One Piece: The True Codex

"The royal family and the nobility? The wealth and power of this country have already been carved up by them. If we compare Navia Kingdom to a large cake, these two groups have taken more than eighty percent of it, including the richest, most delicious portions," William said, pausing for a moment.

He lifted the glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside swirling gently as he gave it a slight shake. Pointing at the glass, he continued, "Look at Arcadio and his prohibition law. They are never satisfied. Not only will they do everything to defend what they already have, but they'll also take more whenever they get the chance. But the cake is finite. At this rate, those who still have a small piece of cake will soon be left with nothing but crumbs. And when even the crumbs are gone..."

William smacked his lips but left the sentence unfinished, shifting the topic instead. "The reason Arcadio and his ilk can legally and justifiably claim so much of the cake is because of order, law, and even societal morality. And King Norton I is the embodiment of these principles. They hold the power to distribute the cake. Now tell me, if I want to take control of this country, do you think they'll support me?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Of course not."

Sherlock understood William's character very well. William didn't mind sharing benefits because he wasn't someone who indulged in luxury. His only focus was power.

No matter how friendly he appeared on the surface, deep down, William was a domineering man. He didn't mind giving others a share of the benefits, but only if he was the one doing the distributing.

Could a group of nobles accept such a strong-willed man as their ruler? Arcadio dared to deceive Norton I and impose a prohibition law, but if it were William he faced, he wouldn't even dare to mention such an idea.

William walked to the window, gazing toward the direction of the slums. "I want to be the one who divides the cake and sets the rules. But those royals and nobles will never agree. So my best allies are naturally the largest group in number—the ones who can only sit around the table, picking at the crumbs. They're easily satisfied, and when I give them more, they'll wholeheartedly support me as their distributor."

He took a sip of his drink. "Besides, what use is there in recruiting those royals and nobles? A bunch of useless drunkards—they can't help me tear apart my enemies, can they?"

...

In Kalmar City, Sheriff Dennis held a perfumed handkerchief over his nose and mouth, looking with disgust at the scene before him.

On a secluded path, five bodies lay sprawled in disarray. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the trees, casting fragmented light on the ground, but it failed to dispel the gloom in Dennis's heart.

Three of the corpses, armed with standard-issue longswords from the royal guard, had relatively normal death postures. However, the other two bodies were enough to give any ordinary person nightmares.

One belonged to a giant of a man, significantly taller than average. His head had been severed, his lower leg was chopped off, and his abdomen had been split open. His death was gruesome beyond words.

The other corpse, dressed in simpler and cheaper clothing compared to the others, bore a horrific wound stretching from his shoulder to his waist. The slash had nearly bisected his torso, leaving it precariously attached. Dennis thought it might have been less disturbing if the man had been fully cleaved in two—this half-severed state was far more unsettling.

This usually desolate path was now crowded with onlookers. After all, this wasn't the slums—where disappearances and deaths were a daily occurrence—but a border area between the commoners and the nobility. Deaths here, especially multiple deaths at once, were a rare event.

Police officers were stationed on either side of the path, preventing anyone from disturbing the crime scene. After surveying the site, Dennis stood at a distance, watching a man in his forties with a thick, bushy beard moving around the bodies. The man gestured animatedly, occasionally crouching down with his rear in the air, closely examining the ground in a manner that appeared almost comical.

Dennis, however, didn't find it amusing.

Being a sheriff in the capital city of a kingdom was far from an easy job. Given the rudimentary systems in place, Dennis was responsible for almost every matter related to law and order in the city, from major crimes to trivial incidents—everything ended up on his desk. Whether it was a murder case or a missing cat from a minister's home, it was all his problem.

If that were all, perhaps the job could be managed with diligence and effort. But in a city teeming with royalty and nobility, enforcing so-called laws and maintaining order was far from straightforward.

Dennis was merely a knight, and a low-ranking one at that, stripped of hereditary privileges. Sometimes he wondered if his low status made him an easy target, which was why the ministers had placed him in this position.

In this city, being a sheriff meant dealing with endlessly complex cases. You could never predict what connections a seemingly simple theft case might reveal—sometimes it would lead to entanglements between powerful nobles.

It was this environment that had driven Dennis to develop a gambling habit. His work itself was a gamble—a gamble before investigating a case, and another gamble after uncovering the truth. If a case turned out to involve a feud between two influential figures, choosing a side became yet another gamble.

Dennis had lost his hereditary knighthood in one such gamble.

People often said that a man's thirties were when he began to make progress in life. But for Dennis, his thirties marked the beginning of his decline.

As a result, he had adopted a more laid-back attitude.

Meanwhile, the bearded man finally stood up and gestured for Dennis to come over. Dennis frowned but walked over, and the two moved away from the crowd to speak in hushed tones.

"Stay out of this. You can't afford to get involved," the bearded man said, pretending to brush dust off his clothes while his eyes scanned the surroundings warily. His voice was low and cautious.

Dennis glanced at the man, hesitating for only a moment before nodding.

The bearded man, named Thomason, was only five years older than Dennis but looked as if he belonged to the previous generation.

Thomason had once been a bounty hunter, but family had become his final harbor. After marrying and having children, he decided to leave behind his wandering, rootless lifestyle. By chance, he ended up working under Dennis, who recognized his talents and recruited him.

Thomason wasn't exceptionally strong, but his years of wandering the East Blue had given him plenty of combat experience and a sharp eye. His investigative skills and judgment far surpassed those of Dennis, whose only distinction was his noble title.

Dennis, unlike Andre, harbored no jealousy toward capable individuals. He trusted Thomason deeply, and Thomason, in turn, was loyal to Dennis, appreciating the man who had given him a stable life and never flaunted his noble status.

"Who's behind this?" Dennis asked. "The people who died this time aren't ordinary. It won't be easy to stay out of it."

"The kind of people who could take both your life and mine!" Thomason replied gravely. "I know one of the dead is the captain of the King's royal guard. And that's precisely what makes this even more terrifying."

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