The little incident at the funeral hadn't affected Brian's mood in the slightest.
To be precise — it was all part of his plan.
Just as he'd said, he had deliberately provoked Ann into reporting him.
Karl had been a cautious, mild-tempered man. Someone like that would never have complained to Admiral Zephyr, which meant Zephyr and Naval Headquarters would remain unaware of Brian's discontent.
If things had gone on that way, given enough time, Headquarters might really have forgotten about him.
Fortunately, the Astona suppression campaign had provided Brian with the perfect opportunity — not only to earn military merit great enough for promotion, but also to showcase his personal strength before the entire West Blue Navy, while sending Headquarters a clear message of his anger.
Sure enough, the big shots at Headquarters had come to their senses.
They realized that letting a talent like Brian sit idle was an extremely unwise move.
Because of that shift in attitude, Brian was not only spared any punishment — he was even promoted.
"Half a year at most," he thought, gazing at the newly constructed fortress before him,
"and I'll be sitting in the West Blue Governor's chair.
If Headquarters still doesn't recall me by then, I might as well stay here as a local emperor — and stand toe-to-toe with them."
Brian's mind was already moving on to his next step.
"Faster! No slacking!"
"You're working for Lord Brian — show respect and give it everything you've got!"
"You lazy dogs, still slacking off? Trying to die, are you?!"
"Please, sir, don't hit me again! I won't slack off!"
Under the crack of whips, the conscripted laborers from the Kingdom of Nasia wailed in pain. Anyone caught slacking was lashed mercilessly — one stroke was enough to tear flesh open, leaving them bloodied and raw.
Brian walked through the construction site inspecting the work. When his eyes fell on a small child struggling to lift a heavy stone, his brows drew together.
A nearby soldier hurried to explain,
"Lord Brian, please allow me to explain—"
"I asked for able-bodied adults, and you brought me a child?" Brian snapped his head around and crooked a finger at the overseer.
The overseer, confused but terrified, hurried over, bowing and grinning obsequiously.
"Drag this idiot away," Brian said flatly. "One hundred lashes."
"Yes, sir!"
The order came from Star, the younger brother of Snow, now serving as head of the new recruits — commanding two hundred men.
Two soldiers seized the terrified overseer and hauled him off.
"Give the kid a bit of money," Brian added without looking back, "then send him home."
With that, he continued his inspection, checking every section of the site.
Whenever he discovered laziness or shoddy work, the supervising soldier or overseer was whipped on the spot.
For ordinary men, a hundred lashes meant certain death.
While Brian was overseeing the construction, Caesar came running toward him, panting hard.
"Lord Brian—something's happened!"
"What could possibly scare you like that?" Brian said coolly.
"There was a group… they demanded to see you. Said their superior wanted a meeting. But their attitude was way too arrogant, so our men… well, there was a fight—"
"Go on."
"We subdued them, but… but—"
"But what? Stop gasping like a fish and speak properly."
"It's just… it's better if you look yourself." Caesar handed over three identification cards.
Cipher Pol No. 9.
Brian's brow furrowed. He muttered under his breath,
"Those government dogs… what do they want with me? Are they here to investigate?"
"Lord Brian, what should we do? They're agents of the World Government! A secret intelligence bureau!" Caesar's voice trembled.
Breaking military rules was one thing — it might cost him his position. But offending a government spy organization? That could doom his entire family!
Brian tossed the badges back at him dismissively.
"They're just lapdogs. You actually take them seriously?"
He pointed toward the site.
"Bury them. Alive."
"Alive?!" Caesar's eyes bulged.
"If you think that's too easy, flay them and roast them instead."
"N-no, Lord Brian, that—"
"Too much talking," Brian cut him off sharply.
"Do as I said. Remember, I'm your boss."
The glare that followed sent a chill down Caesar's spine. He swallowed hard, then nodded frantically like a pecking bird.
"Y-Yes, sir. I understand."
Ganaba Port — the busiest harbor in the Kingdom of Nasia.
Thousands of ships docked, departed, or passed through every day. Commerce here was booming, and the port's prosperity had fueled an entire service industry around it.
Inside a luxury inn, Spandine was enjoying a massage from a call girl, sighing in contentment. He had spent considerable effort collecting intelligence these past few days.
"This Brian really knows how to pick a spot," he mused. "Building his new fortress here… all the profits from this port will flow straight into his pocket."
Spandine — the director of CP9.
Ever since hearing rumors about Brian — especially after the government envoy and legal officer assigned to the Nasia Kingdom were both assassinated — the World Government had been alarmed. They'd dispatched agents to investigate.
Technically, the investigation wasn't CP9's jurisdiction. But Spandine intended to use it as an opportunity — to shake down the situation for his own gain.
Knock knock knock.
A rap sounded on the door.
Spandine sipped his tea and said lazily,
"Come in."
A young man in a black suit and dark sunglasses entered. Butler — a CP9 agent, Spandine's most trusted lieutenant.
Butler gave Spandine a quick wink.
Spandine immediately understood there was something to report. He pulled out a 5,000 Berries note from his wallet and handed it to the girl.
Her massage fee was exactly 5,000 — though normally, she'd expect a tip.
"Get out," Spandine said impatiently, waving her off.
"Cheapskate," the woman sneered with disdain before sauntering out under a stream of his curses.
When the door shut, Butler's expression turned grave.
"Sir, the men we sent out haven't returned. Could something have happened?"
Spandine waved it off dismissively.
"Something happened? Don't be ridiculous. We're CP9 — the World Government's own intelligence agency. Who'd dare lay a hand on us?"
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