Oboro took another card from the system interface, the familiar energy signature confirming that Yoki's accumulated experience and skills had been successfully extracted. The pirate captain's snake fighting techniques and knowledge of poisons would prove to be useful additions to his growing arsenal of skills.
Without ceremony, he placed the treasure chest directly into the storage space of his system. The ornate container disappeared into the dimensional pocket, joining the other valuables he'd systematically looted from the Slick Pirates' operations.
Money was essential in the pirate world, perhaps even more important than brute force in certain circumstances. The Slick Pirates' extensive mining and trading operations meant that they would have accumulated considerable wealth during their time in control of Bona Island. Such resources would prove invaluable in establishing themselves in the chaotic political landscape of the North Blue.
"Come on," Oboro called casually, walking toward the entrance of the luxurious building as if he had just finished routine maintenance instead of taking down an entire pirate organization. "Let's go inside and find something decent to eat."
He raised his arm and motioned for Dom to follow as they approached what had clearly served as the Slick Pirates' headquarters.
"Stronger again?" Dom murmured, studying Oboro's movements with growing fascination.
Since their escape from the Sabaody Archipelago, an unsettling realization had been building in his mind. His boss seemed more formidable now than during their desperate escape from the auction house, not just in confidence or tactical thinking, but in fundamental ability.
During their month-long refuge within the Sea King's digestive system, Dom had witnessed Oboro's strange cultivation practices. The meditative breathing techniques, the precise circulation of energy, the way spiritual power seemed to flow through his meridians like a visible current, all spoke to abilities beyond conventional understanding.
But was this newfound strength something Oboro had always possessed, hidden beneath layers of careful restraint? Or had he actually become more powerful during their short journey across the Great Line?
The second possibility was truly terrifying to contemplate.
Captain Yoki was clearly more dangerous than either Zidar or Maipeng. As the leader of an organization that had ruled Bona Island for months, his combat experience and tactical acumen should have far exceeded those of his subordinates. By Dom's own estimation, facing Yoki alone would have resulted in his death within minutes.
On the Grand Line, anyone capable of maintaining territorial control possessed abilities that set them apart from common criminals. Years of constant conflict honed their combat instincts to a supernatural sharpness, developing a kind of sixth sense that allowed experienced fighters to assess threats and opportunities at a glance.
The aura surrounding truly dangerous individuals was unmistakable to those who knew how to read it. Sometimes pirates could determine the outcome of a potential confrontation without ever drawing their weapons, simply by recognizing the predatory intensity that characterized apex predators.
This psychological warfare was fundamental to pirate culture, a world where survival of the fittest was not just a philosophy, but a daily reality.
"But even a pirate worth tens of millions of berries was so easily eliminated," Dom observed with obvious excitement, glancing back at Yoki's headless corpse before hurrying to catch up with Oboro's leisurely pace.
As a subordinate, the growing strength of his boss filled him with genuine satisfaction. The more formidable Oboro became, the safer Dom felt in this increasingly hostile world. To be honest with himself, separating himself from his mysterious leader would leave him completely lost. Following Oboro's path remained his only viable survival strategy.
The interior of the building spoke to the Slick Pirates' profitable operations and taste for luxury. Several floors contained dozens of rooms for crew quarters and recreation, while the common areas featured expensive furnishings that wouldn't have been out of place in a nobleman's estate. This had clearly served as their primary base of operations, housing the organizational structure that maintained their control over the island.
Dom quickly located the kitchen and discovered a substantial supply of canned goods, wine, and other supplies. Within minutes, both men were seated at the elegant dining table in the main hall, finally enjoying their first proper meal in weeks.
After a month of eating raw fish and questionable seafood in their Sea King transport, the simple pleasure of cooked food and seasoned dishes felt like a return to civilization.
While they ate, Oboro methodically searched the building for additional valuables, jewelry, weapons, navigational instruments, anything that might prove useful on their eventual journey to the North Blue. The system's storage capabilities made looting remarkably efficient.
"Everyone's gone," Dom observed after satisfying his initial hunger, standing by the large windows that offered a panoramic view of Bona City below.
The bone from his meal still dripped grease as he surveyed the streets that had been buzzing with activity just hours before. In the span of a single afternoon, a thriving community had been transformed into something approaching a ghost town.
Fear was indeed a powerful motivator.
"Cunning Fox," Dom chuckled, reading his own nickname from a wanted poster nailed to a nearby wall. "I honestly never expected to see that name spread across the seas."
The nickname carried memories of his time with the Flame Dragon Pirates. His compact build and flexible fighting style had earned him comparisons to the cunning predators, while his tendency to boast had added the modifier "cunning". His former crewmates had used the title with affectionate derision, never imagining it would become his official designation in the World Government's bounty records.
It felt surreal. Throughout maritime history, few "newcomers" had achieved such instant fame. Even legendary figures usually took years to build a reputation that commanded respect on all four seas.
Of course, Dom understood that he wasn't really the center of attention, that honor belonged entirely to the man sitting across from him at the elegant table.
"Boss," Dom ventured, his analytical mind already working through practical concerns, "after we reach the North Blue, are we planning to form our own organization? A pirate crew? Some other kind of power structure?"
His intelligence, though modest compared to Oboro's strategic brilliance, had served him well during his rise from a common crew member to an officer within the Flame Dragon Pirates. The promotion hadn't been an accident; he possessed real insight when he focused on tactical problems.
Their acquisition of the accumulated wealth of the Slick Pirates suggested preparation for long-term operations rather than simple survival.
"Of course we'll be pirates," Oboro replied with casual certainty, seeing no reason to deceive himself about their obvious course.
"If we're going to form a pirate crew, we're going to need considerable manpower," Dom continued thoughtfully, his words carrying implicit questions about recruitment and organization.
Finding capable subordinates wasn't simply a matter of posting advertisements in criminal neighborhoods. While countless pirate crews sailed the world's oceans, even within this vast population, truly skilled individuals remained rare. The most successful captains excelled not only in individual strength, but also in their ability to attract and retain reliable partners.
Building effective crews required careful attention to personality compatibility, complementary skills, and above all, absolute loyalty under pressure.
"Navigators, shipwrights, helmsmen, cooks, all the essential positions," Dom explained, drawing on his experience in crew management. "A functioning pirate organization requires at least hundreds of people."
Such numbers were standard expectations for Grand Line operations. Smaller crews might survive in the Four Blues through luck and careful target selection, but the second half of the Grand Line demanded resources and manpower that only substantial organizations could provide.
"We don't need that many people," Oboro corrected gently, his tone indicating that he had already given considerable thought to their organizational structure. "The partners I want prefer quality over quantity."
He leaned back in his chair and gestured with his fork as he outlined his philosophy. "Once we have established the core framework, expansion through additional ships and specialized divisions will be possible. But for now, excellent individuals are far more important than large numbers."
"For you and me, immediate survival takes precedence over long-term planning," he continued with pragmatic honesty. "The entire world is watching our movements. News of our continued existence will spread around the world within days, creating new waves of controversy. Everyone will want to see if we can withstand the pressure and how long we'll last."
His expression grew more serious as he considered the broader implications. "Simply maintaining our freedom proves our capabilities to potential allies. Surviving what should be impossible circumstances demonstrates strength that attracts followers."
"The seas contain no shortage of ambitious madmen seeking powerful leaders to follow," Oboro concluded with predatory satisfaction. "Admiration for strength is a universal human trait. As long as we establish ourselves successfully, recruitment will be manageable."
Dom's eyes brightened with understanding and renewed confidence. His boss clearly had detailed plans far beyond their immediate circumstances, the kind of strategic thinking that separated true leaders from mere survivors.
Puru puru puru.
The distinctive sound of a Den Den Mushi suddenly echoed through the hall, interrupting their conversation. Both men turned to the communication device that was sitting abandoned on a side table, its expression showing the characteristic alertness that indicated an incoming call.
Oboro rose and answered with casual interest, curious to know who could be contacting the recently deceased pirate organization.
"Yoki?" The voice that emerged carried distinctly feminine tones, deep and magnetic, with undertones of intelligence and calculated authority.
The Den Den Mushi's features shifted to reflect the caller's appearance, showing sharp cheekbones and an expression of cool professionalism.
"The Captain is unavailable," Oboro replied with deliberate ambiguity, his tone suggesting he might be a subordinate handling communications. "What did you need?"
The silence that followed was long enough to be significant. Even over the communications link, he could sense the caller's analytical mind working through implications and possibilities.
"I see," the woman said finally, her voice carrying notes of dark amusement. "The captain is dead, isn't he? That means you must be the famous God Slayer."
Her casual tone and immediate conclusion impressed Oboro despite his efforts to remain neutral. Few people possessed the intellectual agility to draw accurate conclusions so quickly, especially when dealing with unprecedented situations.
Very intelligent indeed.
After a moment's thought, he decided to test her knowledge further.
"Shall I call you Miss All Sunday," Oboro said with deliberate precision, "or would you prefer Nico Robin, the Devil's Child?"
The effect was immediate and dramatic. The woman's confident laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by absolute silence that spoke volumes of her shock and recognition.
For several heartbeats, only the faint static of the Den Den Mushi connection filled the space between them.
Then, without warning or explanation, the communication ended with a sharp click.
"Hehe." Oboro chuckled as he hung up, genuinely amused by Robin's reaction.
How rude. Had his accurate identification so startled the notorious archaeologist that she had lost her usual composure?
The brief exchange confirmed several important facts about their current situation. First, the Slick Pirates were indeed operating under Crocodile's influence, as Robin's direct communication with their leadership proved her employer's involvement. Second, news of the crew's elimination would reach Baroque Works within hours, potentially triggering responses from other agents in the organization.
Most importantly, his reputation had grown to the point where even seasoned criminals like Robin immediately recognized the implications of his presence.
The game was getting more interesting by the hour, and the stakes were rising accordingly.
Dom watched the exchange with growing fascination, realizing that his boss had just identified another legendary figure from the criminal underworld. The name "Devil's Child" carried weight throughout the Grand Line, a scholar whose knowledge was considered so dangerous that the World Government had placed an enormous bounty on her head since childhood.
"Boss," Dom ventured cautiously, "who exactly was that?"
"Someone who works for one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea," Oboro replied casually, as if they were discussing the weather rather than international criminals of unprecedented influence. "We'll probably see them again soon."
His tone suggested that he looked forward to such an encounter rather than dreading it.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened over the deserted streets of Bona Island, two fugitives continued their meal in the luxurious headquarters of a defeated pirate organization. Outside, the ocean carried whispers of their survival to destinations beyond the Great Line, where powerful figures in government and criminal circles began to adjust their plans accordingly.
The Godkiller lived, and his legend would grow.