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Arthur kept his word.
The ten seconds expired. Without a flicker of hesitation, right before Tom's horrified eyes, he shattered Franky's insides.
The boy's eyes bulged. He clutched his stomach, his gaze fixed on Arthur—a burning mixture of hatred and defiance. But his life force was fading fast.
Watching his best friend murdered before his eyes, Iceburg couldn't bear the grief. The sheer horror of it knocked him unconscious.
"YOU BASTARD!!!" Tom roared, his thick arms trembling, veins bulging on his temples. He gripped his hammer, his knuckles white, but he didn't dare move, terrified that Iceburg would be next.
"Wouldn't have happened if you'd just handed it over—" Arthur said, his voice devoid of all emotion. Lightning crackled at his fingertips. "Guess the blueprints meant more to you than these kids, huh? Selfish."
He commanded, "Now. Give me Pluton."
"Take it! Take it all! Just let Iceburg go! Get out!!" Tears streamed down Tom's face. He ripped the thick bundle of blueprints from his coat and hurled it at Arthur.
"Hmph. Should've done that from the start," Arthur sneered. He dropped Iceburg to the ground and casually caught the blueprints.
"You've seen these, right? Understood some of the tech, even if you couldn't replicate it?" He glanced back at the furious fish-man. "Might want to start modifying this kid soon. Maybe he'll live."
With that final, chilling piece of advice, Arthur flipped through the ancient schematics, then turned and walked away.
"Modifying?" Tom froze, the word cutting through his rage. Then, realization dawned. He scooped up Franky's broken body and rushed back towards his workshop.
This world was full of strange wonders. Races beyond count, bizarre technologies that defied logic. Some places seemed hopelessly primitive, while others possessed wonders beyond imagination.
Look at the Navy's warships—still running on paddle wheels and turbines, not even nuclear power. Yet the Ark Maxim on Skypiea, powered by electricity, could fly to the moon. And Vegapunk's robot army… who knew what fueled them, but their destructive power was terrifying.
It was a strange, wondrous, terrifying world. Anything was possible.
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West Blue, in the headquarters of a certain Mafia family.
News of Arthur's exploits reached the ears of Capone Bege, who had clawed his way back to power. The short, stout man chewed on his cigar, forcing himself to remain calm.
'Thunder Emperor Arthur's crew just keeps getting stronger,' he thought grimly. 'Even a monster like Red the Aloof is his First Mate now…'
"Yorororororo! Boss, the times keep changing," his subordinate, Gotti, said with a strange, rolling laugh. "The sea never stands still. Sooner or later, someone will come along who can knock the Thunder Emperor off his throne."
"Just like he did to the legends before him," Vito added, his long, curled tongue flicking out, his tone unreadable. Was it comfort, or arrogance?
The sea was relentless. No king ruled forever. New challengers always rose, staring up at the legends above them, burning with the conviction that they could tear them down.
Like Mihawk—he defeated hundreds, thousands of times—yet his belief in his own victory only grew stronger, driving him relentlessly towards the title of World's Greatest Swordsman.
"I know that..."
Bege grunted, setting down the newspaper, his fingers drumming on the table. "It just pisses me off. Once I've finished consolidating power in the West Blue, I can make my move on the Grand Line. But… the old get older. Barring some miracle, Arthur will be sitting on that throne for decades."
Arthur was young, barely older than Bege himself. His peak could last for who knew how long. But letting a grudge go unpaid… that wasn't the style of a Mafia boss.
The sea was full of powerful men, full of Devil Fruits with incomprehensible abilities.
Bege was a patient man, a schemer. He believed that with enough planning, enough alliances with others who had scores to settle with Arthur, enough strategic use of certain game-changing Devil Fruits, he would eventually get his chance. He would have his revenge.
"Yororororo! Boss, enough doom and gloom! The Marine branch here contacted us," Gotti interrupted. "They want our help catching the 'Demon Child,' Nico Robin. If we succeed, they'll supply us with top-of-the-line ships and weapons."
"'Demon Child'... 79 million berries?" Bege let out a cold laugh. "So much for the Navy's 'justice.' But a deal's a deal. Benefits are benefits."
"Let's move."
He and Vito rose, leading their men out to begin the hunt.
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Meanwhile, on Arthur's home island.
A small, thin figure in tattered clothes crawled onto the beach. She sat down, hugging her knees, and began to weep silently. The cold moonlight illuminated her small, helpless form.
Framed for a crime she didn't commit, Nico Robin, barely twelve years old, had lost her home, her family, everything. Now she was alone, constantly hunted by greedy men, jolted awake by every shadow.
She couldn't understand what Ohara had done wrong. What was so evil about studying history? Was knowing too much truly a death sentence?
She cried until she couldn't cry anymore. Hunger gnawed at her belly. She stood up and began to walk inland.
Soon, she came upon the ruins of a castle, surrounded by a crumbling wall and rusted iron bars. Warily, she climbed over, dropping into the overgrown courtyard.
'Is that… a grave?'
In the center of the courtyard was a small mound of earth, marked by a crooked wooden cross that looked like it would fall over in the next gust of wind. Faintly visible, carved into the wood, were words of mourning.
Years of wind and rain had eroded the mound. From the loose soil peeked the corner of some clothing, and… a metal box.
The box was strange. It was covered in intricate patterns made of characters from some ancient, unreadable script. It felt impossibly old.
Others might not recognize the script, but Nico Robin, who had earned her archaeologist's degree at the age of eight, knew it instantly. It was the language of the Void Century, the language the World Government had tried to erase from history.
Curiosity, the driving force of any scholar, overwhelmed her. Digging up a grave felt wrong, but the pull of the mystery was too strong.
Whispering a silent prayer, she began to dig with her small hands, eventually unearthing the entire metal box. Alongside it, buried in the dirt, was a perfectly cut gemstone.
Comparing the shape of the gem to the keyhole on the box, Robin instantly understood.
"Click."
The box sprang open. Inside, there were no jewels or gold. Instead, it was filled with small stone tablets, made of the same indestructible material as the Poneglyphs.
'The D. Clan… Uranus… Poseidon… Pluton? The Pluton… power system?'
She struggled to decipher the ancient text, whispering the words aloud in confusion.
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