The Ferguson Empire!
A nation in the New World renowned as the infamous "Nation of War."
Yes—this country was anything but ordinary.
The Ferguson Empire was one of the very few empires that had risen to power solely through war. They cared for nothing else.
War!
War!
The people lived and breathed it. The entire empire was a nest of lunatics, waging war again and again, plundering unimaginable wealth from their victims.
It was said that if not for their reckless decision to provoke the Rocks Pirates back then, their power might have grown far stronger.
But their madness drove them too far. They had challenged the Rocks Pirates—at the very moment the crew had been newly formed and eager to establish dominance. The result was inevitable. Under Captain Rocks' leadership, the Ferguson Empire was almost annihilated in a single strike. They suffered devastating losses, and only after that did they finally learn some measure of restraint.
"Bro Arthur!"
"The Ferguson Empire!"
"That's the nation of maniacs!"
Behind Arthur, several division officers roared with excitement.
Arthur sneered, mocking them.
"You lot still care if they're maniacs? Take a moment to look at a mirror and say it again. Dont forget that you lot are Rocks Pirates."
"Bwahaha!"
His men howled with laughter. He was right. The Rocks Pirates were the largest band of madmen in the world. Who else could compare to their insanity?
"Ferguson Empire!"
"Kill!"
Shing!
The invisible sound of blades being drawn filled the air. Though no steel was visible, Arthur's single raised hand was enough to ignite the crew's frenzy.
"Oi oi!"
"Brothers, let's kill!"
"Forward!"
"Charge!"
Pirates bellowed like beasts, many of them not even waiting for their ships to dock. They leapt into the sea or used their own abilities, rushing madly toward Ferguson's shores.
Arthur's eyes fell on one pirate in particular—a user of the Path-Path Fruit. Everywhere the man stepped, no matter what surface it was—stone, water, or air—a solid road appeared beneath his feet.
Arthur found it amusing.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
The horde stormed Ferguson's homeland. Arthur had brought at least a thousand men, gathered from various subordinate crews, along with more than a dozen captains—each one a division officer in the Rocks Pirates.
And make no mistake: anyone qualified to hold such a position in the Rocks Pirates was no weakling. In this world, while they might not all be top-tier monsters, their strength was still terrifying by any standard.
In moments, the battlefield erupted.
Boom!
Boom!
Explosions thundered. Arthur's expression remained calm, his face betraying no hint of emotion.
Arthur the King.
Yes… if one were to say "King Arthur" was a holy sovereign, then that holiness was only for the sake of his own people. He was never a king without bloodshed.
And the "Knight King"—that aspect of Arthur—was pure slaughter.
When the two sides merged, they became the Lion King, the union of sanctity and carnage.
But at the heart of it all—Arthur was Arthur.
He was not that other "King" from stories.
He grew in his own way, walking his own path. Perhaps one day he would inherit everything that title carried, but he would never cease being himself.
"The Nation of War… Ferguson Empire…"
Arthur whispered as he advanced, "Don't disappoint me. What kind of treasures… and what kinds of Devil Fruits does a nation like yours possess?"
He knew well that a country devoted entirely to war had to possess immense resources. Otherwise, they could never sustain the colossal drain of constant campaigns.
Swish!
Swish!
Arthur vaulted into the air, lightly stepping across invisible footholds. He landed on Ferguson's soil, blood already flooding the ground. Corpses lay strewn about—pirates and soldiers alike. Arthur barely spared them a glance.
Of note, in recent days Arthur had delved deeper into his study of the Wind King's Barrier. By manipulating its magic, he had devised a method to remain aloft—walking through the sky. It wasn't true flight yet, but with refinement, it could become perfect.
"Bastard!"
"You must be their commander!"
An enraged shout rang out as a man burst forward, eyes blazing with fury and madness.
Arthur looked at him once, then casually waved his hand. A flash of cold light swept out—his palm cutting through the man's neck in an instant.
Red Dragon's Claw + Red Dragon's Scales + Armament Haki.
The combined strike was unstoppable, reducing the soldier to nothing more than another headless corpse on the battlefield.
"Let's move deeper."
Arthur barely paused, his eyes already fixed further inland.
The Ferguson Empire was much like Dressrosa—a small island that served as a nation. Its population numbered in the millions at most. That was the norm in this world: most countries were small island nations.
As for exceptions like Alabasta on Desert Island?
…Well.
Truth be told, such nations were exceedingly rare. A standing army of 600,000, a population in the tens of millions—it was practically a miniature continent. Those were the true "superpowers" of the world.
Of course, sheer numbers weren't the only path. Even smaller countries could qualify as great powers if their military strength was overwhelming.
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