One Piece: The True Codex

"One Piece:The True Codex"Sherlock's father, Sassarian, was not only the president of the Flash Gold Guild but also the head of their family business. While the guild could elect a new leader if something happened to Sassarian, losing the backbone of the family enterprise could spell disaster.

Sherlock understood that ever since Sassarian had been abruptly taken away, most of the people under their family business had been on edge. What they needed now was not an unconventional heir, but a steady leader who could instill confidence and assure them that the successor could stabilize the situation.

Thus, Sherlock adopted this new appearance, one that bore a striking resemblance to Sassarian. Although he had always despised this look, he now donned it without hesitation.

The Minister of Finance, often referred to as the Chancellor of the Exchequer, was one of the most powerful officials in the Navia Kingdom. For someone of his stature to target a local guild, no group of merchants could hope to resist.

To subdue the members of the Flash Gold Guild, Arcadio first orchestrated attacks on guild-affiliated merchant ships using the Red-Beard Pirates. He then colluded with Marine Captain Roy to create obstacles for the guild's exports. Furthermore, he replaced the key officials in the region where the guild's headquarters was located with his own loyalists.

To further intimidate the guild members, Arcadio chose a prominent target to make an example of.

That target was Sherlock's family business. As a result, Sherlock had been unable to rescue his father, Sassarian, despite his efforts. The family business was in decline, constantly harassed by local officials, while the guild members were too afraid to lend a hand, fearing the wrath of Arcadio, who held near-absolute power within the kingdom.

Perhaps deep down, Sherlock's imitation of his father was also an attempt to garner external sympathy, though his pride prevented him from admitting it.

Nighttime, in the mansion.

After dealing with another round of investigations by local officials, Sherlock lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. His mind was heavy with worry—concern for his father Sassarian's safety and fear that the family business, built over generations, might collapse in his hands.

It was only now, in this dire situation, that Sherlock truly understood how difficult it had been for his father to maintain a low profile in public. In recent days, Sherlock had lost count of how many times he had bowed and scraped before various officials who came up with all sorts of excuses to nitpick. The experience was nothing short of humiliating.

For a brief moment, he resented William for suggesting the smuggling business, which had implicated his family. But Sherlock was no fool who only blamed others. He knew the smuggling operation had been his own decision, and he had no one else to blame.

After what felt like an eternity of sleeplessness, Sherlock finally let out a resigned sigh, sat up from his bed, and decided to check the account books in the study.

Most of the servants in the mansion were already asleep. Sherlock moved quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone, and made his way to the study. The room was filled with traces of his father, Sassarian. In the moonlight streaming through the window, Sherlock could almost see Sassarian sitting as he always did—leaning back in his chair, sipping wine while poring over the account books.

Sherlock's eyes stung with emotion. The household was already on edge, and he didn't want the servants to see him lose composure. He rubbed his eyes, picked up a bottle of red wine and a glass, and opened a hidden door disguised as a bookshelf, stepping into a narrow, cramped secret room.

This secret room had been built on Sassarian's orders, designed to store important account books and valuable items. The room contained only a single set of table and chairs, along with several safes.

Sherlock lit a candle in the secret room, closed the hidden door behind him, and retrieved an account book from one of the safes. The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across his face, but Sherlock paid it no mind, calmly sipping wine as he reviewed the accounts.

It was unclear how much time had passed when Sherlock suddenly heard faint noises outside the door. His brows furrowed slightly in annoyance. Assuming it was a bold servant with ill intentions, sneaking into the study to steal, he moved closer to the door and listened carefully.

To his shock, the voices he heard belonged to a man and a woman—voices he found disturbingly familiar. It was his stepmother and the local tax officer.

Sherlock's biological mother had passed away several years ago, and Sassarian had remarried a young and beautiful woman two years later. This had been a major source of tension between father and son.

The two in the study were speaking in hushed tones, likely to avoid being overheard. However, their position near the hidden door made their conversation clearly audible to Sherlock, who was pressed against the door.

The tax officer's raspy voice carried through the hidden door: "Count Arcadio is a man of great stature. He won't tolerate anyone who might pose a threat to his safety. That Sherlock—he's not entirely useless. We need to deal with him quickly. If he gets desperate, he could become a problem. Even if he can't directly harm the Count, it would still be my failure, and the repercussions wouldn't look good."

A lazy female voice replied, "Sherlock is focused on maintaining the family business right now. He probably won't act recklessly."

The tax officer responded, "Better safe than sorry. Besides, whether he would act recklessly or not isn't the point. As long as the Count believes he might, that's enough. If I take care of him, it will leave a good impression on the Count. And if we don't get rid of him, how can you legitimately inherit the family estate? I've received word that Sassarian is already dead. Once Sherlock is out of the picture, you'll be the sole heir."

The tax officer's tone grew more suggestive as he continued.

The woman's lazy voice turned into a soft laugh. "You're so good to me. How could I ever repay you?"

The two exchanged flirtatious remarks, followed by the telltale rustling of clothes being removed. The tax officer's breathing grew heavier as he said, "When this is over, suitors for a beautiful widow like you will line up for miles. Just don't forget about me."

The stepmother let out a gentle "Mmm" and fell silent.

Behind the door, Sherlock clenched his jaw, his face twisted in rage. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was on the verge of bursting through the door to expose the treacherous pair's plot.

But his remaining rationality held him back. Sherlock walked to the desk, downed the wine in his glass in one gulp, and opened one of the safes. Inside were two pistols.

The pistols had ivory grips engraved with intricate patterns, resembling works of art more than weapons. Indeed, they were collectibles Sassarian had purchased, but Sherlock knew they were fully functional and capable of killing.

As time passed, the candlelight in the secret room began to dim. The darkness, once driven away by the light, crept back in, gradually enveloping most of Sherlock's figure in shadow.

In the dim and flickering secret room, Sherlock loaded the antique pistols with bullets and gunpowder, sitting silently in the chair as he prepared for what was to come.

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