Chapter 25

Outside the window, the harbor lights began coming on one by one, like scattered flecks of gold spreading into the unfathomable darkness of Spandamruze.

Chains scraped softly against his ankles as Trebol swallowed the coarse black bread in his mouth, sticky crumbs clinging to his beard.

He grinned, showing teeth yellowed by tobacco.

"People like us only survived,"

he said indistinctly, crumbs falling from the corner of his mouth, "because we were ugly enough."

A voice beside him cut in, shrill as scraping metal.

Pica-his throat had not always been like that.

Many years ago, a young master from some noble household had thought pouring boiling water into someone's mouth was "fun."

Ever since then, his voice had sounded like this.

Now he merely tore at his bread in silence, his knuckles white from the force.

Trebol wiped his mouth with his filthy sleeve. "I used to dispose of 'waste' for the Jiedi Family."

He raised his left foot, letting the dangling chain sway. "I've kept this thing all along."

The iron ring had sunk deep into his flesh, its edges rubbing dark red calluses into his skin.

"As for those who wouldn't obey,"

he continued, lowering his voice a little, "you all saw what was in Jasmine Manor's basement, didn't you?"

No one answered.

Only chewing and breathing remained in the air.

"They either fed them to the dogs or took them apart and sold the pieces to those lunatics in white coats."

Trebol took another large bite of bread, his cheeks bulging. "Behehe... at least the dogs enjoyed their meals."

The gang he led, by his account, merely collected a few tolls and occasionally harassed women on the streets.

Compared with the true behemoths, they were as meek as newborn lambs.

"Thompson himself-'Big Bucks' in person-is the biggest factory owner in Spandamruze."

Trebol held up two fingers and waved them in the dim yellow lamplight. "More than two thousand people depend on his machines to eat.

"Two thousand people-how many mouths do they have behind them?"

Men worked among those roaring steel monsters until their bodies broke down completely.

Usually before they reached forty.

Then they were thrown out, like worn-out tools.

And the women? The youths?

As long as their faces met certain standards, people from the Jedi Family would come knocking.

Sometimes it was outright violence, sometimes a carefully laid trap, sometimes debt and threats.

Soon, those good-looking people would appear at nobles' banquets and in wealthy merchants' private rooms.

Once their owners tired of them, they would be tossed into the darkest corners of underground bars, or into pits in the burial ground outside town.

Law? Order?

In this town, the Jedi Family was the only rule.

Rossi listened, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the rough grain along the wooden table's edge.

The oil lamp's flame flickered, casting twisted shadows on the walls.

This was the world hidden beneath the glittering banners of the Great Pirate Era.

Every brick and stone in Spandamruze was steeped in the Thompson family's will.

For ordinary people-men and women alike-the point of living was to be drained dry.

Flesh, labor, youth-all finally became clinking coins that flowed into the pockets of those in control, supporting their thugs, their bosses, and their endless extravagance.

Trebol finally finished his last mouthful of bread and licked his fingers. "At least we're still alive,"

he said, his voice giving no hint whether he felt fortunate or numb. "We can breathe, eat, and do whatever we want-that's enough."

The oil lamp's flame wavered again.

Darkness slowly crept out from the corners.

Though there was still nominally a "mayor,"

all this mayor needed to do was comfortably accept the offerings of "Big Bucks"

Thompson and indulge in luxury and pleasure.

Grand houses, beautiful lovers, fine wine, exquisite food... even if he wished to imitate those lofty "Celestial Dragons"

and play more outrageous games such as "** living people,"

the Jedi Family could round up large numbers of helpless "criminals"

to serve as prey.

Should the mayor dare interfere in the Jedi Family's affairs, he could expect a tour in an open carriage-and then a blown-open head.

As a noble, why would he care whether those "lowborn"

lived or died? He could simply leave them to the great merchants and factory owners.

Technology had clearly entered the era after the industrial **, yet not only "Spider Miles"

but the entire Kingdom of Rafal still retained a typical feudal dynastic structure.

A deep divide separated the Kingdom's nobility from the middle and lower classes. Bloodline ideology ran rampant, noble rule was regarded as the natural order, the path upward for those at the bottom was narrow as a crack, and ** and bureaucratic abuses had already rotted into the marrow.

More suffocating still, the gulf in power between the strong and ordinary people in this world was despairingly vast.

And the main restraint keeping the strong from acting as they pleased was merely morality-but how many hands and feet could morality bind?

Thus, faced with the overbearing noble kingdoms and the world ** taking whatever they wanted, most ordinary people could only breathe on in numbness unless they fled to sea and became pirates.

And most of those who fled to the ocean soon became pirates guilty of arson, murder, plunder, and countless other crimes.

The pirates then attacked towns and plundered ships, causing nobles who suffered "losses"

to squeeze the common people even harder, driving yet more ordinary people onto the boundless sea...

This vicious cycle, repeating over and over, was the true reason piracy could never be eradicated.

At this point, the navy had yet to reach its peak and had no time to address the turmoil in the four seas, making the world seem ever darker and crueler.

"Wuhahaha, but things are different now."

"Once we crush the Jedi Family, all of this will be ours!"

Wrapped in bandages from head to toe like a mummy, Diamante raised a cup brimming with rum toward Doffy.

"With Lord Doflamingo leading us, we're certain to win!"

It had to be admitted that this world's "bloodline ideology"

truly ran deep.

After witnessing Doffy's "Conqueror's Haki"

with their own eyes, the four had almost resolved to follow him with absolute devotion.

"I object."

Rossi cut off a slice of beef and put it in his mouth, interrupting the "sweet dreams" Diamante and the others were envisioning.

"Even if we take down the Jedi Family, human trafficking, the slave trade, and the ** business must all stop!"

Those businesses trampled far too brutally on the most basic limits of humanity.

"Lord... Doflamingo, what do you think?"

At Diamante's question, Doffy pushed up his sunglasses and swept a sharp gaze over everyone present.

"I've never cared whether ordinary people live or die."

It went beyond not caring-in Doffy's eyes, even if all those ordinary people perished, it probably would not matter.

Dawn had barely torn across the sea when Vergo followed the cloaked figure onto the dock's slippery stone steps.

The edge of the cloak brushed over moss, leaving a faint trace of water.

Rossi did not turn around, merely raising a hand to point toward the hazy gray rooftops on the town's western side.

Doflamingo stood at the Pinta's rail and did not look away until those two black specks vanished completely into an alley.

At the other end of the deck, three large, bandage-covered figures leaned beneath the mast, breathing as heavily as broken bellows.

He adjusted his sunglasses, his fingertips tapping an irregular series of soft beats against the wooden railing.

The fish bones from last night's discussion still sat on a plate in the cabin, a silver fork lodged at an angle between the ribs.

At the time, Rossi had tapped the edge of his plate with his knife tip. "Don't rush to think about what comes after we win."

They certainly should not.

Yellow stains seeped through the bandages on Trebol's right shoulder, Diamante could only drag his stiff left leg, and every time Pica coughed, scabs shook loose from the gaps in his bandages.

Even if people in this world recovered quickly, those three were no different from invalids right now.

And of the two who could move freely, one was ten, while the other was only eight.

"So we need to get a clear look at our prey's lair first."

Rossi had said as he handed out the last piece of bread, "Find one who's alone, then all pounce together."

As he spoke, his gaze swept over those three "mummies"

before finally resting on Doflamingo's face.

There were no second chances at life-even for someone who had experienced one strange journey.

Rossi pressed a hand against his chest. There was nothing there but his heartbeat.

That was why he was now walking through Spandamruze's morning mist.

The Calm-Calm Fruit's power enveloped their footsteps, swallowing even their breathing into some transparent cocoon.

Vergo followed half a step behind him, his fists held half-clenched the entire time.

The town had not fully awakened. Only the smell of charcoal from bread ovens mingled in the wind with the rusty tang from the distant harbor.

Rossi stopped at an alley corner and pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his cloak.

"The eastern warehouse district has six people on duty each day."

His voice was so low he seemed to be talking to himself. "But there's a fourteen-minute gap during the noon shift change."

Vergo nodded.

A drop of dew clung to the tip of his nose, poised to fall.

Really, this child should not have been the one to come.

While cleaning his glasses last night, Doflamingo had said, "I'd be a better choice."

But Rossi had shaken his head. "You need to stay on the ship."

Both of them understood the unspoken remainder of that sentence.

Though those three large, bandaged men were too badly injured to move, if they happened to have any other ideas... only Doflamingo could keep them in line.

The intimidation of Conqueror's Haki, together with those men from Bolkin's household, provided two layers of insurance.

Besides, Rossi thought as he folded the map and tucked it back inside his clothes, those three really were utterly devoted in the original story.

But since this butterfly has already flapped his wings, who can guarantee everything will stay the same?

"Let's go."

He tugged at his hood and turned into an even narrower alley.

Sunlight was slowly staining the morning mist gray-gold.

The Pinta's outline gradually blurred beyond the harbor, like a pencil drawing with its edges rubbed away.

Doflamingo finally left the rail. As he turned, the heel of his leather shoe struck the deck with a dull knock.

One of the three bandaged men stirred, half an eye showing through a gap in his wrappings.

"Stay put."

The boy's voice held little emotion. "Until he comes back, we're not going anywhere."

A gull swept past the masthead, its cry piercing the damp air.

Meanwhile, Rossi was crouched behind a chimney on a rooftop, watching a yawning man in the courtyard below.

As the man stretched, half a gun grip showed above the back of his waistband, engraved with an entwined letter "J."

Vergo held his breath beside him.

"Remember that face."

Rossi whispered, "He's our first."

The wind blew in from the sea, bringing grains of salt and the sour smell of ale left over from last night in a distant tavern.

Morning light finally spread fully across Spider Miles, making its roof tiles gleam with moisture.

On the streets of Spandamruze's Upper Town, the evening breeze carried the harbor's distinctive salty tang.

As Wesker stepped through the iron gates of the place called "Rose Manor,"

his fingers were forcefully smoothing the creases where his collar had been grabbed.

The fabric made a faint rubbing sound beneath his fingertips, like some suppressed **.

"They simply... ought to be hanged from the lampposts in the square."

He gritted his teeth, his voice so low that the wind nearly scattered it.

Beside him, a man standing straight in a dark uniform turned his head.

He was a guard sent by the Germa 66 Security Company, code name "8674."

His face was half-lit beneath the streetlights, his tone as even as if he were describing the weather. "Mr. Wesker, please watch your words.

"Under the terms of our contract, we assume no risk of conflict with the Family arising from your personal conduct.

"Should the situation escalate, we reserve the right to terminate the agreement unilaterally."

Wesker drew a deep breath.

The night's chill slipped into his nostrils, letting his churning anger settle a little.