Drop Some power stones! If you like the chapter! It helps to keep me motivated to upload more!đź’Žđź’Žđź’ŽÂ
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"Don't be fooled. I admit its effects are impressive, but this isn't some miracle drug. Shuma, you saw what happened to Douglas and the others after they died, didn't you? What do you think?"
Seeing the eager, almost glowing eyes of his two companions, Aaron shook his head as he spoke.
The moment Shuma heard this, the image of Douglas and the other pirates' corpses flashed in his mind—bodies rapidly aging the instant they died. His expression darkened, and his interest in the pill instantly plummeted.
"What's wrong? Does this pill have that severe a side effect?"
Williams asked in puzzlement, his brow furrowing.
"It's not just severe—it's catastrophic," Shuma explained grimly. "The user's body ages at an alarming rate. I believe this pill is nothing more than a forbidden stimulant that temporarily pushes one's potential to the extreme—at the cost of massive chunks of their lifespan."
He then described in detail to Williams the horrific condition Douglas and the others were left in after death.
Williams' curiosity toward the pill quickly vanished as well.
Aaron added further clarification: "It doesn't just drain lifespan. It seems to drive the user into madness. To be precise—their rationality deteriorates, and they become bloodthirsty and violent."
"Reduces intelligence?!"
That was the last straw. Both Shuma and Williams lost all remaining interest in the pill.
Yet, Williams was still a sharp merchant at heart. Even after learning of the pill's horrifying side effects, he couldn't ignore the immense value behind it. His face grew serious as he said:
"Even with such terrible drawbacks, its usefulness can't be denied—especially to pirates. I'm certain many would be eager to get their hands on it. And not just pirates—even weaker nations might be tempted."
Aaron nodded in agreement.
Indeed, while this unrefined drug carried immense risks, as Williams said, countless people chasing power would still be willing to use it.
After all, this was the Great Pirate Era—human life was cheap. If a pill gave someone the chance to strike back or take revenge, many wouldn't hesitate to use such a forbidden drug, even knowing repeated use meant certain death.
"So, how do you want us to cooperate?"
Shuma wasn't slow. He instantly understood the pill was a goldmine and spoke with excitement.
Aaron paused to gather his words, then laid out his plan:
"Shuma, I'll need you to infiltrate that underground pharmaceutical factory. See if you can uncover useful data—ideally the ingredients used and information on whoever developed it.
Williams, I need you to discreetly set up a research lab. Recruit a few trustworthy apothecaries—not necessarily top-tier, but they must be tight-lipped. Have them attempt to replicate and refine the drug. This will be a long-term project, so we'll take it slow."
The war potential of such a drug was terrifying. Its side effects might be crippling, but in this world where survival was everything, living to see another day mattered more than the cost.
To true powerhouses, such a drug might be worthless—an insult even. But in low to mid-tier battles, its impact could be decisive. Especially in group combat, it was a trump card—an ace that could turn the tide, a weapon to let the weak challenge the strong.
If Aaron could control this "trump card," it would become an invaluable asset in expanding his future influence.
To him, the pill wasn't just a goldmine—it was also a blade that could carve his path toward power at an accelerated pace.
Hearing this, Shuma and Williams exchanged a glance. Excitement gleamed in both their eyes. Then, they nodded to Aaron, promising to give their utmost effort.
After giving them a few more instructions, Aaron dismissed them to rest—and prepared to rest himself.
Meanwhile, in the district…
Inside the luxurious high-rise Shuma had previously visited, a massive, opulent private chamber was filled with laughter and music. There, a mountain-like fat man was basking in the company of beautiful courtesans—being massaged, fed, and pampered.
Yet beneath their smiles, the courtesans' eyes were filled with fear. Every touch, every movement was made with the utmost care, terrified of offending the underworld king of Street.
This man's name was Getra—a towering figure standing two and a half meters tall. One of the five senior cadres of the Akio Gang, he held dominion over the Street district.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door. Getra opened his sharp eyes and said, "Enter."
Three muscular Akio Gang members immediately stepped inside, bowing respectfully.
"Well? What did you find? You—speak first."
Pushing aside the courtesans, Getra rose to his feet, glaring down at his men from above as he pointed at one of them.
"R-reporting, sir. According to Mr. Joman's inspection, the heavy smoke earlier was caused by a large amount of white phosphorus suddenly thrown into the fireplace in room 203. However, the culprit hasn't been identified yet—the chaos was too great. I-I deeply apologize, Mr. Getra."
The chosen thug answered with a pale, trembling face, his whole body shaking in fear.
Getra's expression didn't change. But in a flash, his massive fan-like hand lashed out, striking the man. Bones cracked like dry twigs—the unfortunate underling collapsed in a heap, his body broken, life or death uncertain.
The courtesans stifled their screams, covering their mouths in terror. The remaining two gang members stood frozen, heads bowed, fear coursing through them.
"You. Next."
Without even glancing at the fallen man, Getra pointed at the second.
"Mercy, sir! There wasn't enough time, I—"
Before he could finish begging, Getra swatted him aside just like the first. The man flew across the room and lay motionless.
"Useless trash. You leech off my money daily, but when it matters, you're worthless. I don't keep dead weight."
Muttering to himself, Getra turned his gaze to the last trembling subordinate, gesturing for him to speak.
"R-reporting, sir! I couldn't find out who exactly did it, but I did track the fate of Douglas and his crew from room 203. They were all killed—and Douglas' head was taken. It must've been those bounty hunters responsible for the chaos. If someone tries to cash in Douglas' head at one of the exchange offices in town, we can follow the trail and catch the culprits!"
The man squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for death.
Several tense seconds passed. Nothing happened. Relieved, he let out a tiny sigh, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Surely this merit would earn him a reward.
Getra was notorious for his brutality—worse than Horton, who ruled the slums. But he was also fair with rewards, and generous at times. With such useful information, surely he had secured favor.
But just as relief settled in, pain exploded through his body as he was hurled across the room, blood spraying. Darkness swallowed him whole.
"Pathetic. All you found was a clue, still far from the real culprits. And you dare smile? Idiot."
Getra sneered coldly at the fallen thug with shattered glasses.
Stepping out of the room, he barked orders to the waiting gang members in the hall:
"Spread out. Keep a close watch on every exchange office in the city. The moment anyone brings in Douglas' head to claim the bounty—seize them immediately. Daring to stir trouble on my turf? They must have a death wish."
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