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Chapter 908: What Should We Do With Them?
Chapter 908: What Should We Do With Them?
As for Kuro
He hadn't really thought that deeply about it. His immediate instinct was to follow social norms and call the relevant parties first.
But halfway through their flight, he quickly realized the implications.
Still, after some consideration, he decided against reporting the situation.
This matter had stemmed from the Seven Warlords of the Searights incident he was coordinating - a private affair that shouldn't escalate to Marine Headquarters.
War was something that cost lives.
Kuro had no intention of starting a war, nor was it his place to initiate one. That decision belonged to Headquarters.
First and foremost, Pizarro must not be rescued while in his custody - that would be a loss of face for him personally.
But if this matter involved the entire Navy, and Pizarro still ended up rescued, it would be an enormous humiliation for Headquarters.
Back during the Whitebeard incident, the main culprit and Whitebeard himself had both perished there - despite the enormous cost, the Navy's dignity remained intact. If Pizarro were taken, it would signal unchecked madness among pirates.
Just imagine - capturing a pirate, holding a public execution, then having the pirate rescued under the very eyes of 100,000 Navy personnel at Headquarters.
This wasn't just about losing face anymore. It would damage Navy morale, shake the world's trust in them, and embolden pirates' contempt.
This simply cannot happen.
"You really threw me into a massive dilemma, Joe Rudolph!!"
Kuro muttered through clenched teeth as they flew, his hair whipping wildly behind him from the speed, creating explosive sounds in the air.
...
At G-314 Marine Branch near Navy's Portplaza, countless Marines surrounded a towering figure at the plaza center, guns raised and aimed. Their expressions were grave.
Nearby ships had been mobilized as well, with Marines aboard warships training both guns and cannons on the person at the plaza center.
At the first sign of movement, they would open fire.
The captive's head bore two sharp horns - whether decorations or natural features no one could tell. His arms resembled metal, jet-black with metallic rings covering them. The rings could seemingly rotate, like interlocking bracelets.
He was bound by massive chains, wounds covering his body as he knelt there.
Despot King, Abaro Pizarro.
Fourth ship captain of the Blackbeard Pirates, a notorious terror of the New World.
"Hahahaha! I've been delivered to the Navy meow!"
Pizarro laughed toward Joe Rudolph beside him: "Hey, you catfish! Is handing me over to the Navy really wise, meow? An Admiral will come rescue me. Against such a small Marine Base, you and your men will be reduced to shards. Why not surrender instead? You defeated me, so your strength is impressive. I can suggest to the Admiral not to hold you accountable for your actions. Admirals truly appreciate strong men, meow!"
"What I want, Blackbeard cannot provide." Joe Rudolph replied calmly.
"What a shame meow." Pizarro grinned. "Then you'll only die here."
"Hey, show some respect Pizarro! This is a Marine Base!" the Base Commander shouted. "You are not permitted to speak!"
Pizarro's malevolent grin widened. His body suddenly trembled, causing the chains to rattle violently.
The sound made the Marines collectively step back, swallowing hard with cold sweat on their faces.
"Hahahaha meow!" Pizarro laughed triumphantly.
"Tch, are these guys really useful?"
Beside the Marine-encircled plaza, a Half-fishman with serrated teeth and a fish-like nose curled his lips disdainfully. "Single-handedly, I could slaughter them all. Is this really the Navy we should be serving?"
"Taylor!" Dagon frowned. "This is Navy territory."
"Exactly. We shouldn't even be here."
"Enough talk. Haven't you heard? The man is on his way here." Joe Rudolph interrupted Taylor.
Taylor pressed his lips tightly, turning his face away with clear disdain.
How strong could this Golden Lion be? Could he surpass Boss Joe Rudolph? He didn't believe it.
After all, even Abaro Pizarro had fallen to his boss. The rest of that ship's pirates had been dealt with by them.
That fourth ship now lay outside the base - battered and marked by their battle. They only kept it intact to transport Pizarro.
"Those."
Joe Rudolph spoke up. "Apologies, but could my men rest? They've just endured battle and sustained injuries."
Besides their four-man group, several skilled Half-fishmen had participated in the fight, many now bearing wounds. They had no choice but to remain in the plaza since the Marine Base refused them entry.
Plus, Joe Rudolph needed to keep watch on Pizarro, preventing his physical strength from fully recovering and attempting escape.
The Base Commander deliberated briefly before shaking his head. "You cannot enter the base. However, for your role in capturing Pizarro, we'll dispatch medical personnel to treat your injuries and provide food."
"Hey! Don't joke with us!"
Taylor's anger flared as he glared at the Base Commander. "This man was captured by us! What's wrong with resting in your base for a bit? You guys are obviously weak yet insist on putting on airs! Without us, you couldn't even keep Pizarro contained!"
"Taylor!" Joe Rudolph frowned, calling his name.
"Boss Joe Rudolph, I just can't hold back anymore!"
Taylor continued glaring. "We exhausted ourselves capturing Pizarro, even you got injured, yet now you won't let us inside? Just a bunch of weaklings! If we wanted, we could do anything we pleased! Why tolerate this? If they won't let us in, we'll just break our way in!"
"Meow? Infighting already?" Pizarro's grin widened, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Joe Rudolph sighed. "We must follow the rules, Taylor."
Taylor's eyes burned red. "I don't want you disrespected, Boss!"
This was genuine rage.
They had captured a notorious criminal, yet were surrounded by these Navy personnel. Instead of being treated as heroes, the Navy's attitude was no different from the humans they despised!
In that case...
"Why not just release Pizarro and join Blackbeard? At least we'd live comfortably and make these disrespectful Navy pay. Make them..."
"Make them what?"
"Make them die."
Before his words finished, Dagon suddenly elbowed Taylor's mouth, sending him sprawling backward with a tooth flying out.
"Dagon big brother!!"
Taylor looked up from the ground, disbelieving.
Had he actually been hit?!
When had a fellow Half-fishman ever struck him before? Now Dagon was hitting his own kin over some Navy?!
Looking up, he realized something was wrong. Dagon wasn't even looking at him anymore - his eyes were locked on the sky, pupils contracted as if facing a great enemy.
Nearby, Bessemer looked similar - head lowered with cold sweat pouring down.
In the sky, a man in a white hooded cloak over a golden dress uniform appeared. The breeze stirred his hair and cloak, the golden fabric gleaming in the sunlight.
He lowered his head, looking directly at Taylor.
"What now?" The voice was soft but sent an inexplicable chill deep into Taylor's bones.
(End of Chapter)
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