"Tch... this thing is definitely rigged, isn't it?"
Krieg grumbled as he watched the last of the Berries he'd earmarked for "recreation" disappear into the gullet of a slot machine. He'd lost over half his wallet in record time.
"Oh, certainly not, sir! Our machines are perfectly fair!" the floor boy stammered, sweating slightly under Krieg's imposing gaze.
They were in Rainbase, the "City of Dreams," specifically inside the premier casino Rain Dinners. This golden pyramid was the headquarters of the Warlord Sir Crocodile.
Normally, government officials were strictly barred from entry, but after Krieg pulled some rank and engaged in a tense negotiation at the front desk, Crocodile had granted a one-man audience.
Krieg had been killing time at the slots while waiting for the "Boss" to become available. Now, tens of thousands of Berries later, a different attendant approached him.
"The Owner will see you now. Please follow me."
Krieg straightened his gear and followed the man through the opulent halls. They were led into a spacious, dimly lit room where water flowed down the walls—a decadent display of wealth in a desert nation.
At the end of a long, polished table sat a man draped in a heavy black fur coat, a cigar smoldering in his hand.
A long, horizontal scar ran across the bridge of his nose, and a large golden hook glinted where his left hand should be.
Sir Crocodile. Logia user of the Suna Suna no Mi and a man whose brilliance was as dangerous as his desert powers.
"Heh. It's the first time we've locked eyes, isn't it?" Crocodile's gravelly voice echoed.
"First time. I'm Krieg, commander of the Marine Independent Guerrilla Unit."
"I've heard the whispers. Though among my circles, you're better known as the 'Red Seagull.' So? What brings a busy Marine Rear Admiral to my doorstep?"
"The higher-ups are twitchy," Krieg lied smoothly, leaning against the table. "You setting up shop here has made them curious. They sent me to 'check in' while I was on patrol in Paradise."
"Hmph. I haven't done anything to warrant suspicion. I'm a law-abiding Warlord."
A waiter brought a drink for Krieg. He took a sip without hesitation.
"Bold," Crocodile noted, his eyes narrowing. "You drink something offered by a pirate without checking for poison?"
"If anything happens to me, my fleet will level this casino before the ice in this glass melts," Krieg replied with a smirk. "Besides, you're not the type to make such a clumsy, short-sighted move. You're smarter than that."
Crocodile let out a low, dry chuckle. "Kuhahahaha! Precisely. There's zero profit in killing a high-ranking Marine in my own lobby. Purely 'all pain, no gain.'"
"I'm just here for a face-to-face today. Though I have to ask... why the ban on government officials?"
"Simple. Even as a Warlord, I'm a pirate at heart. I don't like 'dogs of the law' sniffing around my pockets looking for dirt that isn't there."
Dirt that isn't there? Your pockets are practically made of charcoal, Krieg thought, though he kept his face neutral.
He knew exactly what was beneath their feet—the secret underground base, the Baroque Works nerve center, and the plans for the "Utopia" conspiracy.
"Fair enough. Sorry for forcing my way in," Krieg said, turning as if to leave.
"Hold on. Seeing the face of the infamous 'Red Seagull' was worth the intrusion. But since you're here, I have a small request of my own..."
Krieg paused. "A request? Since you let me in, if it's within my power, I'm listening."
Crocodile stood up, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the table. A predatory grin spread across his face.
"Nothing complicated. I want to see if the rumors about your 'iron body' are true. How about a little sparring match, Marine?"
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