Being noticed by Oboro made the young recruit even more nervous.
After all, he was facing a notorious pirate from the North Blue. For someone so inexperienced, it was impossible not to be terrified when in such close proximity to a figure whose reputation had spread terror throughout these waters.
When he attempted to pour wine for Oboro, his hands couldn't stop trembling, causing the expensive vintage to spill across the pristine white tablecloth in dark stains that spread like blood.
This scene caused Sith's originally genial expression to darken instantly, storm clouds gathering across his weathered features.
"Captain Sith... I, "
The recruit's voice cracked with panic as he desperately tried to explain his mistake.
Bang!
A gleaming pistol materialized in Sith's hand, the barrel pressing against the young man's forehead before he could finish his stammered apology. The marine commander pulled the trigger without hesitation, his expression showing no more emotion than if he'd been swatting an annoying insect.
The bullet punched through skull and brain with explosive force, ending the recruit's life instantly. Blood and grey matter splattered across the elegant dining setup while his body collapsed like a broken marionette.
Without missing a beat, another soldier stepped forward with mechanical precision, calmly pouring fresh wine for Oboro while a third began dragging away the corpse with practiced efficiency.
Obsessive-compulsive disorder... or just a perfectionist?
Oboro found the display genuinely entertaining rather than shocking.
"I hope that didn't affect your appetite?" Sith inquired with renewed pleasantness, spinning his weapon before holstering it with theatrical flair. "Honestly... the quality of new recruits gets worse every year."
"Not at all," Oboro replied with serene indifference, continuing his meal as if witnessing casual murder was perfectly normal dinner conversation.
Throughout the remainder of their dining, Sith maintained a steady stream of commentary about the current "environment" throughout the North Blue. His topics ranged from the complex relationships between major criminal organizations and marine forces to the delicate balance of power that prevented complete chaos. While the Marine couldn't exercise direct control over every aspect of regional politics, their influence and deterrent capabilities remained formidable, a shadow that hung over every significant operation.
The unspoken message was crystal clear: no matter how chaotic the North Blue became, the Marine remained the undisputed authority. Any situation that threatened to escape World Government oversight would inevitably attract intervention from Marine Headquarters, consequences that no regional power could hope to withstand.
Oboro naturally understood the implications behind such casual observations.
After several minutes of elegant dining, Oboro dabbed his mouth with his napkin and set down his silverware with satisfied finality. "Truly delicious," he observed with genuine appreciation.
During their extended voyages across treacherous seas, the Hell Pirates' meals had been considerably more primitive, consisting mainly of preserved vegetables, simple barbecued meat, and boiled provisions that possessed little flavor beyond basic sustenance. For pirates, the only dietary requirement that couldn't be compromised was an adequate supply of alcohol.
"Excellent. Now we can discuss business," Oboro announced with predatory satisfaction.
"Your Hell Pirates represent the fastest-growing and most dangerous new force in the North Blue," Sith began with frank assessment, his aristocratic mannerisms giving way to cold professionalism. "Multiple non-member countries now fly your flag, while your manufacturing operations on various territories produce arms and contraband that generate substantial profits. You've accumulated considerable wealth, haven't you?"
"Indeed," Oboro acknowledged with casual honesty.
"I want thirty percent of those profits!" Sith declared with predatory grin, raising several jeweled fingers for emphasis. "With my protection, your industrial operations can function safely throughout the North Blue. Not only that, leveraging our marine intelligence networks and tactical advantages, I can ensure that enemies who covet your resources will abandon their ambitions. Doesn't that sound like an excellent arrangement?"
"It does," Oboro replied thoughtfully, interlacing his fingers and resting his chin upon them while studying the corrupt marine officer with analytical interest.
"You're less greedy than I expected... quite different from my initial assessment. But I'm curious about something, does Marine Headquarters know about your activities in the North Blue?"
"Hahahaha!" Sith's laughter carried genuine amusement rather than nervousness. "Don't worry about such concerns. This is the North Blue, the most unique ocean among the Four Blues. Money can accomplish things here that would be impossible elsewhere. Moreover, with my influence, whatever trouble your Hell Pirates might cause can be suppressed before it reaches the World Government's attention."
"In these waters, business takes precedence over everything else. Everyone needs to profit for cooperation to succeed."
His refined aristocratic facade cracked completely as mercenary instincts dominated his tone, revealing the corrupt core beneath his polished exterior.
"If I refuse... I assume warfare becomes inevitable," Oboro observed with slight smile.
"You have the right to choose," Sith replied with narrowed eyes that promised violence.
To prepare for this confrontation with the Hell Pirates, he had mobilized virtually every available soldier from his base, a demonstration of overwhelming force designed to guarantee compliance.
"Before coming to this island, I intended to refuse your proposal," Oboro began with conversational calm, leaning back in his chair with relaxed confidence. "After all, you're not worthy of cooperating with someone of my stature. However, considering your unique position, I thought I'd do you the favor of meeting face-to-face. When the Hell Pirates eventually leave the North Blue, I'll genuinely need someone to monitor this territory and protect my business interests."
His words caused Sith's expression to darken with mounting anger, as if volcanic fury was building beneath his controlled surface.
"You would have been an excellent candidate for such responsibilities," Oboro continued with predatory amusement. "Unfortunately... I had planned to make you my dog, but after arriving here, I discovered some very interesting details."
His gaze suddenly shifted to several marine soldiers positioned around the dining area, their postures too perfect, their alertness too keen for ordinary service personnel.
"Do you actually know these people?" Oboro asked Sith with casual curiosity.
"What do you mean?" Sith demanded, clenching his fists as he prepared to overturn the table in rage.
"Idiot," Oboro chuckled with dark amusement.
"I'm correct, aren't I? These individuals have only been with you for a short time, recent recruits, perhaps?"
"What are you trying to say?" Sith snarled.
"Prevent us from being targeted by the World Government?" Oboro's laughter grew more genuine. "You underestimate their competence. They already know everything about us that matters. And you, a worm within the Marine, are about to die without even realizing the danger surrounding you."
His smile widened with predatory satisfaction. "These people around you... are all World Government agents!"
The declaration struck Sith like a physical blow, his pupils contracting to pinpoints as the implications crashed over him.
Dolan and Dom tensed immediately, their enhanced senses detecting the shift in atmospheric pressure that preceded violence.
"Don't worry," Oboro continued with casual dismissal, "they're not here for you, they're targeting me."
Exposed? When? How?
The thoughts raced through multiple minds simultaneously. Their disguises had been flawless, their cover identities unassailable. How could the God Slayer have seen through such carefully constructed deceptions?
When Oboro's analytical gaze swept across the assembled "marine personnel," the well-trained operatives maintained their facades with professional composure. Years of specialized training had taught them to control every micro-expression, every involuntary response that might betray their true nature.
But when Oboro methodically revealed their identities one by one, several figures finally abandoned their pretense. The psychological pressure of being so thoroughly exposed shattered their operational discipline despite their formidable training.
The moment Oboro's words finished echoing through the dining area, the agents exchanged swift glances before moving with synchronized precision, not to attack, but to escape.
Their mission parameters had been explicit: gather intelligence on the God Slayer and Hell Pirates, avoid direct confrontation at all costs. Their handlers understood perfectly well that the notorious pirate captain's combat capabilities far exceeded what their team could handle.
But retreat required permission that would never come.
Before the agents could execute their withdrawal, Dolan and Dom exploded into motion, their enhanced reflexes carrying them to intercept the fleeing operatives with supernatural speed.
"Planning to run away?" Dolan grinned with predatory satisfaction, his demonic transformation making his features appear more monstrous than human.
"The King hasn't given you permission to leave," Dom added with ice-cold finality, his bandage-wrapped form radiating lethal intent.
Sith had initially assumed Oboro was bluffing or suffering from paranoid delusions, but the current scene proved beyond doubt that the pirate's accusations were accurate.
"World Government... agents?" he whispered, his mind reeling from the realization that his own command had been thoroughly infiltrated.
Oboro remained casually seated with crossed legs, simply snapping his fingers with theatrical precision.
The two agents who had managed to flee nearly a hundred meters suddenly stopped as if they'd struck an invisible wall. Gravity intensified around their positions with crushing force, driving them to their knees while blood erupted from their mouths in crimson streams. The ground beneath their legs cracked and cratered under the supernatural pressure.
A third operative attempted aerial escape using Rokushiki techniques, his Geppo carrying him skyward like a missile seeking freedom. But invisible forces seized him mid-flight, reversing his trajectory and sending him plummeting toward earth like a falling meteor. He struck the ground with bone-crushing impact, raising clouds of dust and debris.
"Cipher Pol," Oboro observed with analytical interest, studying the incapacitated agents with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining specimens.
"Departments zero through nine... which division claims you as members?"
His tone remained conversational despite the violence he'd just unleashed. "Definitely not CP0... and I doubt CP9 either. Judging from your capabilities... you're probably not core operatives of any Cipher Pol division."
"Your response time was impressive, I'll grant you that," he continued with mocking appreciation. "But sending agents of your caliber for intelligence gathering? Isn't that somewhat... amateur?"
Each word struck the fallen operatives like physical blows, their professional pride warring with the terrifying reality of facing an opponent whose abilities transcended their understanding. They had trained for years to handle dangerous criminals, but the God Slayer operated according to principles that made conventional tactics meaningless.
The dining area had transformed from elegant negotiation into a demonstration of overwhelming power, a reminder that in the pirate world, strength remained the only currency that truly mattered.