Half a month later.
Punk Hazard, G-5 Branch Temporary Command Center.
Kane leaned back in a lounge chair, leisurely trimming his nails with an exquisite pair of nail clippers. He looked like a man without a care in the world, far removed from the harsh reality of a Marine outpost.
His posture was relaxed, and his expression was content. He hummed a small tune to himself, enjoying the quiet of the office.
From the other end of the island, terrifying roars that shook the earth and mountains echoed continuously. The sounds of destruction were rhythmic, punctuated by the crashing of boulders and the whistling of displaced air.
That was Sakazuki and the other two performing manual labor that was called "training" but was actually "moving mountains like the Foolish Old Man." It was a grueling task designed to push their physical limits to the absolute breaking point.
Every punch and kick of theirs contained the frustration and anger they had nowhere to vent after being manipulated by Kane, accurately pouring it onto the innocent mountain. They struck the rock faces with enough force to turn stone into powder, imagining Kane's smug face with every strike.
On the table in front of Kane lay a black cargo list submitted by Stussy; the final tally was—thirty billion Berries. It was a staggering number, written in plain, unassuming ink that belied its world-changing potential.
Cash and gold were disguised as construction waste and delivered in batches through underground transportation lines. The logistics were flawless, moving a king's ransom under the very nose of the World Government. Aside from Kane, no one knew where this massive sum of money, enough to buy several kingdoms, had come from.
Regarding this, the attitude of Sakazuki and the others was: I don't know, I didn't see anything, don't ask me. They were career soldiers who understood that sometimes, it was better to remain blissfully ignorant of the budget's origin.
In any case, the base construction funds had mysteriously become plentiful, so why not? If the barracks were nicer and the cannons were newer, they weren't going to complain to the Fleet Admiral.
"As long as the result is justice, what does it matter if the process is a bit dark?" Kane blew away some nail clippings, very satisfied with the results of his brainwashing. He felt like a true visionary, molding the future of the Marines through a bit of creative accounting.
Just then, a uniquely shaped black encrypted den den mushi on the table began to ring, "Purupuru." The sound was sharp and distinctive, cutting through the distant sounds of mountain-breaking.
Kane picked it up casually. He didn't even sit up, maintaining his slouching position in the chair.
The den den mushi's face immediately changed, perfectly replicating Stussy's charming expression mixed with a hint of awe. The snail even seemed to mimic the slight tilt of her head.
"Master, all thirty billion has been stored in the vault. Are you satisfied?" Her voice was smooth, carrying the weight of a job well done.
"Good efficiency." Kane gave a brief word of praise, serving as an affirmation for his tool. He knew the importance of positive reinforcement, even for someone as dangerous as her.
"This money will be used to fill the gap for purchasing Sea Stone. By the way, how is the matter I asked you to investigate?" He flicked a stray clipping off his knee, his tone turning slightly more serious.
"Just as you expected." Stussy immediately reined in her flirtatious manner and adopted a professional intelligence director's tone. She knew when to play and when to work.
Monkey D. Dragon officially established the 'Revolutionary Army' on a small island in the South Blue a month ago. The news was fresh, pulled from the deepest shadows of the underworld's information network.
Kane's eyebrows twitched. A small spark of excitement lit up his eyes.
It's finally here. The beginning of the end for the old world order.
"The scale is very small," Stussy's voice carried a hint of disdain. She was used to dealing with world-class power players, not ragtag bands of idealists. "Including himself, there are fewer than twenty core members, all of whom are rebels wanted by various kingdoms."
"They tried to incite rebellion in several member nations but failed every time. They are currently being hunted by CP agencies, hiding here and there, and their situation is... quite pathetic." She described their plight with the cold detachment of a predator watching a wounded animal.
"No money, no people, no weapons?" Kane summarized incisively. He could already see the opportunity blooming in the midst of their despair.
"Yes, like a pack of... stray dogs clutching onto unrealistic fantasies." Stussy didn't see the potential; she only saw the current failure.
"Very good." The corners of Kane's mouth curled into a pleasant arc. He loved an underdog, especially one he could use.
Stray dogs? No.
In his eyes, that was a patch of... super leeks that had just sprouted, growing well and in urgent need of irrigation. He was the gardener, and he was about to provide the fertilizer.
This is a storm that can shake the world in the future; how could it be allowed to die in its cradle? If they died now, who would provide him with the delicious disciplinary violations he craved?
"Stussy, I have a new mission for you." Kane's fingers lightly tapped the table as he issued a new order. His rhythm was steady, like a heartbeat.
"In the guise of an underground arms dealer, go and make contact with them." He wanted to be the mysterious benefactor, the shadow in the corner providing the tools of rebellion.
I want to dispose of a batch of pirate weapons seized by the G-5 Branch, enough to equip about two thousand people. These were weapons that should have been smelted down or locked in a Marine vault forever.
Stussy on the other end of the line was clearly stunned. The den den mushi's eyes widened in a comical fashion.
She couldn't keep up with her master's wildly imaginative and erratic thinking at all. He was playing both sides of a game she didn't fully understand yet.
Selling weapons seized by the Marines to the World Government's most-wanted criminal? It was a level of audacity that bordered on insanity.
"You mean... sell them to them?" Her voice wavered slightly, the gravity of the treason finally sinking in.
"Correct, let's send some warmth to the Revolutionary Army." Kane spoke nonchalantly, as if he were discussing donating old clothes to a charity.
"They must be dirt poor right now. As for the price, give them a massive discount—just charge them ten percent of the cost as a token." He didn't want to bankrupt them; he wanted to arm them.
"If they really have no money, an IOU will do." He was being more than generous; he was being an investor.
Stussy was silent for two seconds. She was processing the sheer magnitude of the risk.
Though waves of shock crashed in her heart, as a perfect tool, she never questioned her master's decisions. She knew her place was to execute, not to debate.
"Understood. I will arrange it seamlessly; it will never be traced back to you." Her professionalism returned, sharper than ever.
Furthermore. Kane paused, his gaze drifting to a locked drawer in his desk.
As if remembering something, Kane took a pre-prepared book out of a drawer. It was bound in plain leather, looking like a simple ledger.
"I have a 'special gift' here. Send someone reliable to deliver it personally into Dragon's hands." This was the true payload, the ideological spark to match the physical fire of the guns.
...One week later.
West Blue, in a hidden harbor of an unnamed deserted island. The air was thick with the smell of salt and rotting seaweed.
In the mournful sea breeze, a man wearing a green hooded cloak was listening to a desperate report from his subordinate. The wind whipped his cloak, making him look like a ghost against the rocky shore.
"Mr. Dragon, our last bit of money is only enough to buy thirty old-fashioned flintlock rifles and two crates of damp bullets!" The subordinate's voice was cracked with exhaustion and hunger.
"Yesterday, Jess had his leg broken by CP agents because his gun barrel exploded!" They were fighting a losing battle with garbage equipment.
Monkey D. Dragon's face was ashen, and the tattoo on his face looked exceptionally fierce in the shadows. He looked like a man carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.
The flame of his ideals was being blown out bit by bit in the cold wind of reality. He was beginning to wonder if his father was right—if this path was truly impossible.
Just then, a companion responsible for keeping watch came running over, scrambling and crawling, his voice full of panic. He tripped over a loose stone but didn't stop shouting.
"Mr. Dragon! A... a ship is approaching! It's flying the black flag of the Underworld!" The news sent a shiver of fear through the small group.
Dragon's heart tightened. He adjusted his stance, readying himself for a fight.
A few days ago, for the sake of survival, they had indeed tried to contact a seemingly unremarkable arms "middleman," but they were completely unsure of the outcome. They expected to be ignored or, worse, betrayed.
"Let them come over," Dragon said in a low voice, his hand already on his waist. He signaled his men to take cover behind the crates and rocks.
Soon, an unmarked black merchant ship pulled alongside the makeshift pier. It looked sleek and dangerous in the fading light.
A man wearing sunglasses with a face full of scars stepped off the ship, followed by several burly men carrying large crates. He walked with the confidence of someone who knew they were in control.
"You are that group... the so-called Revolutionary Army?" The man sized up Dragon's group of ragged, sickly-looking people, a hint of strangeness in his eyes. He had seen better-looking beggars in the slums of the Grand Line.
"If you want money, we don't have much." Dragon got straight to the point, his voice as low and heavy as iron. He wasn't going to beg.
"If you think it's a loss, you can turn around and leave." He stood his ground, a lone pillar of strength amidst the wreckage of his dreams.
Money? The man in sunglasses sneered and waved his hand dismissively. He looked like he found the very idea of their money insulting.
"Our boss doesn't care for such a small amount of money. The boss said this batch of goods is 'half-sold, half-gifted'." He gestured to the men behind him.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Over a dozen heavy crates were slammed onto the ground, their lids crudely pried open with crowbars. The sound of wood splintering echoed across the harbor.
The breathing of every Revolutionary Army member present stalled at that moment. Their eyes widened as they stared at the contents.
The crates didn't contain any discarded junk or rusted antiques.
Instead, there were rows of shiny, brand-new rifles, fierce-looking heavy hand cannons, and even several small mobile artillery pieces gleaming with metallic coldness! It was enough firepower to take over a small country.
Dragon and his companions were dumbfounded. They had never seen so much military-grade hardware in one place, let alone in their own hands.
The value of this batch of arms would be at least five hundred million Berries on the black market! To get it for a pittance was a miracle.
"Just give us whatever money you have on you. The rest is the boss's way of funding young people with dreams," the man in sunglasses urged impatiently. He seemed eager to be done with the transaction.
Why? Dragon's eyes were full of vigilance; the massive temptation had not clouded his mind. He knew there was no such thing as a free lunch in the pirate world.
Who is your boss? He stepped forward, demanding an answer.
"Don't ask what you shouldn't ask." The man in sunglasses wasn't intimidated.
The man in sunglasses pulled a heavy package wrapped in oilcloth from his coat and tossed it accurately to Dragon. The package felt solid and heavy in his hands.
"The boss also instructed this—said it's a gift specifically for the leader."
After saying that and taking the pitiful amount of Berries—barely enough to cover the fuel for the ship—the man in sunglasses left with his men without looking back, as if staying a second longer would cause trouble. The ship pulled away as quickly as it had arrived.
Dragon stood stunned as the sea breeze whipped his cloak. He looked down at the package in his arms, his heart pounding.
After a long while, he slowly opened the package. His fingers were slightly trembling.
Inside was a book.
On the cover of the book, there were no publisher markings, only several large handwritten characters—
"On the Sixteen-Character Policy and Practice of Guerrilla Warfare 2.0 Edition"
Dragon's pupils shrank violently. He recognized the concepts, the theories that were whispered in the dark corners of military academies.
Trembling, he flipped to the title page, where a line of familiar, flamboyant handwriting exploded in his eyes like a thunderclap. The ink seemed to pulse with a hidden energy.
"A single spark can start a prairie fire. —Kane"
Boom!!!
Dragon's mind went blank, and then blood rushed to his head. It was as if a physical blow had struck him.
The memory of being "enlightened" by Kane on Garp's ship surged into his heart like a tide. He remembered the intensity in Kane's eyes, the way he spoke about the world's rot.
That sentence, "Rather than futilely pruning the branches, it's better to pull it out by the roots!", was still deafening in his ears! It was his North Star.
Mentor! It's Mentor Kane!
He has been silently watching over me all along! He never gave up on me! Tears began to well in Dragon's eyes, a rare sight for the future revolutionary.
This batch of extremely precious arms wasn't some charity from a black market dealer at all; it was sent by Mentor Kane through special channels from within the Marines, at great risk! He realized that Kane was playing a much more dangerous game than he was.
The man who would make the world tremble in the future was now clutching that book tightly, his whole body shaking with excitement. He felt a renewed sense of purpose, a burning fire in his gut.
His companions looked at each other, having no idea what was happening. They just saw their leader having an emotional breakdown over a book.
"Mr. Dragon, what's wrong?" one of them asked cautiously.
Dragon stood up abruptly, a fire burning in his eyes like never before. He looked taller, stronger, more certain.
He held the book high, his voice trembling with excitement as if announcing to the world. He wanted everyone to know they were part of something bigger.
"Comrades! We are not fighting alone!"
"Our greatest revolutionary mentor is lurking in the heart of the enemy, risking his life to send us nutrients and guide our direction!"
"This warmth... this expectation... this trust... we must never fail it!!!" His voice echoed off the rocks, carrying a conviction that swept through his followers.
...Meanwhile, on Punk Hazard.
Kane was comfortably enjoying a sunbath, the blue system light screen in front of him refreshing frantically. The notifications were rolling in like a waterfall.
[Ding! Detected the Host seriously aiding the enemy, selling a large amount of high-quality arms at a low price to a rebel organization against the World Government!]
[This behavior has seriously violated Article 117 of the "Marine Penal Code": Treason! According to the law, it shall be punished by death!]
[Congratulations to the Host! Obtained a massive amount of discipline points: 100,000!]
Listening to the series of "praises" in his mind, Kane comfortably shifted his position. He felt like he had just hit the jackpot.
Still the same formula, still the same flavor. He loved it when a plan came together.
With these 100,000 points in hand, he was one step closer to redeeming a Devil Fruit awakening. The power was almost within his grasp.
Just then, his private den den mushi, whose number only he knew, rang abruptly. This one was kept in a separate, lead-lined compartment.
Kane picked it up and saw it was indeed Dragon's number. He smiled; the timing was perfect.
He cleared his throat, adjusted his emotions, and answered the call. He put on his "serious mentor" voice.
The face of the den den mushi immediately showed Dragon's face, which was somewhat distorted with excitement. He looked like he was about to burst.
"Mentor!"
As soon as the call connected, Dragon's deafening roar came through, heavy with a nasal tone. He was clearly crying.
"I received it! Your kindness, we've received it all!"
Kane's tone was flat, carrying a depth of having experienced many vicissitudes: "Mhm, it was just some insignificant 'waste disposal.' The road ahead is long; you still need to walk it yourselves."
Inner OS: Yes, yes, keep going, make a bigger scene, my discipline points depend entirely on you, my precious! I need you to be the most wanted man alive!
"No! Mentor! This is not insignificant!"
Dragon's voice choked up. He couldn't believe Kane was being so humble about such a monumental act.
"This is a torch that illuminates the darkness! I understand everything now! The reason you stayed in the Marines, even bearing the infamy of being greedy and cruel, was to dismantle this corrupt regime from within! You... you have borne everything for us!"
The corner of Kane's mouth couldn't help but twitch. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
This kid's ability to over-interpret things was as stable and excellent as ever. He was writing a whole heroic epic in his head.
"Mentor!"
Dragon took a deep breath and said with a tone almost like an oath, with utmost solemnity:
"I can no longer occupy such a high position! The position of Supreme Commander of the Revolutionary Army should rightfully be yours! Only your wisdom can lead us to final victory!"
"From today on, I, Monkey D. Dragon, only wish to be the most loyal vanguard under your command! I will clear all obstacles for you! I only ask for your arrival to lead us in building a truly fair and just New World!"
Kane held the den den mushi, looked at the distant sea level, and sighed helplessly. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a mock-exhaustion.
Here it goes again. Everyone wants to give him a throne he didn't ask for.
I just want to quietly farm some points; why do you always try to "force the imperial robe upon me"? It was getting harder and harder to just be a simple "scumbag."
Cough, cough.
Kane forced himself to calm down and said in an even more sorrowful and complex tone. He channeled his inner tragic hero.
"Dragon, I understand your intentions. But... my mission is not yet complete."
"In the darkest places, light is needed most. The chronic ailments within the Marines require a scalpel inserted from the inside."
"You are our sword in the sunlight. And I must be the dagger in the shadows." He sounded like a martyr, and he knew Dragon would eat it up.
Dragon, on the other end of the line, fell silent. The weight of Kane's "sacrifice" seemed to crush him.
After a long while, his voice came through, choked with uncontrollable emotion.
"I... I understand, Mentor."
"I won't make such unreasonable requests again. I will definitely build a great army worthy of you! I will wait for the day you descend to rule the world!"
The call ended. The silence returned to the office, save for the distant mountain-breaking.
Kane looked at the den den mushi in his hand, which had returned to its original form, and fell into a long period of contemplation.
This kid... I just wanted to grow some leeks, but you always want me to be the emperor?
[Ding! Disciplinary Violation: Manipulation of Revolutionary Forces. Disciplinary Points +5,000!]
Kane smiled. Being an emperor might be a lot of work, but the points were certainly worth the hassle.
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