One Piece: The True Codex

Harden crouched down, grabbing Andre by the hair, ready to end his life. But Andre, his voice weak, asked, "Who are you? Why are you killing me...?"

Harden paused for a moment, then whispered in his ear, "This is an order from our captain."

"Your captain... who is he?" Andre's face was filled with confusion.

"You met him earlier today," Harden chuckled darkly.

Andre's eyes widened suddenly, finally understanding the motive behind this attack. Anger and hatred surged within him, granting him a brief burst of strength as he cursed, "So it's that damned commoner...!"

Infuriated, Harden swung his blade fiercely, severing Andre's head from his body. Andre's head, still locked in an expression of rage, rolled twice before landing by the roadside.

The next moment, a large foot stomped on the severed head. Its owner, Aramis, complained, "The captain said to make it look like a robbery-gone-wrong scene. Who's ever heard of robbers decapitating their victims?"

As Aramis spoke, several more members of the Morgan Pirates emerged from the woods lining the path. They had been lying in ambush all along, ensuring that even if Andre abandoned his attempt to flee back to the noble district and tried escaping into the woods, he would still meet a dead end.

As William had said, in critical moments like this, his tolerance for hidden threats was zero. He would not leave any loose ends.

Diego, who was pulling his throwing knives out of the corpses, glanced at Aramis and then said, "If a robber loses a companion, it's not entirely unreasonable for them to vent their anger."

Aramis rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. Immediately, three more figures emerged from the woods.

Under the guns of Hatcheson and another pirate from the Morgan Pirates, a middle-aged man wearing a dirty vest whose original color was unrecognizable, adorned with metal rings in his ears and nose, and covered in tattoos on his exposed skin, walked out with a pale face.

The middle-aged man, clearly terrified by the scene before him, dropped to his knees with a thud, begging desperately for his life from the vicious pirates surrounding him.

But the band of sea-bound outlaws remained unmoved. This man, dragged from the slums, was a local thug and a petty tyrant. Even if he had been an innocent civilian, the pirates would have shown no mercy.

Were it not for William uniting them and guiding them forward, the members of the Morgan Pirates would likely have devolved into the same kind of lawless marauders who terrorized the seas, oppressing the weak and committing atrocities.

The slums had always been a haven for crime and filth, with rampant lawlessness and countless villains. But compared to the Morgan Pirates, who were among the most formidable forces on the seas, these thugs were insignificant. The man kneeling on the ground was one such thug—a fitting target, neither too obscure nor too well-known.

Harden grabbed the middle-aged man by the collar, dragging him like a dead dog to the middle of the road. The man tried to struggle but felt his arms tighten as Aramis and Hatcheson pinned his shoulders.

With his head immobilized by Harden, the man could only catch glimpses of Diego, who picked up Andre's longsword from his corpse. In Diego's hands, the weapon transformed from a longsword to a greatsword due to its size relative to him.

Diego approached the restrained man, exhaled deeply, and steadied his stance. Despite the man's desperate struggles and pleas, Diego swung the sword diagonally, cleaving through the man's shoulder with a force that nearly bisected his upper body.

Standing nearby, Oliver's face turned pale. As a newcomer, he was unaccustomed to such brutal and bloody scenes, feeling a wave of discomfort.

In contrast, Harden, Hatcheson, and Aramis—who had been closest to the middle-aged man—remained unfazed, even as their clothes were splattered with blood.

Diego returned the longsword to Andre's corpse, while Hatcheson dragged the middle-aged thug's body to lie before Andre's, creating the illusion of a deadly struggle between the two.

Meanwhile, Aramis patted Oliver on the shoulder and led him to search the corpses of Andre's guard squad.

In no time, the group had gathered all the valuables from the bodies and pocketed them.

Once everything was done, the crew left under Harden's lead.

...

While Harden and the others were carrying out the attack on Andre, William was elsewhere, chatting with Sherlock.

Sherlock, perplexed, asked, "Not a meaningless death? What do you mean?"

"Dampier has already arranged a meeting tomorrow with Kalmar City's sheriff, and he wants me to join him," William said casually, fiddling with his wine glass. "Now, imagine what will happen tomorrow morning when the people of Kalmar City discover that their 'Kingdom's Strongest Warrior' was killed by a thug from the slums who ventured into other areas to rob and murder. What do you think their reaction will be?"

"Confusion?" Sherlock ventured.

William shook his finger.

"Suspicion?"

"No."

Sherlock lowered his head in thought, his mind racing through possibilities before finally looking up with an uncertain guess: "Fear?"

William nodded at last.

Sherlock suddenly understood.

Of course, it would be fear. Although Andre had just been defeated by William, his reputation as the Kingdom's Strongest Warrior had been deeply ingrained. Moreover, Andre wasn't just a warrior; he was a noble—a member of Navia Kingdom's upper class.

But now, he had been killed by a slum-dweller—a member of a group previously dismissed and ignored by the elite.

The filth and chaos of the slums, the poor state of law and order—Navia Kingdom's upper echelons were somewhat aware of these issues. However, they had never cared about how many people went missing, died, or were victimized there because none of it affected them directly.

But now, one of their own had died—a member of the elite, and theoretically the strongest among them. Only when harm befell their own kind would they start to take the issues of the slums seriously.

And given their nature, they wouldn't think about properly governing the slums. Instead, driven by fear and self-preservation, they would act impulsively, coming up with all sorts of rash ideas and measures.

"When they learn that Andre was killed by a robber from the slums, I bet those noble lords will be so scared they'll want to build a high wall separating their living areas from the slums," William joked. "After all, in terms of numbers, they're the minority."

"And what does that have to do with us?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

"This country, to us, is like a delicious dish served on the table. If not for the presence of the World Government and the Marines, I alone could kill all the useless drunkards in the palace," William sneered. "But since that's the reality, I don't mind savoring the meal slowly. Acting rashly not only risks drawing the attention and interference of the World Government and the Marines but also makes it harder for us to control this country in the future, potentially causing panic among the populace."

"What I want is for the people of this country to cheer me on as I walk into the palace and ascend the throne!" William said, his eyes shining as he looked at Sherlock. "So, start thinking now—who in this country is worth pulling into our fold, and who can be swayed to our side?"

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