark.

How had it felt?

Like sensing a few ants in his own courtyard, then lightly raising his foot and crushing them.

There had been no sound, no images, only the disappearance of a few "noise sources" from his magnetic perception.

Clean, efficient, and even possessed of a beauty like a mathematical formula.

But after crushing them? Boer asked himself. Then and now, the answer was the same-emptiness.

A weightless sense of nothingness, with nothing to hold on to. No pleasure in revenge, no accomplishment from protecting others, not even revulsion at killing.

It had been like casually brushing dust from his shoulder. Nothing more.

He set down his knife and fork. Their silver handles struck the rim of the white bone china plate with a crisp, abrupt clink.

In the deathly quiet study, that sound was nothing short of a thunderclap.

The attendants around him gave almost imperceptible shudders, lowering their heads further, their breathing nearly stopping. An icy fear spread through the air.

Of course they knew what had happened in the council hall that morning-in Lord Boer's presence, nobles were hardly any stronger than chicks.

Attendants like them were more insignificant still, mere dust. Each prayed inwardly not to become the next sacrifice to please this "white monster."

Boer raised his head, his cold gaze sweeping over the trembling servants. He clearly saw the fear in their eyes, an awe of absolute strength and the power to decide who lived or died.

Yes, that's the feeling. He understood. They revered him, obeyed him, feared his power, and coveted the wealth that slipped through his fingers.

But no one truly "saw" him, saw beneath this skin that part of a soul from another world that did not belong in this one.

A professional team of chefs served him. In his hands was the finest food in the world, before his eyes were beautiful women within reach, and even, if he wished, he could use this terrifying power to become a fiend and turn the entire Silver Capital into a playground where he took whatever he pleased.

It is a little self-indulgent, he thought mockingly, but after the steelworks were completed, I really did fall into a kind of emptiness. This confusion was harder to endure than the fear he had felt when he first crossed into this world and faced a dying pirate.

I have to do something, Boer told himself, almost out of instinct, an instinct to resist this collapse of his mental defenses.

"Elena," he called softly. His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly through the silent study.

Almost the instant his voice fell, a curtain on one side of the study lifted soundlessly, and a slender, graceful figure came before him, swift and elegant as though drawn by a string.

"My lord, what are your orders?" Her voice was gentle and clear, with just the right measure of respect.

Boer noticed an exceedingly slight, almost imperceptible flicker deep in her lowered eyes. Although my lord usually summons me at night, in the study in the morning... wouldn't be out of the question. The thought flashed through her mind without showing on her face at all.

Tamed by Boer? No, she should be described as thoroughly tamed by this cruel world. She waited, ready to carry out any command from her master.

Yet Boer's question caught her by surprise.

"How much Beli did I still have on the books?" Boer asked suddenly, his tone carrying an irritation and searching quality that even he had not noticed.

Elena froze slightly, but her professionalism allowed her to adjust instantly.

She straightened her already upright posture, folded her hands over her lower abdomen, and began in a clear, precise, emotionless reporting tone. "Yes, my lord. Please allow me to give you a report."

She began reciting the details with complete familiarity. "Starting from your inheritance of the marquis's assets, including the valuation of real estate; then the cash and jewels Prince Locke presented as gifts for the alliance; congratulatory gifts and money from various nobles and merchant associations during that period; the fixed monthly dividends from the Steel Community; and the embezzled funds recently recovered..."

She paused briefly, seemingly calculating mentally. "Excluding, for now, variable expenses such as this month's food procurement, daily supply consumption, and wages for all servants and guards, the liquid cash currently on the books totals one billion eight hundred thirty-five million seven hundred ten thousand Beli."

The figure made even Boer pause. Eighteen hundred million Beli had been an astronomical sum in his previous life, and in this world, it was enough to arm a sizable fleet or buy a small island.

Elena continued, "In addition, you hold the deeds to an entire commercial street on Central Street, a seventy-percent stake in the Golden Harbor casino, and an exclusive club called Floating World. Three berths in the dock district are your private property, and there are also..."

The enormous list of assets poured into Boer's ears like strings of meaningless symbols. Far from bringing him any satisfaction, it only deepened his oppression and confusion.

These numbers, these businesses, meant he could mobilize enormous resources and satisfy almost any material desire, but... then what?

He interrupted her with a question that surprised Elena even more. "Normally... are the wages everyone receives enough to live on?"

This time, clear surprise finally appeared on Elena's face. She lightly covered her mouth, then realized she had lost her composure and immediately lowered her hand, though a trace of a genuine, gentle smile remained at her lips.

"Thanks to you, my lord. The wages of everyone in the household are set according to the highest standards for the household of an earl in the kingdom, and even exceed them somewhat." She began explaining in detail, her tone carrying a barely perceptible pride in serving such a generous master,

"Ordinary attendants earn twenty thousand Beli a month. Those responsible for night watches and special positions receive thirty thousand. Guard captains receive between fifty and a hundred thousand, depending on rank. The head chef receives a hundred and fifty thousand... as for me," she said, leaning forward slightly in a bow. The movement further emphasized her rounded curves, carrying the sheen and allure unique to a mature woman, and Boer's gaze unconsciously lingered a moment longer.

Elena looked at Boer with a mixture of gratitude and suggestiveness. "As your housekeeper, my monthly wage is five hundred thousand Beli. Thank you for your generosity."

She straightened and continued in that professional tone, "The household's largest single expense at present is keeping those two... ahem, Miss 'Roses' from the Kent Family. Generally speaking, however, their monthly spending is kept below one million Beli."

She paused deliberately, then added, "In fact, thanks to you... and the special status you have granted them as your companions, at many social occasions and in business dealings within the kingdom, the two young ladies not only need not spend anything, but often find others begging them to accept gifts or 'tokens of goodwill.'"

Her words implied that Boer's authority was itself a form of capital that could continuously generate wealth and convenience.

This was also why Elena, and many informed members of the household, were willing to carry out any command from Boer without reservation.

Authority, wealth, and power-things whose very edges ordinary people could hardly touch in a lifetime-came to this man as naturally as breathing, his for the taking.

He was so... fascinating, and so terrifying.

Yet this meticulous, thoughtful report, this answer revealing one corner of his immense influence, became the final straw, bringing the oppression and confusion in Boer's heart to their peak.

He waved a hand, signaling Elena and all the attendants to withdraw.

Silence returned to the study, leaving him alone before the wreckage covering the table and the prosperous, icy Silver Capital outside the window that belonged to him.

Democracy, freedom, fairness, the rule of law-the heavy, intangible shackles pressed down until he could hardly breathe. In his previous life, what he had done would probably have gotten him branded a class enemy and shot outright as a dictator.

"This has nothing to do with me. It's all this world's fault!" At last, in that sealed study, a tear slipped from the corner of the cold, powerful white monster's eye. Within that tear were longing for the "homeland" he could never return to, and helplessness before this cruel world.