One-Punch Man in the One Piece World

Chapter 125 Post-War

Fu Ning looked at Kro for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled.

"you're right."

Early in the morning, Norton came down from the second floor of the council chamber, changed into clean clothes, and stood on the steps at the entrance.

The morning light fell on him, casting a long shadow behind him.

Before us lies the city of Nestad.

The newly built wooden houses stretch from the foot of the mountain all the way to the sea.

Smoke was rising from the rooftops, and people were already walking on the streets.

Further away, the port was already bustling with activity. Newly arrived ships were docking, gangplanks were being placed on the pier, and crowds were pouring off the ships, forming crooked queues to wait for registration.

Kro stood in front of the registration desk, holding an account book, while Funing directed the shipwrights to unload cargo on the other side of the port.

Timber, stone, nails, canvas, grain, and medicine were unloaded from the ship and piled up on the dock like small mountains.

Nami walked over from the medical area, clutching a stack of receipts, her complexion not good. She hadn't slept again last night; her eyes were dark-rimmed and her lips were chapped. But her steps were quick and steady, making a crisp clattering sound on the stone pavement. Norton stood on the steps, watching all this, a slow smile curving his lips upward.

It's like watching a seed sprout from the soil, watching a sapling grow new buds, watching a wasteland gradually turn into a field.

He turned and walked back to the council chamber, where a nautical chart lay open on the table, next to a pen, a bottle of ink, and an unfinished document.

He sat down and picked up a pen. Ink soaked the nib, spreading into a small black blot on the paper.

He wrote—

"The Kingdom of Norton is now recruiting physicians, craftsmen, teachers, farmers, fishermen, and merchants."

All who wish to abide by the laws of the kingdom, regardless of their origin or past, are citizens.

The pen scratched across the paper, and outside the window, the sunlight grew brighter and brighter.

Crocodile's ship entered Nestad Harbor on a misty morning.

"We've arrived," the subordinate behind him said softly.

Crocodile didn't answer, he just stared at the approaching dock, his cigar ash piling up long, he forgot to flick it.

He received the news on the seventh day after the war ended.

He should have been there.

Norton's order to him was to "bring people over," to bring over the ships and men he had accumulated over the years from Alabasta.

He received the order and set off, but not quickly. The fleet stopped three times along the way for supplies, once to avoid a storm, and once, without saying a word, stopped for two days.

He is waiting.

Waiting for a result.

If Norton loses, if that massive naval fleet really razes Demon Island to the ground, he still has a way to turn back.

Alabasta is still here, Rain Banquet is still here, and everything built up over the years is still here.

He could turn the ship around, return to that desert, and continue being his underground king.

But now Norton has won.

They won completely, so thoroughly that the whole world shut up.

Crocodile stood at the bow of the ship, watching the island draw ever closer, and suddenly felt like a fool.

All those little schemes, those calculations, those "what if I lose" fall flat on their faces—they're all a joke in the face of those fists.

"Boss?" a subordinate behind him called out again.

Crocodile took the cigar from his mouth and stubbed it out on the gunwale. The ash fell into the sea and sank silently.

"Let's dock."

Crocodile took a deep breath as the gangplank reached the dock.

The movement was so subtle that his subordinates behind him didn't even notice.

But he knew he was nervous. He hadn't felt this way in a long time.

There were people waiting for him at the dock, standing at the end of the pier, not holding an account book, just standing there watching Crocodile's ship dock.

"You're here?" Kro asked in a flat tone.

Crocodile stepped off the diving board, his golden hook dangling beside him. "I was delayed on the way."

Kro nodded without asking any further questions, then turned and walked towards the island.

"King is waiting for you."

The two walked one after the other through the harbor, through the crowded streets, and through the newly built urban area.

Crocodile walked and looked around—

The wooden houses were simple, but neatly arranged; the streets were muddy, but orderly; the people coming and going were ragged, but their eyes held something he hadn't seen in a long time.

What is that thing called?

hope?

He gave a cold laugh and suppressed the thought.

The royal palace was built on a high point in the north of the city, constructed of animal-taming wood and bluish-gray stone. It was three stories high, not large, but very solidly built. Two stone pillars stood at the entrance, their tops adorned with a gilded emblem of intertwined scepters and royal chess pieces, gleaming in the morning light.

Crocodile stood at the door, glanced up at the emblem, and then followed Crocodile inside.

Norton was on the second floor, his back to the door, looking down at the city awakening outside the window. He heard footsteps, but didn't turn around.

Crocodile stood in the doorway, silent for a few seconds.

"I'm late."

His voice was hoarse, so hoarse that even he himself felt unfamiliar with it.

Norton turned around, walked up to Crocodile, and extended his hand.

Crocodile looked up at the hand, and after a few seconds reached out and grasped it.

Norton helped him up.

"It's only a few days later, as long as you come."

Crocodile suddenly remembered many things.

He thought of the boundless desert of Alabasta, of Norton waiting for him all night under the scorching sun, of that blood-stained hand clenched into a fist and stretched out in front of him.

I remembered that question, "Should we play again?"

He admitted defeat at that time.

But he did not submit.

He's convinced now.

It's not that they submit to fists, but to something else.

He couldn't explain what it was.

"Those people you brought," Norton's voice came from the window, "Crow will take care of them. You stay with me."

"it is good."

No need for further words. One word is enough.

Norton nodded and said nothing more.

Outside the window, the sun had fully risen.

Crocodile stood behind him, watching the city gradually come to life. He had lit his cigar again at some point, and wisps of bluish-gray smoke rose slowly and drifted away in the morning light.

From that day on, the expansion of the Kingdom of Norton entered a near-mad mode.

News of the naval blockade being broken spread like wildfire to every corner of the sea.

Merchant ships, fishing boats, and civilian boats that had been blocked outside appeared one after another on the horizon, like a flock of migratory birds that had finally waited for the tide to recede, flapping their wings and surging toward the island.

The newcomers were assigned to various squads.

Some went to logging teams to cut down animal-driving trees deep in the dense forest; some went to quarries to chisel stones on steep cliffs; some went to workshops to work hard amidst the clanging of blacksmiths; and some went to the docks to load and unload goods in the salty sea breeze.

The captains of each squad were extremely busy.

El led the Avenki warriors through the dense forest, Ruhanna's hooves rustling as they stepped on the fallen leaves.

Dalton was overseeing the progress at the quarry, where truckloads of bluish-gray stone were being transported down the mountain to pave new streets and build new houses.

Mr. 1 and Pora were in charge of maintaining order at the port. The new pirates were assigned to the Fifth Division. Some people were dissatisfied, so Mr. 1 drew a line on the ground in front of him with his bladed arm, and from then on, no one dared to cross the line.

Akin's Qiongqi form had rendered great service on the battlefield, and he now held immense prestige within the squad. He led the Third Squad on a patrol of the outer perimeter, his black wings unfurling beneath the clouds like a moving banner. Palu followed behind him, carrying his great battle spear, a smile always gracing his honest face.

Moriah's terrifying three-masted ship was anchored in the deepest part of the harbor, and the zombie crew members were reassigned to different tasks—some guarded the warehouse, some moved cargo, and some patrolled at night.

The island's inhabitants were initially afraid, but they eventually got used to it and would occasionally greet the silent zombies.

Doflamingo's subordinates were assigned to the Second Division, mixed in with Moria's men.

At first, the two sides didn't get along very well, but Moria and Doflamingo themselves didn't have much conflict—neither of them were the type to fuss over trivial matters.

Vergo followed behind Doflamingo, silent as a stone, and was occasionally sent to help Kuro organize intelligence, with astonishing efficiency.

Jinbe's fishmen were organized into independent squads responsible for sea patrols and search and rescue.

The merfolk slaves rescued from Sabaody now wear the uniforms of the Kingdom of Norton, moving back and forth between the port and the sea, and working together with the human crew with increasing ease.

Steel Hand was still the same as always, wandering around the island every day with a flask in his hand, occasionally going to the training ground to check on the new guys.

Someone, unconvinced, tried to challenge her, but she punched him away. From then on, no one dared to mention the word "sparring" in front of her.

Zoro's injuries have almost healed, and he spends every day in the training ground swinging his sword. From morning till night, the sound of the blade cutting through the air is like a monotonous song.

Sanosuke was practicing with kunai on the rooftop, his black feathers gleaming in the sunlight.

The two would occasionally exchange glances, neither speaking, but each knowing what the other was thinking.

Sanji's kitchen has been expanded three times. The original sea restaurant, Baratie, has been towed ashore and converted into a dining hall that can serve thousands of people at the same time.

The new chefs were assigned to the kitchen team; some were responsible for chopping vegetables, some for tossing the wok, and some for making soup.

Sanji stood in front of the stove, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his spatula flying as golden egg yolks sizzled and spread across the bottom of the pan.

Zeff set up a shed with a few tables and chairs at the entrance of the canteen to sell his homemade ale.

People who have worked all day like to come here to sit, drink a bowl of wine, curse a few times, and brag a bit after they finish work.

Zeff listened to the random chatter, occasionally chiming in, but mostly just quietly wiping the cups.

The palace was not officially completed until twentieth after the war.

Although it's called a royal palace, it's not actually that big. It's a three-story stone and wood structure with eight stone pillars on the front and an emblem of intertwined scepters and royal chess pieces carved on the lintel.

The first floor is the council hall, which can accommodate hundreds of people for meetings; the second floor is Norton's living room and study; the third floor is not yet completed and is currently empty.

But Norton was satisfied.

Because he finally had a palace that looked somewhat decent.

The sleeping cloud bed brought back from the sky island was placed in the largest room on the second floor, taking up an entire wall.

The cloud bed is as soft as the sky itself. When you lie on it, you sink into it completely, as if you are wrapped in a warm cloud.

Funing had bed sheets and blankets woven from cloud silk, a specialty of the Sky Island. They were light blue with silver embroidery along the edges.

From that day on, he began to live like a real king.

The palace was not officially completed until twentieth after the war.

But Norton was satisfied.

Because he finally had a decent bed.

The cloud bed, brought back from the Sky Island, was placed in the largest room on the second floor, taking up an entire wall. The cloud bed was as soft as the sky itself; when you lay on it, you would sink into it, as if enveloped by a warm cloud. Funing had the sheets and blankets woven from cloud silk, a specialty of the Sky Island, in a pale blue color with silver patterns embroidered along the edges.

When Norton first lay on it, he smiled for a long time with his eyes closed.

"This is the life I want," he said.

From that day on, he began to live like a real king.

Every morning when he woke up on his cloud bed, the maids were already waiting outside the door.

They carried copper basins, towels, hot water, and clothes that had been ironed the day before, and tiptoed in, moving silently through the room.

The first to come in was the one in charge of washing up. She knelt by the bed, tested the water temperature, and handed a hot towel to Norton. By the time he finished applying the towel to his face, the salt water for rinsing his mouth was ready, and the cup was held to his lips at the perfect angle.

Then came the changing. Two maids stood on either side of him behind him, unfolding the black cashmere coat.

Norton stretched out his arm, and the coat fell onto his shoulder. One hand went around to the front to tie the belt, while the other adjusted the back hem and collar. The fingertips were light, the movements quick, and the belt was tied perfectly, the hem hanging smoothly, without a single flaw.

Norton stood in front of the mirror with his arms outstretched and nodded in satisfaction.

Breakfast was already laid out by then.

The dining table is by the window, covered with a white tablecloth, on which are placed several small dishes, a bowl of hot porridge, a basket of freshly baked bread, and a glass of milk at the perfect temperature.

The maid in charge of the meal stood by the table and waited until he sat down before lifting the lid, her movements light and quick, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Norton doesn't like people talking while she eats, so they just stand quietly to the side, ready to refill her porridge, change her plate, and hand her bread.

After he finished his porridge, the plate was silently removed; he put down his cup, and the milk jug was already tilted over, the milky white liquid rising steadily in the cup without spilling a single drop.

He finished eating, putting the last piece of bread into his mouth. The tablecloth was spotless, without even a crumb.

After lunch, it was time for paperwork; by the time we finished reading the briefing, it was already morning.

At this time, someone would come to massage his shoulders. The lunch was much more lavish than the breakfast. The maid in charge of the meals stood by the table and used serving chopsticks to put a little bit of each dish into his bowl, just enough for him to taste.

In the afternoons, Norton would sometimes take a nap, or sometimes lie on the deck chair by the window, flipping through a nautical diary or travelogue that he had found somewhere.

The maids then retreated outside the door, leaving only one person in the room to guard him. She sat on a low stool in the corner, holding needlework in her hand, occasionally glancing up at him to see if he was asleep or if he needed more clothes.

At dusk, a maid would come to change his clothes.

After that comes a vibrant nightlife...