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Chapter 906: Choosing Who's the Problem
Chapter 906: Choosing Who's the Problem
"Over six hundred million..."
Bessemer rolled the number around his mouth before sighing, "But how much purchasing power does that really translate to?"
That was their reality—no one would sell to them thanks to systemic discrimination.
There were plenty of greedy merchants in the world, but could those merchants truly supply everything they needed?
They were people too. They didn’t just require the bare minimum for survival—they needed entertainment, medical supplies, books, and countless other things.
Money could buy anything, but when supply chains were monopolized, prices skyrocketed.
Only the World Government or the kings of the underworld could meet their needs, and while the World Government ignored them, the underworld’s rulers exploited their plight. Six hundred million—after conversion, its actual buying power would shrink drastically.
"Why can't we just become a legitimate pirate crew?!" Taylor clenched his fists, his voice raw with frustration. "We’re strong! We can take everything we want ourselves! We could ambush towns, conquer humans, and force them to serve us! We can do this!"
"Taylor!"
Joe Rudolph shot him a grave look. "We’re still human. Don’t talk like that again."
"Boss, I just can’t accept this!" A blue vein pulsed on Taylor’s forehead. "We’re way stronger than them! Why do we have to live like caged animals while other pirate crews thrive?"
"Because we’re the only ones who can thrive", Bessemer interjected. "You’re not thinking about our comrades."
"Exactly. Drop it, Taylor. Or Joe Rudolph will really lose his temper", Dagon added, shaking his head.
Taylor glanced at Joe Rudolph, who had already wiped the smile from his face. The younger man shut his mouth, silent.
"Stronger than the World Government? The Navy? The Four Emperors? How long do you think we’d last? I’m 47, Taylor. You’re 30—how many more decades can I even give? Thirty? Forty? But we have a people, a community. Maybe Packlin will take over someday, but how long can he guarantee our survival?"
"Understand this: you don’t speak for yourself alone. We have thousands of kin to protect. We can’t afford to live recklessly when we’ve got a Deserted Island already—yet we still live like mice hiding from sunlight!"
The cave’s entrance opened onto an island where they could easily settle, but Joe Rudolph refused to risk their lives. The New World was a death trap. If a passing pirate crew fired a few cannon shots while they were distracted, it wouldn’t be their enemies dying—it’d be their own people.
Joe Rudolph valued life above all else.
The words hung heavy, not just for Taylor, but for the other two as well.
Their Half-fishman race faced relentless hardship, and hardship bred desperation. If not for Joe Rudolph’s authority, Taylor might’ve gone rogue long ago.
"But this is our chance. If we satisfy that man, we’ll likely become one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea!"
Dagon stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Joe Rudolph settled onto a stone platform inside the cave. "I went to G-3. I met Golden Lion. I was honored to see no trace of disdain for Half-fishmen in his eyes. He’s an officer—one with the power to decide our survival."
Others might not discriminate either. The Four Emperors or Navy officers could be neutral.
But only Golden Lion could give them what they needed.
Dagon’s pupils contracted. "The Seven Warlords of the Sea?"
G-3, Golden Lion—these pieces connected in dangerous ways. Lucius, Buggy the Clown… rumors even claimed Shanks had fallen to him. The Navy Vice Admiral with the epithet "Old Era Bane."
Yet the current buzz was about the Seven Warlords’ privileges now resting solely in his hands.
The former Warlord "Whitebeard II" Edward Weibull had been eliminated—some said for displeasing the man, others for past offenses. Even Crocodile, once expelled, had returned.
All signs pointed to Golden Lion alone deciding the Seven Warlords’ roster, bypassing the World Government entirely. It wasn’t about protocol—it was about currying favor with one individual.
"Can we really succeed?!" Dagon’s breath quickened.
Recognition as a Seven Warlord would transform their existence—official acknowledgment from the World Government and the Navy. Golden Lion’s Warlord system was wildly tempting.
Pirates across the New World scrambled to boost their reputations, hoping to catch his eye. The rewards? Control of a station on a Navigational Route, taxing merchant ships in exchange for hunting pirates on that route.
The Half-fishmen survived by preying on pirates—the difference was just geography. But that shift would rewrite their entire reality.
"I’m not certain", Joe Rudolph admitted. "But we have a chance. Golden Lion said the heads I planned to trade to Umiat for supplies weren’t impressive enough—he wants something bigger."
Those three pirates had been killed long ago, their heads preserved for supply exchanges. Now Joe Rudolph had gambled, bringing them to G-3 to try for a Warlord seat.
But he hadn’t dared hope. He’d studied Golden Lion’s choices closely. The bar was sky-high.
Dracule Mihawk, the World’s Greatest Swordsman. Boa Hancock, the "Pirate Snake Princess" and Kusnake Island’s queen. Crocodile, a Grand Line legend who’d challenged Whitebeard and survived. Buggy, a former One Piece crewmate with immense influence.
These were the caliber of people who earned a Warlord seat.
Joe Rudolph’s confidence rivaled theirs, but his resume lacked the same prestige.
He gritted his teeth. "We need a high-profile target—one who haunts the Navy’s nightmares."
"A Four Emperors-level name? We can’t handle them", Bessemer frowned.
"Someone under the Four Emperors then", Dagon suggested. "I recently tracked a pirate crew and spotted Big Mom’s Queen’s Holy Ship departing Cake Island. Destination unknown, but she’s definitely left. Security at Cake Island is light—it might be our chance."
"Also", Dagon continued, "intelligence reports Blackbeard’s fleet is scattered. Their No.4 ship is heading this way. If we act fast, we could capture its captain—Abaro Pizarro."
"Cake Island… or the Despot King", Joe Rudolph narrowed his eyes.
Though the World Government buried news of Abaro Pizarro, Joe Rudolph knew his reputation. A Warlord-level bounty hunter? Capturing him would certainly impress Golden Lion.
Cake Island was viable too—Big Mom’s children included "All-Stars", powerful figures whose capture could also earn a Warlord title.
So the question remained: Cake Island or No.4 ship?
As for strength, Joe Rudolph didn’t care. For his people, he’d sacrifice everything.
And his strength was nothing to scoff at either.
(End of Chapter)
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