Chapter 174 - CHAPTER 174:Cooperation With the World Government

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The remaining pirates inside the tavern cast wary glances at Ayr, who sat at the front like a dormant storm—silent, yet oppressive, the kind of presence that suffocated bravado and twisted instinct into stillness. Though many knew of his peculiar connection to Whitebeard, none among them dared to drop their guard, for Ayr's reputation wasn't built on rumor or distant tales; his strength was something they had felt firsthand—raw, suffocating, and unmistakable, the overwhelming Haki he had unleashed moments prior still clinging to the tavern's air, echoing through their bones and nerves like thunder that refused to fade.

Almost every pirate present, regardless of their notoriety or former exploits, felt the primal pressure bearing down on them like a storm surge, urging them not to speak, not to shift, not to breathe louder than the man seated in quiet dominion over the room. Whatever courage they had carried into the tavern had long since been strangled into silence beneath his gaze, and in Ayr's presence, no one dared utter a word out of turn or risk lighting a fire that none of them could hope to contain.

"But putting that aside..." Ayr began, his tone deceptively casual as he lazily tossed a bottle of finely aged wine toward Whitebeard and leaned back in his chair with the kind of predatory ease that made men flinch without realizing why. "Edward, what did you come here for this time?"

Catching the bottle with practiced ease, Whitebeard let out a chuckle that rumbled like distant thunder from the depths of his massive chest, his expression relaxed but not without sharpness. "It's nothing serious. Can't I just visit a friend?"

"Hmph. So you're here to shoot the breeze?" Ayr muttered with the barest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he nodded slightly. "That's fine. It's been a while since we last drank together."

From the moment Whitebeard had entered, Ayr had sensed the absence of killing intent; this wasn't a trap masquerading as pleasantry, nor a declaration of war veiled in etiquette, but the rare peace that came when one old pirate simply sought another.

Whitebeard sat beside him, the tavern's wooden floor groaning beneath the sheer weight of his colossal frame and the pressure of his presence, which settled across the room like a heavy tide, inescapable yet not suffocating.

"You're something else, Ayr," Whitebeard said, swirling the wine in his grasp with idle curiosity. "You haven't even formed a real pirate crew, yet the men under your banner aren't exactly small fish."

Just beyond the hidden nation's borders, powerful pirate vessels lingered like vultures circling the remains of a battlefield, their silhouettes imposing against the sea, each guarded by fighters whose bounties had long surpassed the hundred-million mark. Even before he stepped into the tavern, Whitebeard had spotted scouts hiding in the cliffs, informants planted in the alleys, and sharp-eyed watchers stationed across every route—an intricate web of vigilance and power, carefully spun beneath Ayr's command.

Though Ayr had claimed his "Commission Agency" didn't attract pirates with bounties above a billion, the truth was far more staggering, for the sheer concentration of high-value individuals operating beneath his shadow was enough to rival nations.

"They're just minor characters," Ayr responded flatly, his tone void of concern, as if men worth hundreds of millions were mere tools, barely worth consideration.

Whitebeard laughed deeply, the sound carrying weight but also a sense of amused disbelief, shaking his head as he said, "A pirate with a bounty in the hundreds of millions isn't a minor character on these seas, Ayr. Not even close."

Within the Whitebeard Pirates, such men were elites—the core of his offensive might—yet here they filled the tavern like common soldiers, and many more stalked the coast, carrying out missions under Ayr's meticulous, commission-driven structure, forming a silent legion of assassins, thieves, and mercenaries whose loyalty stemmed not from ideology, but efficiency.

"Maybe not in the world's eyes," Ayr conceded with a light shrug, "but for you and me, Edward, they're hardly significant."

And that wasn't arrogance—it was simply true.

Whitebeard, Emperor of the Sea, rivaled the Pirate King in strength and domain, while Ayr, who had once bested Fleet Admiral Kong, gone blow for blow with Garp and Zephyr, and walked away from the Valley of the Gods incident when so many legends had perished, existed on a level untouched by titles. Even if every man under his banner betrayed him, none would last more than a heartbeat against Whitebeard's power.

"Gu la la la… That's true enough," Whitebeard agreed, though the grin he wore dulled slightly as he took a slow swig from the bottle, gaze sharpening with a more calculated weight. "Still, I've got to ask—what are you planning, gathering this many dangerous men under one flag?"

Despite his claims after the Valley of the Gods massacre that he had no interest in forming a pirate crew, Ayr's current network—its scale, its precision, its strength—spoke of something far more deliberate.

"No grand plan," Ayr answered, his voice calm and direct. "They're simply tasked with collecting rare treasures… and Devil Fruits."

There was no flair in the way he said it, no hunger for dominion or legacy, just a plain explanation. Ayr wasn't chasing the title of Yonko, nor aiming to spark another age of bloodshed; the Commission Agency was merely a vessel—silent, maneuverable, and invisible when necessary—built to draw in what he required with ruthless focus.

"You mean to tell me a monster like you is recruiting an army just to go treasure hunting?" Whitebeard laughed again, more dryly this time. "Seems like a waste."

"There's not much else to do right now," Ayr replied as he poured a drink for himself, the deep crimson of the liquor catching the tavern lantern's glow, his slow sip more ritual than indulgence. Though it appeared mundane—dispatching operatives, managing logistics, signing contracts—the truth behind it was far more deliberate. Every assignment, every mission returned with something vital: artifacts, cursed objects, forbidden texts, rare substances, and above all, powerful Devil Fruits. Each item fed into his system, evolving his Fairy Eye, cultivating the materials he would need for what lay beyond.

"Enough talk of business," Whitebeard said at last, raising his glass in a toast. "Let's drink, like the old days."

This visit wasn't meant to pry, nor did it mask some hidden threat—it was, at its core, a pause in the chaos, a rare and treasured moment between two legends who understood what peace truly cost. As their laughter began to echo, as stories of battles and betrayals slipped from their lips like waves breaking against an old hull, other members of the Whitebeard Pirates hesitantly joined in, settling around them, drinking in cautious silence. Yet, despite the warmth in the air, the tension never truly vanished; every man in that room still kept one eye fixed on Ayr, aware that beneath the laughter sat a god who could shatter the earth.

Then it happened.

Without a word, both Ayr and Whitebeard narrowed their eyes, their Observation Haki blooming in perfect synchrony like a bolt of lightning across a blackened sky.

Something—or rather, someone—was approaching the tavern.

"Who?" Ayr asked, rising with deliberate precision, his voice cutting through the tavern like steel unsheathed, the very air hardening around him.

The tavern doors creaked open, and several figures stepped through, cloaked in long garments and adorned with birdlike white masks, their movements fluid, coordinated, and entirely unaffected by the spike in spiritual pressure. Every man present stiffened, recognizing the insignia burned into their cloaks—one that had frozen hearts across every corner of the Grand Line.

World Government—Cipher Pol Aigis Zero.

CPO.

Each masked agent carried a sealed treasure chest, their footsteps measured, their posture flawless, their presence radiating the unmistakable aura of trained killers—these were not scouts or negotiators, but the Government's sharpest knives, deployed only when blood was expected.

Ayr's gaze narrowed, his killing intent rising as fast as his suspicions. "CPO?" he muttered coldly, immediately discerning the impossibility of their arrival being undetected; they hadn't slipped past his network by accident.

"Calm yourself, Ayr. We're not here to provoke," the lead agent said, his tone measured and resolute behind the mask. "We've been dispatched by the World Government. We came to… discuss business."

Ayr's Haki exploded outward in response, crashing like a tidal wave against the masked intruders. "Business? Don't insult me."

This was no ordinary pirate they addressed. Ayr, with a bounty of 4.75 billion Berries, was a walking contradiction to everything the Government stood for, a survivor of world-altering conflicts whose existence remained a thorn in the side of authority. For them to come offering parley now reeked of ulterior motives.

"We came with sincerity," the agent assured, raising one gloved hand as the others stepped forward.

With precise choreography, the chests were opened—ten in total, each revealing a Devil Fruit, their grotesque patterns gleaming with power, their presence warping the air in subtle, unnatural waves.

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Even Whitebeard's demeanor shifted, his jovial warmth giving way to a sharper, colder focus. Ten Devil Fruits presented so openly wasn't a mere offer—it was a statement, a declaration that the Government had come prepared to make Ayr listen.

Before he could speak, a mechanical voice rang within his mind—cold, direct, and undeniable.

Ding! Ten Devil Fruits detected nearby. Would the Host like to use them to unlock the Eight-Tails' Chakra?

A flicker of surprise crossed Ayr's crimson gaze.

"The Eight-Tails…?"

Over the years, through blood and battle, he had personally claimed more than thirty Devil Fruits, yet none had unlocked Gyūki's chakra within the Fairy Eye. But now—with these ten…

He was close.

He could feel it in every nerve.

And once Gyūki awakened, the path to the Ten-Tails would no longer be just ambition—it would be reality.

"These ten Devil Fruits are merely a deposit," the lead CPO agent continued, his voice calm but deliberate. "If our cooperation proves fruitful, there will be more. Much more. So… will you continue this conversation, Ayr?"

Ayr said nothing, his gaze shifting from the chests to the white masks that stared back without fear.

Behind those blood-red eyes, thoughts surged—calculations of risk, temptation, betrayal, and opportunity colliding like tectonic plates.

A storm was brewing in that silence.

And with this single offer… the World Government had just handed him the first drop of rain.

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