He himself was a swordsman, so naturally, he paid close attention to this future great Swordsman, the one destined to be the world's number one. But after carefully reading the news report, he found it vague, with no clear details, not even a name. He could only shake his head.
"So these monsters who'll one day shake the seas… for now, they're nothing more than rookies just setting sail."
Comparing the bounties listed, he noticed that some weren't even higher than his own. That made him chuckle aloud.
"No matter what, at this moment, I suppose I'm technically their senior. Hah hah."
Rojen flipped through the newspaper again, gradually becoming absorbed. There was a flood of articles, many of them spanning weeks, the earliest dating back nearly two months. But for Rojen, they were priceless.
He needed these scraps of information to gauge the world's current state, to decide what to pursue and what to avoid.
Beside him, Crocodile, bored, had also picked up a magazine. Unlike Rojen, he was reading a journal analyzing the world's current powerhouses. Before long, he too had sunk into it.
"The Next Generation of Marine Admirals Emerging?- The First Wave of Young Logia Users!"
That headline caught Crocodile's eye.
Kizaru, a Pika Pika no Mi (Glint-Glint Fruit) user. Now one of the three Admirals of the Marines, holding a sea under his heel with overwhelming strength.
Kuzan, wielder of the Hie Hie no Mi (Ice-Ice Fruit). Currently a Rear Admiral, equally formidable. Rumor has it he once froze an entire sea, which took five days to thaw.
Sakazuki, wielder of the Magu Magu no Mi (Magma-Magma Fruit). Also a Rear Admiral, leader of the young Marine "Eagle Faction." Forceful and uncompromising, he champions "Absolute Justice" - every pirate must die.
When Crocodile saw Sakazuki's name, he gave a cold, disdainful smile. That man's doctrine was enough to make him loathe Sakazuki without ever having met him.
The magazine continued:
"On the pirate side, the young generation is no less impressive!"
Whitebeard Pirates – Whitebeard Edward Newgate, the strongest man in the world. Wielder of the Gura Gura no Mi (Tremor-Tremor Fruit), able to unleash tsunamis. His power is absolute, his dominance over the New World unshakable.
Whitebeard Pirates – Marco, wielder of the Mythical Zoan Phoenix Fruit. Incredibly strong, rumored to rival even a Marine Admiral.
Diamond Jozu, Flower Sword Vista…
One glance down the page, and almost every major powerhouse was a member of Whitebeard's crew. Crocodile's face tightened as the weight of that reality pressed down on him.
After that came coverage of the Flying Pirates, currently making headlines. Their forces were listed in detail, but compared to Whitebeard's, they were clearly inferior.
"Golden Lion's men… There really are so many of them."
The list stretched on endlessly. Individually, they didn't rival Whitebeard's officers, but the sheer numbers were staggering, ten times Whitebeard's force.
What an overwhelming sight. By sheer manpower alone, Golden Lion could crush most others. Their own Nether Soul Pirates, after all, had barely ten members in total. Against such giants, they weren't even a mouthful.
Following that were tales of countless independent legends scattered across the world. Crocodile read through them one by one, shaken to his core.
For the first time, he realized just how many terrifying powerhouses truly roamed this world. While Rojen and Crocodile were drowning themselves in the sea of information, broadening their view of the world, Trens was elsewhere, wandering into a small gun shop.
For him, finding the right firearm was of paramount importance.
Every island he visited, he searched. Though he had only set foot on a handful so far, he had never given up.
Now, he was carefully inspecting the wares of this store.
"Looking for a gun, sir?" The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man, spotted him immediately and welcomed him with a smile.
"Mm." Trens's eyes never left the racks of guns. He had no time to bother with pleasantries, replying only with a flat grunt.
After circling the shop once, his eyes dimmed with disappointment.
Trens remained unmoved despite the shopkeeper's endless chatter. The man practically sprayed spit as he went on and on about the unique features of each firearm, yet Trens felt nothing. No spark. No desire. None of that irresistible pull, the kind of compulsion where the moment you lay eyes on it, you have to make it yours.
"Tch…"
Shaking his head, Trens sighed in disappointment and turned toward the door.
The shopkeeper, seeing his mood, realized this customer had no intention of buying. He stopped wasting words. But just as Trens reached the threshold, his peripheral vision caught something, a battered weapon lying among the discarded guns in a side crate.
His footsteps halted.
"That one…"
His eyes narrowed. His heartbeat suddenly quickened, pounding against his ribs.
This feeling…
He focused on it, breathing shallow, and the certainty struck him like lightning. That rush, the same rush as when a man first locks eyes on a woman he knows is destined for him. The kind of madness that makes you want to sweep her into your arms, shut the door behind you, and never let go.
"Shopkeeper. That gun. What's the story? I've never seen anything like it."
He pointed to the weapon in the crate.
The shopkeeper's expression twisted. His smile vanished. A shadow crossed his face, followed by a flash of anger in his eyes.
"That one… my good-for-nothing son modified it." He spat the words.
"Modified…?" Trens blinked, then bent down and picked the gun up.
Though tossed into a clearance bin labeled old stock and selling at a discounted price, it looked almost brand-new. Sleek. Smooth. The lines were beautiful, precise. What caught Trens's attention most was the long cylindrical attachment mounted on top.
Curious, he pressed his eye to it.
"This… is a telescope?"
"A sniper scope," The shopkeeper muttered darkly as he stepped closer.
"That useless brat of mine… he always loved tinkering with firearms. I let him be. Who knew? Just last month, I'd stocked a cutting-edge piece, only for him to gut it and turn it into… this."
"And what's wrong with it?" Trens asked, frowning.
The combination, the weapon's solid build, coupled with the scope, looked like the makings of a perfect killing tool. How could there be a problem?
The shopkeeper let out a bitter laugh.
"That gun can't hit anything."
"What?" Trens raised an eyebrow.
"Every time he modifies a piece, we always test it. There wer hardly any issues before. In fact, his work sold well. But this time…" The man's face tightened. "He left town right after finishing it. I had to find shooters myself to test it. I brought in seven of the best marksmen I could find."
He clenched his fists at the memory.
"Seven. And every last one gave the same verdict: the gun's a failure."
Trens's eyes narrowed.
"A failure?"
"Yes. No matter how they aimed, no matter what method they tried, the shots would never hit the mark. Compared to any ordinary firearm, its accuracy was five times worse. In other words, it's useless."
The shopkeeper's shoulders slumped. He sighed.
"It's a gun that can't hit."
The words lingered in the air like a curse.
Trens stiffened. Five hundred percent?
A gun might be just a tool, reliant on its wielder, but it still had its own inherent qualities. That kind of figure was absurd, enough to make anyone toss it away on the spot.
His first instinct was to do just that. Throw it back into the crate and never look at it again.
But then he hesitated. His heartbeat had not slowed. His hands refused to let go.
Slowly, deliberately, he spoke: "I'll take it. Name your price."
(End Of This Chapter)
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