The tavern was dead silent.
Every face was either filled with terror or gritting its teeth in anger, all eyes fixed on George's back.
Watching George's actions, the seven thugs who had followed him in let out cold sneers and began to walk menacingly toward the other patrons.
Wilder knew what they were about to do. He had overheard it in the hushed conversations earlier. These men came to the tavern at irregular times each month to collect protection money, and they had a disgusting rule: any customers in the tavern at the time also had to pay up.
The seven thugs' intentions were now clear. Sure enough, a rustling sound soon filled the tavern.
Though unwilling, the customers didn't dare to resist. The brutal scene from moments ago was still fresh in their minds. Other than obediently handing over their money, they had no other choice.
Of course, someone did resist. A tall, burly man stood up and tried to run, but a sharp machete instantly pierced through his chest.
Spurt! The thug holding the blade pulled it out without a change in expression, a spray of blood following it. He wiped the blood from the blade with a napkin and smirked coldly at the others.
The burly man fell to the ground with a thud, his body stiff.
The other patrons screamed in terror at the sight, suppressing any thoughts of defiance and quickly taking out their money.
"That's more like it. If you just cooperate, nothing bad will happen, right?" the seven thugs sneered as they collected the money in their bags.
Meanwhile, George paid no attention to his subordinates' actions. He walked to the bar, a cruel smile on his face as he looked at Pike.
As he approached, the few customers who had been drinking and boasting at the bar fell silent in fear. They didn't dare to remain seated, standing obediently and waiting for the thugs to come and collect their protection money.
Only Wilder, from beginning to end, seemed oblivious to it all, quietly drinking his drink alone. In the tense, murderous atmosphere, he stood out completely.
In the tavern, only the sound of someone drinking at the bar was clearly audible. Everyone else looked over with expressions as if they had seen a ghost.
The smile on George's face froze for a moment. He turned his head and looked at the person beside him.
The figure was shrouded in a black cloak, his appearance hidden. He sat casually, his hands crossed on the bar, occasionally raising his glass for a sip of his drink or a bite of meat. He exuded an indescribable aura of calm.
A slight change flickered in George's eyes. He then smiled with interest and turned back to Pike. "Well, old friend, isn't it about time you paid this month's protection fee? You know, I made everyone else pay up several days in advance. It's only for you, Pike, that I've deliberately delayed a few days, just to ease your pressure. Thinking about it that way, I really am a considerate, good person."
For him, the tavern owner's protection fee was the main prize. He wouldn't be too hard on the customers; a symbolic five thousand Beli from each was enough. The real money was with the owner.
Pike clearly knew this was coming. It was obviously a monthly occurrence. He knew George was not a man who could be reasoned with. A trace of helplessness flashed in his eyes as he nodded.
"Please wait a moment," Pike said, bending down and taking out a cloth bag from under the bar. It was heavy, and from the bulging corners, one could tell it was full of Beli.
"Oh, you're so understanding, old friend. I just love how straightforward you are. It's better for everyone this way, isn't it?" George said with a smile as he grabbed the bag. He opened it, and seeing the Beli inside, he nodded in satisfaction.
Wilder quietly drank his drink, showing no reaction or opinion on the matter.
Pike hesitated for a moment, then looked at George. "Seeing as I've been so cooperative, I'd like to ask…" Pike pointed to the customers, his gaze lingering on the two lying on the floor, their condition unknown.
"I'd like to ask that Lord George not make things difficult for my customers next time."
George's smile faded slightly. He stared at Pike in silence for a moment before smiling again. "Of course. I'll have them try their best. But you should also understand our difficulties, right? If they were as cooperative as you, I guarantee they wouldn't be harmed in the slightest."
Without waiting for Pike's reaction, George turned and shouted to his men, "You lot, hurry up! We need to get to the next place."
"Yes, boss!" The seven thugs quickened their pace, cursing at any customers who were a bit too slow. Soon, the seven of them arrived at the bar.
The men who had been drinking there quickly took out their Beli. As the seven thugs approached, they proactively placed the money into the cloth bags they were carrying.
"Haha, you lot are alright!" The seven thugs laughed wildly, their arrogance on full display. Then, their eyes fell on the last person who had not paid the protection fee—a person sitting at the bar, completely covered in a black cloak.
"Yo, still drinking, are we? You've got some nerve," one of the thugs said, walking over with a cold, sharp machete in his hand. He stood beside Wilder, a sneer on his face.
The only reply he received was the sound of drinking in the quiet tavern.
The thug felt he had lost face. His brow furrowed, and just as he was about to make a move, George walked over and waved him away. He then stood next to Wilder, his eyes half-closed as he watched him drink.
"My friend, shouldn't you be paying the protection fee? If you're confused, I can explain it to you. The rule here is, when we collect the protection fee each month, the customers…"
"Get lost." Wilder set down his glass, a single word leaving his lips.
The tavern fell silent. The customers and Pike stared with their mouths agape, their throats bobbing.
A single thought rose in everyone's mind—he's a dead man.
The smile on George's face froze. A cold, murderous intent spread from him, and his fists slowly tightened.
"What… did you just say?" His voice trembled, yet it was ice-cold.
Wilder's hand, raising his glass, paused. He then drained the contents in one gulp, said nothing, and picked up a piece of big-bone meat, taking a large bite.
The only sound in the tavern was that of him chewing, a sound that was crystal clear to everyone.
"You're courting death!" George's face instantly became ferocious. He reached out to grab Wilder's shoulder.
Thwack!
Without even turning his head, while one of Wilder's hands was still holding the meat, the other shot out like a swift serpent, catching the hand that was coming from behind.
George's expression changed. He felt as if his hand had been caught in an iron vise. He couldn't break free, couldn't even move an inch.
Just then, Wilder's hand suddenly released him. George, who had been pulling with all his might, stumbled backward and fell on his butt, his face a mixture of red and white from humiliation.
"Get him!" George knew now that this was no ordinary person. He scrambled to his feet, waved his hand, and gritted out a single word.
"Die!" George screamed, his voice filled with madness.
Wilder set down his glass. Only then did he finally make a move, slowly standing up and turning around.
By now, the seven thugs and George had drawn their blades and guns, all aimed at Wilder.
George looked at Wilder with a cruel and crazed smile. "Fire!"
As his voice fell, the seven thugs pulled their triggers. Seven guns fired at Wilder simultaneously.
Wilder couldn't even be bothered to show any interest in such opponents. His figure flashed and disappeared from his spot.
The faces of George and his men changed drastically.
Just then, the sound of something cutting through the air was heard. The dozen or so bullets that had just been fired ricocheted out of thin air.
Thwip! A bullet pierced through one of the thug's knees. He let out a pained scream and fell to his knees.
Thwip! A bullet went through another thug's wrist. The gun fell from his grasp, and he too collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.
Thwip, thwip, thwip… Bullets shot through the air in a chaotic dance. A series of screams and thuds followed. George was hit by four bullets at once, piercing both his hands and knees. He collapsed to the ground, howling in pain.
Only after everyone was on the ground, writhing, did Wilder's figure reappear. The tavern was once again silent.
Clink! A few gold coins landed on the bar. Wilder said a few words to the bartender, and after seeming to receive a reply, he nodded and turned to walk outside.
Everyone watched as the man shrouded in the black cloak walked out of the tavern. Even after his back had disappeared through the doorway, they remained stunned, unable to recover.
After a moment, a collective gasp filled the tavern. Everyone looked toward the door with expressions of utter shock.
"Who was he?"
The tavern erupted in discussion. At that moment, no one noticed George, lying on the floor, staring at the doorway where Wilder had left, his eyes bloodshot.
He struggled to his feet. The tavern fell silent again. Everyone instinctively backed away, giving him a wide berth.
Although George looked pathetic, no one dared to step up and be a hero at a time like this.
George walked to the bar, his hands propped on the counter, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the bartender. "Pike, tell me, what did that guy say to you just now?"
"N-nothing… he just asked me where he could find a shipwright," Pike said, hesitating for a moment under George's bloodshot gaze.
"Is that so…" George lowered his head and muttered.
After leaving the tavern, Wilder didn't immediately head to the area where the shipyards were concentrated. Instead, he began to wander the streets, taking in the unique local culture. This was his favorite thing to do whenever he arrived in a new place.
He didn't give the incident in the tavern a second thought. To him, it was just a minor interruption, not even worth mentioning.
As for why he didn't just kill George and his men? Wilder didn't feel like it. If he did, he would probably have to kill people everywhere he went. And given his current relationship with the Marines, killing… to be honest, it wouldn't have a huge impact, but if he killed too many, it would eventually be discovered. Especially in a bustling place like this. Once it was discovered that he had killed someone, his status as a Warlord wouldn't matter much. The main thing was that his criminal record, which had been erased, and all his past crimes would probably start to accumulate again. Now was not the time to break through that protective layer.
The Marine fortress was right on his doorstep. If he were to be labeled an enemy by the Marines…
A cold glint flashed in Wilder's eyes. He wouldn't allow this situation to exist for too long—Big Mom's blockade, the current protection from the Marine fortress, and the future surveillance and threats.
Wilder had never ignored the problem of the Marine fortress; he just didn't want to bring it up. Because he didn't have the strength. Bringing it up would be pointless. It was better to lie low for now, and once he had accumulated enough power, he would shatter all of it.
The Marines, the Four Emperors, the Seven Warlords, the World Government, the Revolutionary Army…
Wilder knew that to survive and grow among them, he still had to borrow power—the power of the Marines and the World Government, to use it to counter the threat from Big Mom… and even the other Emperors.
And during this safe period, he had to do everything he could to grow, to grow to the point where the Marines began to see him as an enemy… Then, it would be time to blatantly borrow the power of other forces.
But before that, the first thing to do was to eliminate the threat of Big Mom.
Only after that was accomplished could he make a move on the Marine fortress.
Eliminate all threats, become one of the most powerful forces in the world that could not be ignored. Only then would he have the capital to contend for everything.
And with that capital, he could develop without fear of anyone trying to move against him. A force with that kind of deterrent power would make its peers hesitate to act rashly. He would use that opportunity to continue to develop, until… everyone saw him as the greatest threat.
"By then, it will probably be too late," Wilder thought, an excited smile unknowingly spreading across his face.
When he had the confidence to face the combined forces of all the other powers, he would not fear a fight. If he won, he would be the master of the world. If he lost…
It would still be worth it.
At worst, he would die. By then, he would have no regrets.
However, Wilder had no intention of letting the latter outcome happen.
Walking through the bustling streets, taking in the different local customs, Wilder found it to be a unique experience.
He wandered, occasionally stopping to drink a unique fruit juice from a roadside stall, eat a skewer of grilled meatballs and seafood, and savor the unique salty flavor. Before he knew it, half a day had passed.
"It's about time to get down to business."
Wilder changed direction and walked toward his destination.
"Fried dinosaur chicken! Fried dinosaur chicken, three thousand Beli a skewer, cheap and delicious!"
"Sand-sculpture fish! Fresh sand-sculpture fish, take a bite and feel like a sand-sculpture yourself!"
"Clothes! New arrival of men's shirts! Buy one, get three free! Buy two, get five free!"
"Boss, I'll buy one."
"Alright, one is ten thousand Beli. Here are your four. Take them."
"Hmm… I'll buy another one."
"Alright, here are four more. Take them."
All along the way, the cries of vendors were endless. Wilder tried the dinosaur chicken, glanced at the shop owner next door who was selling clothes while eating a sand-sculpture fish, shook his head, muttered "idiot," and turned to leave.
As he entered another area, the sound of vendors was replaced by another noise. The air was filled with the clanging and buzzing of carpentry work.
Wilder walked to the area of Dock One and entered a shipbuilding workshop, stating his purpose.
"I need some shipwrights."
The owner, who was busy working, looked up at Wilder for a few moments, then shook his head, uttered two words, and went back to his work.
"Don't have any."