In the waters surrounding the Greni Archipelago, a massive ship slowly materialized on the horizon.
The enormous vessel sported a black and red hull. Aside from the Black Serpent flag flying atop its mast, the ship looked remarkably unremarkable. Beyond its sheer size, there was nothing particularly eye-catching about it.
"Ashin, don't you think we should build our own, proper ship?" Wilder asked, standing at the bow, gazing towards the hazy outline of the islands in the distance.
Ashin remained silent for a moment before replying in his characteristically hoarse voice, "Boss, I'd like to design it myself. If that's alright?"
"Hm? You know shipbuilding too?" Wilder raised an eyebrow, turning to glance at Ashin.
He knew Ashin was a multi-talented genius, primarily a mechanic, but he hadn't realized shipbuilding was among his skills. Ashin's imprisonment stemmed mainly from an experiment gone wrong that had obliterated his hometown.
Of course, Ashin himself was no saint. The full extent of his knowledge remained unknown. Besides his mastery of mechanics, he moonlighted as a killer, much like Eigg. Unlike Eigg, however, Ashin's killings—often involving robbery—were typically self-motivated, primarily to fund his experiments. Eigg, by contrast, operated more like a bounty hunter, taking on assassination contracts through underground channels to earn rewards.
"I spent some time in Water 7," Ashin stated simply.
"Alright. Then I'll leave it to you," Wilder nodded, turning his gaze back towards the islands, now coming into sharper focus.
The Greni Archipelago consisted of one main island and five smaller satellite islands, arranged in a protective crescent shape around the primary landmass. Combined, the satellite islands were roughly half the size of the main one.
The ship bearing the Black Serpent flag headed directly for the main island, slowly approaching the docks. Just as Wilder and his group disembarked, a contingent of armored guards swiftly surrounded the entire pier, leveling spears, rifles, and cannons directly at them.
"Who are you people?! Foreign vessels are not permitted to dock here. Please leave immediately!"
"Leave immediately!"
There's an old saying, applicable anywhere: prosperity often comes to those who keep quiet. Across the vast East Blue, immense wealth is frequently controlled by unassuming families and organizations operating outside the spotlight. But influence born of profit necessitates strength; great fortunes require formidable military power to protect them.
Among the four seas, East Blue is renowned as the weakest, hence its moniker. The other three Blues each host powerful families or factions, some whose notoriety surpasses even certain formidable pirate crews in the New World—the Vinsmoke family of North Blue being the most prominent example, their influence so pervasive they could arguably be called emperors of that sea.
Yet, despite being labeled the weakest sea, with pirates typically topping out at bounties in the tens of millions of Belly, East Blue is not entirely devoid of powerful individuals and forces.
The Bronson family, controllers of the Greni Archipelago, was one such entity. They command vast resources of gunpowder and minerals, operate factories, manufacture weaponry, and have amassed enormous wealth through these enterprises. They are a nexus of interests with connections to numerous factions, holding a significant position in the East Blue's underworld. As the Bronson family's headquarters and the seat of their origins, the Greni Archipelago was naturally heavily fortified.
According to investigations conducted by Ashin's information and resources department, there were at least five Devil Fruit users on the islands, one of whom was the family patriarch, Old Man Bronson himself.
Wilder had been quite surprised upon learning this. It clashed sharply with his long-held perception of East Blue, and even more so with the events depicted in the stories he knew, where Arlong represented the pinnacle of power in this sea. Now, he mused, the real world clearly operated by its own rules. How could such a vast ocean contain only threats on the level of Arlong? A force like the Bronsons would be noteworthy even in Grand Line, perhaps even in the New World.
Subsequent details in the intel provided some clarity, while still surprising Wilder. The records indicated that Old Man Bronson had actually originated from the New World. A pirate in his former life, he settled in East Blue, after which his family rapidly rose to prominence, developing into the powerhouse they were today.
Back at the docks, the tension was palpable. Wilder stood at the forefront, calmly surveying the guards before a smile touched his lips. "Excuse me, could you please inform Mr. Old Man Bronson that Warlord Wilder is here to pay him a visit regarding some business?"
"Warlord of the Sea… You're that Wilder!" One of the guards, apparently the leader, stepped forward, his pupils contracting slightly. His heart grew heavy, but bolstered by the strength of his family—and their undefeated record tucked away in the East Blue—he felt less intimidated by the Warlord title than most might.
"Please wait a moment. I will have someone inform the Patriarch immediately," the guard captain said. Confidence was one thing, but the Warlord title still carried immense weight. The captain wasn't a fool; offending such a figure carelessly was unwise. Furthermore, acting presumptuously before understanding the visitor's intentions could easily lead to disaster. Reporting to the higher-ups was the safest course.
"Excellent. Much appreciated," Wilder replied with a warm, disarming smile that felt like a gentle spring breeze.
Ashin shifted slightly, lowering his head further. His sun hat and mask concealed his expression, but he alone knew the true meaning behind Wilder's seemingly amiable smile.
Hearing that one of the Warlords—and the currently infamous Wilder, no less—had arrived, the Bronson family didn't dare underestimate the situation. A group, led by Old Man Bronson himself, headed directly for the docks.
From a distance, Wilder spotted them. Old Man Bronson was white-haired but had a remarkably sturdy build. Following him were two young men and two middle-aged men. Curiously, the younger men walked positioned ahead of the middle-aged ones, only a single step behind the old patriarch.
As Wilder observed them, they observed him. Old Man Bronson felt a slight unease settle in his chest as they approached Wilder. Wilder's towering figure looked down on Old Man Bronson, and the look in his eyes made the patriarch deeply uncomfortable—it was a gaze he hadn't been subjected to in a very long time. Wilder's companions also sensed the unfriendly intentions radiating from Wilder and grew wary.
Old Man Bronson stared intently at Wilder. He had a very bad feeling about this visitor. Yes, that condescending gaze…
"Ashin. Now," Wilder's smile bloomed brightly as he attacked without any warning whatsoever.
Splat! Blood sprayed through the air! Old Man Bronson's body collapsed limply to the ground.
Wilder retracted his hand, wiping the blood from it, and looked up at the remaining family members, his eyes now filled solely with bloodthirsty killing intent.
There had never been any intention to negotiate. Ashin had guessed as much. Luring the enemy leadership out to the docks and eliminating them was far easier than fighting their way through the entire island.
Ashin stepped forward, moving past Wilder, a compact short-barreled cannon already materialized in his hand.
"Kill them!" The remaining Bronson family members finally reacted, their faces contorting with rage as they drew their weapons and charged!
BOOM! Ashin, expressionless, pulled the trigger. A red projectile launched from the cannon's muzzle, landing squarely amongst the charging guards.
A massive explosion of fire erupted. Over a hundred guards screamed as flames engulfed them, flailing uselessly before quickly falling still, reduced to charred husks.
Having eliminated nearly half the guards in one shot, Ashin was about to pull the trigger again when the four men who had accompanied Old Man Bronson burst through the dissipating smoke, charging directly at him.
Shunk! Wilder abruptly looked down at his own abdomen. A short sword, barely thicker than a chopstick, had pierced clean through his body. Gripping the hilt was none other than Old Man Bronson, who had seemingly collapsed just moments before.
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