Sphinx.
This was Whitebeard's homeland. For as long as he could remember, Whitebeard had treasured that place more than anything else.
Unfortunately… even if he cherished it, the truth was cruel—he could never truly protect his homeland in the open.
It couldn't be helped.
Whitebeard's identity was far too special. If he were to publicly shield his birthplace, the consequences might be disastrous.
In fact, among all his "sons," aside from Marco, no one knew where his homeland even was.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm~~"
Noticing Whitebeard's momentary melancholy, Arthur chuckled softly.
"Pirates have pirate problems. In this world, that's just how it is. But Edward… sometimes all you need is a change in perspective. Maybe then you'll realize the problem you worry about isn't actually a problem at all."
"A change in perspective…?
The problem isn't a problem?"
Edward blinked. He felt like he had grasped something—but not completely.
Arthur simply smiled without explaining further. They were on good terms, so he had offered a hint… nothing more.
"Anyway—"
Arthur shifted the topic, glancing at the youths gathered beside Whitebeard.
"Edward, you really managed to gather quite a group of promising youngsters."
"Gurararara!"
Whitebeard burst out laughing proudly.
"Of course! My sons are my greatest treasures! They are my family—and the Moby Dick is our home!"
His booming laughter carried no pretense.
Anyone could see the genuine pride emanating from him—pride so sincere it was felt in the soul.
Arthur understood perfectly.
This was Edward Newgate—this was Whitebeard.
If he didn't feel that way, that would've been the truly strange thing.
Though still, Arthur couldn't help mentally complaining:
Why are my 30,000 citizens so average?!
Even after selecting 5,000 apprentice knights, none of them were especially monstrous talents. Their future lay in steady training under Galahad, learning Armament and Observation Haki, and slowly strengthening under Britannia's influence.
But Whitebeard's crew…
Arthur swept his gaze over the hundred-plus sons Whitebeard had brought.
Not. One. Weak. Talent.
Most people wouldn't notice it—but Arthur's eyes were far sharper than normal.
Some of these youths were future captains, division leaders, men who possessed the potential to reach Vice Admiral-level strength.
Whether they would reach that potential was another matter—but the talent was there, undeniably.
Arthur admitted to himself:
If this were that smiling old fox he'd push every last one of them to their limits. That man can awaken potential like no other… not that I like him.
Still—Arthur found it ridiculous how casually Whitebeard "collected" sons with Vice Admiral aptitude.
These kinds of talents aren't supposed to grow on trees…
...
When they stepped deeper into the volcanic trade city, Whitebeard looked around with confusion.
"Arthur, brat—there's barely any supplies here."
Arthur answered calmly:
"Edward, Britannia only has around thirty thousand people right now. What supplies do you expect? Everything is still developing. For now, most goods must be purchased from outside. Once the population increases, things will naturally stabilize."
This was normal.
Even Big Mom's Totto Land had its own massive internal trade system and self-sufficient cycles.
Without that, ruling a nation would be impossible.
"Thirty thousand?"
Edward was startled.
"With your feats—your fame—shouldn't people be flocking to join you?"
Arthur shrugged.
"Plenty came. Only about thirty thousand stayed. Britannia doesn't welcome people with ulterior motives. And among the thirty thousand, eight thousand are non-human tribes."
Whitebeard didn't ask further.
He understood perfectly well that beneath these islands…
Lay tens of thousands of corpses.
This world had endless refugees driven by war. Given the slightest hope of safety, they would flock toward it.
Arthur's Britannia was no exception.
"How Arthur determines who has malicious intent…"
Whitebeard didn't ask.
Some things were better not questioned.
Whitebeard clicked his tongue as he continued looking around.
"But it really is barren here. For a trade city, this place is empty. Arthur brat, looks like your dream will take a long time. And the road ahead is full of trouble."
Arthur nodded calmly.
"That's expected. People won't give up easily. And that Shiki—after losing once, he'll definitely come back."
Arthur knew the Golden Lion better than anyone.
That man would never accept defeat quietly.
"Gurarara! That bastard Shiki was always like that!—oh right, Arthur brat, the reports say you and Shiki fought to a draw? Your strength…"
Whitebeard openly looked him up and down.
He could tell—Arthur had grown stronger since God Valley, but not enough to truly match Shiki head-on.
Arthur answered without hesitation:
"Just as you're thinking—I used a certain method to temporarily raise my strength to your level."
"But I don't like relying on that."
He wasn't hiding it.
There was no point—no one could stop the power that came from Britannia's blessing.
Whitebeard laughed loudly.
"That's exactly your style. You never liked borrowed power. Even your red dragon form—you barely use it. You prefer strength that comes from your own body doesn't it?"
Arthur nodded.
"Of course. That's the strength that belongs to me. Anything else doesn't interest me."
"Come on. Let's have a drink.
This bar is run by merfolk from Fish-Man Island.
Their drinks are excellent."
"Oh? Then I must try them!"
Whitebeard grinned with genuine excitement.
Born in the New World, men like him and Shiki rarely traveled to the first half of the Grand Line, let alone visited Fish-Man Island.
They'd heard of mermaids, sure—but never experienced their culture.
Arthur led Whitebeard, Gawain, and Marco inside.
The other Whitebeard pirates went off exploring—though if they caused trouble, Britannia wouldn't be so forgiving.
---
Inside the bar, a beautiful young mermaid floated over in a bubble.
"Your Majesty! What would you like to drink?"
Arthur smiled.
"Vina, bring us some beer. Plenty of it."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
She giggled happily.
"You remembered my name!"
Arthur replied casually:
"Of course. You are my people—why wouldn't I remember?"
The words felt simple, but Whitebeard felt the weight behind them.
For a king to remember every subject's name…
That kind of ruler naturally earns unwavering loyalty.
Whitebeard quietly took note.
Vina swam off joyfully.
Arthur turned to Marco.
"Marco, you're working hard."
"Of course!"
Marco's eyes burned with determination.
"I refuse to fall behind Bullet or Katakuri! I know my talent isn't as high as theirs—but I will not give up! My Mythical Zoan will let me surpass my limits someday!"
Arthur watched him with interest.
Marco's resolve wasn't an act—it burned bright.
In the original timeline, Marco reached a level where he could stalemate Admirals during the Summit War.
But the truth was that he, Katakuri, King, and even men like Beckman all had Admiral-level potential.
They simply grew complacent over the years.
That was the disease of pirates—once they gain status, fame, wealth…
They stop pushing forward.
Arthur had no intention of letting that happen again.
Chuckling, he said:
"Well, that's between you little monsters. But Bullet trains every day—if you slack off, he'll leave you in the dust."
Now that fate had been altered, Arthur didn't mind giving a little push.
Whether Marco would succeed—
Arthur was genuinely curious.
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