One-Punch Man in the One Piece World

Chapter 126 Just Snatch It

Norton indulged in pleasure day and night, yet almost no one objected.

Except for Nami.

Do you know how much money you spent this month?

Feasts! Every day is a feast! Wine! Meat! Fruit! And those maids—where do they get their wages? Do you even know how much is left in the storeroom?

Nami nearly poked Norton in the face with the ledger in her hand.

Norton looked at her and remained silent.

Nami took a deep breath and flipped to the last page of the ledger: "If we don't have new income next month, we won't even be able to afford the raw materials for the workshop!"

"Then let's just steal from others."

"Steal—steal someone else's?" Nami's voice trailed off.

"Hmm." Norton handed his glass to the maid, stood up, and dusted off non-existent dust from his clothes. "The Navy should still have quite a few supply ships. Those filthy merchant caravans in the New World, those pirate crews collecting protection money, those—"

'

He paused, then looked in the direction where Crocodile was standing.

"Those guys who are still watching from the sidelines."

Crocodile, with a cigar in his mouth, twitched slightly at the corner of his lips.

Nami opened her mouth, then silently closed the ledger and hugged it to her chest.

"Okay, I'll make a list first and see which store to grab first..."

'

Norton didn't turn around, he just waved his hand.

"Let Chloe make the decision."

Nami gave a soft "oh".

The order to plunder was given, and the list was short.

Three naval branches, five pirate crews roaming the edge of the New World, and two wanted trade routes.

Klow clearly marked the location, troop strength, and defensive weaknesses of each target, like an anatomical diagram.

Norton finished reading it and handed the form back.

"Let Zoro lead one team to the eastern branch. Jinbe will lead the second team by sea to intercept those two trade routes. Gin and Sanosuke will be in charge of those pirate crews. Moria and Doflamingo..."

He paused.

"Send them to the branch in the west. Make a big fuss."

Kro nodded, turned and left.

Zoro's ship set sail at dusk on the second day.

He stood at the bow of the ship, three knives hanging at his waist, his green hair disheveled by the sea breeze.

Behind him were thirty elite soldiers selected from the First Division, each one taciturn, their swords speaking more than their words.

The target is a medium-sized naval branch with 800 troops and two warships escorting it.

Normally, this troop strength would be enough to intimidate the surrounding sea area. But that's normal times.

Zoro's ship docked under the cover of night.

He didn't launch a sneak attack or use any tricks; he simply jumped off the boat, stepped on the broken seashells on the beach, and walked step by step toward the branch's gate.

The sentry paused for a moment when he saw him, then reached for his gun.

Before the gun was even raised, the blade had already flashed.

The branch's gate was cleaved open by Zoro's sword.

The two iron doors fell inward and crashed to the ground with a dull thud.

The branch secretary rushed out of the office; he was a major general, and he was holding a giant sword taller than a man.

He saw Zoro's green hair and the three swords, and his expression changed.

"Roronoa Zoro—What's wrong with you?"

Before he could finish speaking, Zoro had already rushed in front of him.

The Wado Ichimonji was drawn, its blade coated with a layer of jet-black Armament Haki.

The major general raised his sword to parry, but the greatsword was cleaved in two with a single stroke, the cut surface as smooth as a mirror.

The back of the knife struck his neck, his vision went black, and he collapsed to the ground.

The whole process took less than three minutes. The navy soldiers who were still resisting in the branch saw their branch leader fall, and their weapons clattered to the ground.

Zoro sheathed his sword, turned around, looked at the soldiers who were crouching with their heads in their hands, and said calmly, "Empty the warehouse."

Twenty days later, when Sauron's ship returned to Nestad Harbor, the deck was piled high with boxes.

There were pesos, gold bars, jewelry, and boxes of ammunition and weapons.

The boxes were stacked higher than the ship's gunwale, bound with thick hemp rope, and swayed precariously in the sea breeze.

The harbor was packed with onlookers.

They watched as the crates were carried off the dock one by one, and soon a small mountain of crates was piled up on the pier.

The gold bars shone so brightly in the sunlight that it was hard to open one's eyes, and the jewels sparkled like scattered stars.

Nami stood in front of the pile of treasure, flipping through the ledger in her hands with a rustling sound, the corners of her mouth widening until they reached her ears.

"When will the next batch arrive?" she asked.

"Where are Moria and Doflamingo?"

"It was a bit too much noise. Moria's shadow completely uprooted the branch's pillbox and threw it into the sea, and Doflamingo used his threads to cut those two warships into pieces. The news has already spread." Crouch paused. "That's exactly the effect King wanted."

Nami nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

She crouched down, picked up a gold bar, weighed it in her hand, and then carefully placed it into the box beside her.

Jinbe's ship arrived on the morning of the third day.

He didn't bring much treasure—the ships on the trade route weren't exactly wealthy to begin with—but he brought back three intact merchant ships and two full cargo ships of grain. That grain was enough to feed the entire city for two months.

The commotion was greatest when Ajin returned.

The wings of the Qiongqi-shaped creature spread out above the harbor, blocking out a large patch of sunlight.

He gripped the mainmast of the pirate crew's flagship in his claws and dragged the entire ship into the harbor.

The pirates on the ship were tied up in a string and squatted on the deck, their faces pale.

Akin transformed back into human form and landed on the dock, bearing several new wounds, but his eyes shone brightly.

"All five pirate crews are still around."

Moria and Doflamingo returned last. Their ship was heavily drafted, and the deck was piled high with things they had taken from the branch warehouse: Berries, gold bars, ammunition, and several brand-new cannons.

Moriah sat atop the pile of treasure, his shadow writhing at his feet like a satiated snake.

Norton stood on the dock, watching the crates being unloaded one by one.

On the third day, Morgans' newspapers were spread to every corner of the New World.

The headline on the front page was jet black—

[The Demon King's Claws! The Kingdom of Norton launches attacks on all sides, and naval branches fall one after another!]

The subtitle is equally uncompromising—

"Three branch offices reduced to ruins overnight, five pirate crews wiped out! The Demon King Norton hasn't even made a move yet, but his subordinates alone have swept across vast distances!"

The newspapers listed in detail every target attacked, every piece of looted wealth, and every person who fell.

Those numbers are cold and impersonal, but to the reader, they are like a red-hot branding iron.

In the bar, someone slammed a newspaper on the table, their fingers trembling.

"Three branches—five pirate crews—in the last few days?"

No one answered him.

The bartender's hands were trembling as he wiped the glasses.

At the port, the merchant ships that were still observing began to turn around.

The captains' faces were as white as paper, their lips trembling, and they were muttering something unintelligible.

Some ships had just left the harbor when they turned back—not because they didn't want to leave, but because they were afraid to.

Who knows if a ship flying the silver skull flag might suddenly appear on the sea?

Those pirate crews that once ran rampant in the New World began to rein themselves in.

Some hid in the calm zone, some took refuge on deserted islands shrouded in thick fog, and some changed their flags overnight, disguising themselves as merchant ships.

But the shadow of the silver skull and crossbones is everywhere—in the discussions of every port, on the front page of every newspaper, and deep within every nightmare.

From that day forward, the words "Norton Kingdom" ceased to be a legend on a distant island, and instead became a sword hanging over everyone's head.

The World Economic News Agency published a supplement three days later.

The front page featured only one photo—the moment Moriah's shadow uprooted the branch's pillbox, the massive black shadow obscuring half the sky like some ancient behemoth.

Below the photo was a line of small print: "They didn't even need the Demon King to take action himself."

Nami sat by the window on the second floor of the palace, an account book spread out in front of her, and an abacus in her hand.

The abacus beads clattered and clicked, like a cheerful melody. Her lips curled into a smile, her eyes crinkled, and she couldn't suppress the joy on her face.

"Is that enough?" Norton leaned back in his recliner, his eyes closed.

"That's enough." Nami's voice carried a satisfied, lazy contentment. "It'll last us a while."

Norton grunted in response and said nothing more.

Outside the window, sunlight fell on the newly built wooden roofs, on the ships that were fully moored in the harbor, and on the pile of treasure that had not yet been unloaded, glittering and dazzling.

On the distant sea, a merchant ship is slowly approaching.

The sail features a painted albatross with outstretched wings—that's the logo of the World Economic News Agency.

The reporter sent by Morgans has arrived, to once again interview this kingdom that grew out of the ruins.

But Norton didn't go to see it.

He simply lay there, eyes closed, listening to the noise outside the window, the sound of Nami turning the abacus, and the breathing of this small kingdom.

It is growing.

It grew in plunder, in fear, in the glitter of those gold bars.

And he was at the center of it all—the demon king who sat on his throne and didn't even need to lift a finger.

Reputation is sometimes more useful than fists.

A fist can only break things, but a reputation can make people tremble before they even see your flag.

From now on, when naval lookouts see the silver skull and crossbones flag on the sea, their first reaction will not be "Fire!"

Instead, it was "escape".

When the captains of those pirate crews hear the name "Norton," their first reaction is not "challenge," but "run."

Those merchant ships, those nobles, and those fence-sitters who are still watching will reserve the best goods, give up the widest waterways, and offer up their most beautiful daughters.

It's not out of respect.

It's because of fear.

Norton opened his eyes, looked at the golden sunlight outside the window, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

"It's fine," he said softly.

A sea area in the New World.

The Spade Pirates' ship was anchored in the leeward side of an unnamed island, and the crew members were scattered on the beach repairing sails, mending nets, and drying fresh water.

Ace leaned against a palm tree, clutching the newspaper crumpled by the sea breeze, and looked at it for a long time.

"That guy—he's already reached this level."

Deus walked over from the beach, carrying two jugs of water.

He handed one of the jugs to Ace, sat down next to him, and looked up at the sky following his own light.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Thinking of Norton." Ace took the water bottle and took a sip.

Diuss remained silent for a moment.

Do you regret not agreeing to his proposal?

Ace shook his head and placed the water bottle on his lap.

"No regrets. I have my own path to walk... But if I really do lose to Whitebeard, I might as well go to his place for a free meal."

Diuss paused for a moment, then chuckled.

"Are you so sure you'll lose?"

Ace didn't answer. To be honest, he wasn't sure either.

three days later.

Ace stared at the distant horizon, his lips clenched tightly.

Diuss walked up to him and handed him a nautical chart. "Following this course, we should be able to enter Whitebeard's territorial waters by tomorrow afternoon."

Ace took the chart, glanced at it, and handed it back. "Wake me when we arrive."

He turned and went into the cabin, closing the door behind him.

The cabin was dark, with only a small patch of light coming in through the porthole and falling on the table. A newspaper lay open on the table, the same one from three days ago.

Ace sat down and looked at the photo for a long time.

Then he took a piece of paper and a pen out of the drawer.

There were only a few lines of writing on the paper, the handwriting was messy, as if it had been scribbled on the spot.

"If I fail, go to Norton. He'll take you in."

He folded the paper, put it in the envelope, and wrote Dios's name on the envelope.

Then place the envelope under the empty water glass on the table.

In the afternoon, a black dot appeared on the horizon.

As the ship moved forward, the black dot grew larger and larger, eventually becoming the outline of a ship.

A huge ship.

Ace's ship stopped two hundred meters away from the Moby Dick.

He stood at the bow of the boat, looking up at the man sitting high up, at his eyes that were slightly squinting in the sunlight.

"That's Whitebeard—" Diuss stood behind him, his voice a little strained.

Ace pulled his hat down further, leaped from the bow of the ship, and with each step he took, a small flame ignited beneath his feet, turning the seawater into white mist.

On the Moby Dick, the crew stopped talking, leaned against the ship's side, and watched the figure getting closer and closer.

Some people whistled, some laughed, and some just watched quietly.

"That's the Fire Fist?"

"He looks quite young."

The white-bearded man sat in a chair, placed his wine bowl on his lap, looked down at the young man, his eyes slightly narrowed, and a smile that was hard to decipher.

Ace stopped at the railing of the Moby Dick.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds.

Ace took a deep breath and brought his right fist to his waist.

Flames surged from his fist, burning brighter and thicker until they finally transformed into a blazing fireball that spun wildly across his fist.

"Fire Fist!!!"

The fireball detached from the fist, trailing a long tail of flame, and roared toward the Moby Dick!

Where the fireball passed, a deep trench was steamed out of the sea, and white steam shot into the sky!

On the deck of the Moby Dick, the crew watched the fireball grow larger and larger. Some took a step back, while others stood still.

Whitebeard didn't move.

He simply raised his right hand, spread his fingers, and flicked it lightly at the fireball that was rushing towards him.

The fireball, powerful enough to burn through the armor of a warship, was flicked away by the white-bearded man's finger like a pebble, flying diagonally through the air and landing on the distant sea.

boom!!!

The sea surface exploded, and water columns shot skyward, reaching heights of tens of meters.

The falling seawater pounded on the deck of the Moby Dick like a torrential downpour, soaking the crew to the bone.

But there wasn't even a red mark on the white-bearded man's fingers.

Ace's pupils contracted slightly.

The white-bearded man looked down at him, his eyes devoid of any mockery or disdain, only a calm, almost gentle scrutiny.

"Young man," his voice was deep, like a muffled thunder rumbling from the depths of his chest, "you've come to challenge me?"