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Chapter 874: Settling Accounts
Chapter 874: Settling Accounts
Paris Island was a vast, open plain of an island with only one town, located near the port.
Though technically World Government territory, its proximity to pirate-infested waters made it a chaotic place riddled with pirates—a typical frontier town where pirates and civilians mingled freely.
But now, that town no longer existed.
Fire raged across the landscape, consuming everything. Flames engulfed the town, while residual waves of destruction tore through its structures. It looked as if some immense, invisible force had savagely crushed the settlement, leaving it in ruins before setting it ablaze—a child’s model town smashed by a mischievous giant, then set alight.
“Mother, why won’t they acknowledge me as Whitebeard’s son!”
Standing before the inferno was a towering figure. His upper body was thick and muscular, but his legs were unnaturally thin, like an ant’s. Golden hair cascaded down his back like a hedgehog’s spines, tied into braids along his temples. A jagged scar circled his neck, with one extending from his lower left jaw to above his eye. Another stretched across his left wrist. Nearly seven meters tall, he resembled a small giant.
Edward Weibull sucked his thumb, staring pitifully at Miss Bakin, a frail, elderly woman beside him.
“You are Whitebeard’s son—there’s no doubt about it!” she snapped back.
Miss Bakin stood barely a head high, her golden bob cut contrasting with her bright red lipstick. Wearing sunglasses, leaning on a crutch, and wrapped in a leopard-print hooded cloak, she glared up at him.
“Huh? Really, Mother? But they don’t recognize me!” Edward wailed.
“Look at this!” Miss Bakin pulled out a photograph and thrust it toward him.
“Huh?” Edward tilted his head. “A mirror?”
“Don’t be absurd! It’s a photo of Whitebeard!” she shouted.
“I thought it was a mirror!” he whined.
“See? If you weren’t biologically father and son, how could you look this alike!” Miss Bakin tucked the photo away—identical to Edward’s face—and scolded, “You’re such an idiot!”
“I’m sorry, Mother!” Edward bowed his head.
Miss Bakin nodded, then suddenly slammed her crutch into Edward’s spindly calf. “Show some spirit! You’re my son—my treasure!”
“Ow, Mother! That hurts!” he wailed.
“Good! Pain is a mother’s love—it’s deep and bitter!” she declared.
“Yes, Mother…”
“Hmph. This town deserves its fate. Without Marco’s intelligence, these people don’t know better.”
Miss Bakin marched forward, speaking rapidly. “Listen well, Edward: you’re Whitebeard’s true son. The rightful heir. Marco and the others? Unworthy! Only you can inherit your father’s legacy!”
“I understand, Mother!” Edward shouted, then hesitated. “But Mother… shouldn’t we seek revenge against Blackbeard and the Navy for killing Father?”
“Revenge? A useless distraction! Legacy—wealth—that’s what matters!” Miss Bakin snapped. “Remember: only the legacy! Only the legacy!”
“Yes, Mother!”
“Hmm? Warships?”
Miss Bakin paused, squinting toward the harbor. A fleet of warships had arrived, closing in rapidly. More ships followed, forming a dense formation that chilled the heart.
At the forefront sailed a colossal golden warship, its structure resembling a fortress. The bow bore a golden lion statue. To its right, flagship with a Han’nya mask spider statue, a Dalmatian statue warship, and a Tall Hat statue warship flanked the formation.
“Vice Admirals’ flagships?” Miss Bakin frowned, sensing trouble.
These were veteran Vice Admirals’ vessels. Leading them was the Golden Lion’s ship—if she wasn’t mistaken.
“What’s this man doing here? He just defeated Bartholomew and now mobilizes again?” Miss Bakin muttered.
“Mother! So many Navy ships!” Edward stood slack-jawed.
“Relax. They’re probably here to renegotiate the Seven Warlords of the Sea pact.” Miss Bakin smirked confidently.
After defeating Bartholomew, Golden Lion had become the de facto leader of the Seven Warlords. Rumors spread that he aimed to disband the current Warlords and appoint new ones. Initially alarmed, Miss Bakin had grown complacent when no notice of her dismissal arrived. Even Crocodile, a familiar face, had joined the ranks.
“Navy still needs us. Golden Lion’s terms sound generous—seven navigational routes, one for each Warlord, with tariff stations. We’ll accept first, cross bridges later.” She grinned.
As the fleet neared the port, Kuro sat in the highest chamber of Golden Lion’s flagship, watching the distant figure of Edward Weibull—taller even than Whitebeard.
“Klah,” he ordered, “inform all ships. Zeff’s disciple disembarks first. Others stand by.”
“Yes, sir.” Klah saluted, rushing to relay orders via Transponder Snail.
“I’ve gathered nearly everyone. Those too busy can rot. Today…” Kuro bit his cigar, his voice twisting with glee, “we settle old scores.”
He’d missed his chance years ago in West Blue. Now, though Zeff was gone, he’d ensure Edward’s reckoning.
(End of Chapter)
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