Where did this fearless brat crawl out from?
Doflamingo's foundations stretched across all four seas, but the North Blue was his true base. After seizing Dressrosa, he had already begun reaching into the other seas.
And yet, in so short a time, some upstart dared to provoke him?
Did they think Donquixote Doflamingo's blade had dulled?
"Doffy?"
Trebol, mucus dripping from his nose, took one look at his young master's expression and knew—Doflamingo was on the verge of exploding.
It was the equivalent of being publicly humiliated, and with Doflamingo's temper, such insult could never be endured.
If the opponent were a renowned powerhouse, perhaps he could have swallowed his pride. But in the East Blue? Against that rabble of small-time pirates? Who there could possibly be called strong?
"Send someone. I want to hear that man's screams as quickly as possible!"
Doflamingo's voice was low, his expression as dark as storm clouds.
"Understood, Doffy. I'll arrange it. But… Vice Admiral Garp recently returned to the East Blue. It's not the best time to stir up too much trouble."
As the Navy's hero, Garp's every move drew attention. His return to the East Blue was no secret—anyone with ties to the region already knew.
"That old man went back? For what?"
Doflamingo blinked, turning toward Trebol.
"Seems he's looking for someone. The details haven't been uncovered yet," Trebol said hesitantly.
Doflamingo sneered. "Just a brat. Hardly capable of making waves."
He had no intention of waiting. Even now, nameless little gnats dared to touch him?
"Beh-heh-heh-heh-heh! Doffy, why waste your anger on a brat? We've got far greater things ahead. Still, since you've spoken, I'll see to it. Soon, you'll have that brat's head before you."
Trebol, his body oozing slime, turned and left.
Doflamingo watched him go, then lifted the wine glass before him. He gazed out the window at Dressrosa, still under reconstruction, where countless toys marched through the streets.
The sound of slaughter continued.
Most pirates were savage by nature, and now their bloodlust was on full display.
Don looked out at the chaos on the trading island, sparked by a single word from him, his expression calm.
In the original tale, such scenes were rarely shown. Most of the time, the story followed the path of the Pirate King's successor. Few glimpses were given of what it meant when pirates attacked.
Yet here was reality: every pirate on those bounty posters had dozens, even hundreds of lives beneath their hands. Some plundered only for profit, killing those who resisted. Others, more twisted, treated murder itself as entertainment.
"The Young Master won't let you go."
The Donquixote Family's ability user, tied up before Don, still spat his threats even as Don pocketed the Den Den Mushi.
"Mm. I know," Don replied with a glance and a nod.
"You!"
That attitude left the man speechless. The Donquixote Family's presence in the East Blue was shallow; no cadre would ever waste time here. The mere fact that he—a Devil Fruit user—had been sent was already an exception.
Which meant his threats now were nothing more than a beaten dog's bark.
Don's indifference only deepened that humiliation.
"So tell me—will Donquixote Doflamingo send people to kill me?" Don asked casually, watching the man's eyes widen.
"Of course. The Young Master will definitely send cadres. You're dead."
"I see. Then you're a pirate too?"
The man puffed up. "I'm a great pirate of the North Blue! Before serving the Young Master, my bounty was twenty-three million!"
"Oh?" Don's eyes lit up, amusement tugging at his lips. An unexpected windfall.
After Doflamingo became a Warlord, his own bounty was rescinded, along with those of his subordinates. But this man must have been a small fry who joined later—his bounty still stood.
"So your poster's still valid?"
"Of course! My name carries weight across the North Blue!" he said proudly.
"Excellent." Don nodded, satisfied.
Pirates treated their bounty posters like trophies. In battle, they would shout their numbers as though the amount itself carried power. Perhaps it was the fiercest boast they could muster.
Don ignored him after that. Twenty-three million here, plus the others he'd seen on the island and those still hidden in the town… this haul could add up to tens of millions, perhaps seventy or eighty million. Maybe even over a hundred.
The seas truly were paved with gold.
As for those monsters in the New World with bounties of billions? Catching them wouldn't be nearly as simple.
Here, though? Find the pirates' nest and sweep them all in one go.
Now he understood why the very first island on the Grand Line was swarming with bounty hunters. The gold practically walked into your hands.
"Besides," Don murmured, rubbing his chin, "those strong ones rarely bother with the weak. I can see their logic."
The carnage on the trading island wound down. Don had left a few times, chasing down pirates who tried to flee by ship—now corpses sinking into the sea.
The survivors, wiser, returned obediently. They even dragged in hidden bounty-holders from the town, delivering them bound, while the heads of the dead were stacked for proof.
"Board the ship!"
Don stood beside the largest pirate vessel, overseeing as the captured men climbed aboard. Just as he had once with Doran, he gave a simple order after boarding himself: set sail. Destination—Marine Branch 16.
Even with only Don present, none dared resist. Each pirate took his position, steering under his cold gaze.
He sat at the bow, watching dozens of pirates cowering on deck.
"Tell me," Don asked lightly, "will the Marines pay for these ones without bounties?"
The maimed ability user—now missing an arm from his failed escape—stammered.
"They will. Usually they calculate based on the captain's bounty."
"You know quite a lot," Don said with a raised brow.
"In the North Blue… sometimes we were ordered to deliver captured pirates to Marine bases for bounty claims."
He spoke honestly now, clinging to the one hope left.
At least if Don turned him over, he wouldn't be killed. And as a subordinate of a Warlord, the Marines would release him eventually.
That much, at least, was precedent.
End of chapter...
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