Gil stashed the paper and kept walking with Bastille. Their stroll carried them from the Marine-controlled groves down into the darker districts—numbers in the teens, the lawless quarter.
The further they went, the rowdier it became: bounty hunters sizing up easy marks, slavers whispering in alleys, pirates laughing too loud.
One tavern in particular rang with noise. Gil ducked inside with Bastille.
The place was packed: rough men slamming down mugs, girls weaving through with trays of frothing ale, the owner polishing glasses behind the counter.
At a bright corner table sat a pompous man in silks. A spotless white handkerchief was spread on the chair beneath him, as if the tavern's filth was beneath his rear. His sharp face carried a permanent sneer.
This was Blutz, and the way others bent over backward around him said everything.
A young hustler bowed low beside him, licking his boots with words."Lord Blutz, please, put in a good word for me with Saint Charmarco. I can get you girls—top quality! I swear you'll be pleased."
Blutz sniffed, then smirked. "Hmph. Please me, and maybe I'll mention your name."
"Thank you, my lord!" The hustler snapped his fingers, and from the crowd emerged a red-haired beauty—slender, sultry, barely dressed.
"Lord Blutz, I prepared this one especially for you. Do you approve?"
Blutz's eyes gleamed. He grabbed her without shame, pulling her into his lap."Excellent. You know my tastes well, boy. Hah!"
The girl whimpered theatrically, melting into his arms as his hands roamed.
"Drink with me, little one!" he barked, raising a cup.
From across the room, a scar-faced pirate shouldered through the crowd, glaring at Blutz. "Oi. Our captain's claimed that girl. Hand her over unless you want the Axe Pirates to split you open."
Blutz's mood soured instantly. He shoved the girl tighter against him and sneered."Besides the Celestial Dragons themselves, who dares tell me what to do on Sabaody?"
The bar fell quiet.
"Celestial… Dragon?" the scar-faced man muttered, brow furrowing.
Blutz slammed his cup down, eyes blazing. "That's right. I am butler to a Celestial Dragon. Show me disrespect, and you insult my master. Do you want the wrath of the Dragons—and the Navy—on your head?"
The color drained from the pirate's face. Every drunk in the tavern knew what that meant. You didn't cross a World Noble. Even their dogs could call down hell.
The pirate stammered. "M-my lord, I didn't—"
"Shut it!" Blutz snapped. "Bring your captain here on his knees, or I'll see your whole crew crucified!"
The scar-faced man stood trembling, teeth clenched.
Around them, patrons whispered. Even in the lawless groves, Celestial Dragons and their servants were untouchable. To strike one was to invite destruction from Marine Headquarters itself.
Gil leaned back at his table with Bastille, sipping his drink."Now this is interesting," he muttered.
From the doorway, another figure appeared: a massive man, two meters tall, with a beard like a lion's mane and an axe tattoo on his chest. The room stiffened. The captain of the Axe Pirates had arrived.
"Roko!" the scar-faced pirate cried. "Big brother, he told you to kneel!"
The captain's eyes narrowed. "Kneel? Me?" His voice rolled like thunder.
The Axe Captain glared at Blutz, his presence pressing down on the room. Even Blutz flinched at the weight—before puffing himself back up.
"That's right," Blutz said coldly. "My master is a Celestial Dragon. You dare defy me?"
For a moment, the captain's mocking smile faded. Then he laughed. Loud. Cruel.
"Kneel? You know what my head's worth, brat? Seventy-five million Beli. You think you can collect it? Even if I knelt, could you carry it?" His eyes gleamed like steel, daring Blutz to press further.
Behind him, the Axe Pirates poured into the tavern, axes and cutlasses flashing in the dim light.