One Piece: The True Codex

In the study, the adulterous couple had already begun their intimate entanglement. Sherlock's face was flushed red, likely from the alcohol, but his expression was eerily calm.

It wasn't until both pistols were fully loaded that Sherlock kicked open the hidden door of the secret room. The sudden noise startled the two lovers.

As Sherlock stepped into the study, his eyes immediately fell on the pair sprawled across the desk where Sassarian often worked. The man on top turned his head at the commotion, only to meet Sherlock's blazing, furious gaze.

Compared to the aging and portly Sassarian, the tax officer was indeed much younger and more handsome. It was no wonder Sherlock's stepmother would conspire with him. But this sight only fueled Sherlock's rage further.

Bang!

Without a word, Sherlock fired. Though he was no sharpshooter, he had some experience with firearms. At such close range, even poor aim wouldn't miss.

The lead bullet embedded itself in the tax officer's chest. While it didn't kill him instantly, the soft nature of the lead caused it to tumble and fragment within his body, creating a devastating cavity effect that inflicted even greater damage.

The tax officer collapsed to the ground like a heap of mud, wailing in agony. Sherlock's stepmother screamed, but when she saw Sherlock raise the second pistol toward her, her voice abruptly cut off, as if someone had seized her throat.

She was undoubtedly a beautiful woman—after all, only someone of exceptional appearance could have married a local business leader. Yet in Sherlock's eyes at this moment, she appeared utterly repugnant.

"Sherlock, you can't do this. If you kill someone, you'll be arrested," the woman pleaded, her voice trembling but still grasping at logic to persuade him. "If you're gone, the family business will truly be finished."

"Did my father ever wrong you?" Sherlock did not answer her directly but instead asked coldly. "I know you didn't truly love him. But if that's the case, you could have just left. You know what kind of man he was—he wouldn't have made things difficult for you. He would've given you enough compensation to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Wasn't that enough?"

Perhaps it was the looming threat of death, or perhaps a pang of guilt, but Sherlock's stepmother broke down in tears. "I was wrong, Sherlock. But you really can't kill me. If you're arrested, the Flash Gold Guild will be completely ruined."

Sherlock remained silent for a long time, and the woman's heart lifted slightly, thinking he might have softened.

"Did you two really think I was so determined to preserve the family business that I'd let you manipulate me at will?" Finally, Sherlock sighed and asked softly, "The bandits from last year—they were your doing, weren't they?"

The woman's face shot up in shock.

Bang!

Another gunshot echoed. This time, Sherlock took his time to aim, hitting his target with precision. The bullet struck her forehead, exiting through the back of her skull and taking a small piece of bone with it. Her lifeless body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, her face still frozen in disbelief.

Now, two corpses lay in pools of blood—the tax officer, who was gradually succumbing to his injuries, and Sherlock's stepmother, whose lifeless eyes stared blankly at nothing.

Sherlock stood motionless, still in his shooting stance, until a noise came from the study door. He immediately aimed his now-empty pistol in that direction.

The butler, who had rushed over after hearing the commotion, froze at the sight before him. His face turned pale as he stammered, "Y-young master!"

The sight of the two bodies on the floor and Sherlock holding a gun made the butler feel both terrified and estranged from the man he thought he knew.

"Tell all the servants in the villa to leave. Immediately!" Sherlock's voice was cold and devoid of emotion. "As of today, you are all dismissed. Go. If you don't leave now, you won't get another chance."

Having just witnessed Sherlock kill two people, the butler dared not argue. He managed a stiff bow before quickly retreating.

Once the butler was gone, Sherlock walked behind the desk and opened a drawer, retrieving a small box. Inside was an antique gold coin, its design intricate and steeped in history.

This coin had been purchased by Sherlock's great-grandfather from a sailor and held great sentimental value. The family business and the guild's name, "Flash Gold," were derived from it.

Sherlock tucked the box into his coat, then grabbed a bottle of strong liquor from the wine cabinet. He took several swigs, the liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth. He wiped his face with his sleeve before raising the bottle high.

Smash!

The expensive liquor shattered against the desk, its aroma filling the air. Sherlock didn't stop there. He grabbed several more bottles, smashing them open in the secret room. He then pulled out account books and other documents containing crucial information about the family business and the guild, tossing them onto the floor.

After completing these preparations, Sherlock struck a match. He hesitated for a moment before tossing it onto the alcohol-soaked papers.

There was no way he would let that damn Count easily acquire these assets and take control of the guild.

Flames roared as thick smoke billowed from the burning villa. The panicked servants fled in all directions.

Sherlock stood before the blazing inferno, watching as the fire consumed everything. Only now did his expression betray a deep pain.

Sherlock had always prided himself on his abilities, yet he never imagined that the legacy his family had painstakingly built over generations would crumble in his hands.

The growing fire soon attracted the attention of nearby residents. Sherlock wiped his eyes, took one last look at the villa, and turned to run toward the harbor.

He would return. He swore he would return.

For pirates, manpower was always a pressing issue.

The Marines, with their global reach, could recruit from all over the world. Whether they sought talent or cannon fodder, they were never short of personnel.

Pirates, on the other hand, were often compared to the Marines, but in reality, they were a disorganized and fragmented force. Unlike the centralized system of the Marines, pirate crews were often a motley collection of wanderers, drifters, and vagabonds, their quality varying widely. Most pirate crews were little more than bands of rootless scoundrels, lacking the stable recruitment pipelines of the Marines.

Yet pirates couldn't afford to neglect recruitment. Without the protection of a protagonist's plot armor, a single battle could leave a crew with significant casualties. Without fresh recruits, a pirate crew would grow weaker with each fight, ultimately facing annihilation.

This was why most pirate crews were filled with rogues, thugs, and drunkards—the dregs of society. When a crew docked, they would often recruit whoever was willing to join. In most places, such individuals made up the majority of volunteers.

William had seen this haphazard recruitment process firsthand during his time with Danton's pirate crew. He had always found it distasteful. Now, however, he appreciated this chaotic system.

It made infiltrating the Red-Beard Pirates all too easy.

~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~

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