Chapter 109: The Price Represented by a Finger
Grove 8 had not always belonged to Peterman.
At first, it had simply been a gathering place for kidnappers and human traffickers. Scattered gangs from all over the Sabaody Archipelago came there to trade their catches, exchange information, and pass off troublesome "goods" before the Marines could make a show of doing anything.
Then Peterman arrived.
He did not negotiate his way into power. He beat his way into it.
Through violence, threats, and a few very public examples, the scattered traffickers were forced under one banner. Outsiders were driven out. Connections were made with auction houses and nobles. Deals were polished, routes were arranged, and what had once been a filthy marketplace gradually became an organized operation.
The Hound Pet Gang.
A gang that lived by kidnapping people and selling them.
And Grove 8 became Peterman's den.
As they walked toward it, Eli explained all of this with the patience of a man trying very hard not to sound like he was begging.
"This isn't a place you can just walk into and smash up," he said, his voice kept low. "Peterman isn't some alley thug. His people do business with auction houses. Nobles are involved. Even the Celestial Dragons buy from these channels sometimes. This whole trade exists because the people above allow it to exist."
He glanced back, hoping at least one of them would show hesitation.
Axel continued tapping his wooden sword against the ground.
Tap.
Tap.
Issho followed at an unhurried pace.
Hawkins said nothing.
Eli's mouth twitched.
"They're not selling fruit, you know? This is human trafficking. If you ruin their business, you're cutting off someone's livelihood. Cutting off someone's livelihood is like killing their parents. The retaliation—"
Axel lifted his head slightly. "Then don't come with us."
Eli shut up.
He had considered running more than once.
Every time he did, Axel had a way of casually reminding him that danger came in two flavors: death now, or death later.
Eli, being a man who treasured life, had naturally chosen later.
Still, he had not given up on persuasion. Unfortunately, the three people behind him seemed to have the stubbornness of iron anchors. By the time the enormous mangrove marked with the number 8 came into view, Eli had run out of arguments and most of his courage.
They had arrived.
Before they even stepped properly into Grove 8, several men lounging near the entrance noticed Eli and sauntered over with familiar grins.
"Well, well. Eli." One of them spread his arms. "What brings you here? Got some good business for us?"
Eli's face turned bitter.
Good business?
He would rather have been cleaning a Sea King's teeth.
But the steady tap of Axel's wooden sword behind him sounded like a funeral bell keeping rhythm with his heartbeat.
He forced his expression into something passable. "Of course. Why else would I come all this way?"
This was the plan they had settled on before arriving.
Peterman had controlled Grove 8 for years. A man like that would not stay in power without an escape route, body doubles, hidden guards, or at least a dozen dirty tricks ready to go. If they stormed in openly and Peterman sensed danger, he might flee before they could identify him.
Issho's Observation Haki was powerful, but it was not omniscience. He could sense malice, intent, and presence, but he had never met Peterman. In a grove filled with kidnappers and traffickers, distinguishing one rotten aura from a hundred others was easier said than done.
So they needed to lure Peterman out.
And Eli was the bait.
The man looked past him at Axel and the others. His gaze lingered on Issho's closed eyes, then on Axel's childlike figure, then finally on Hawkins' grim face.
Two blind people.
A child.
A dangerous-looking young man.
He could not decide whether they were customers or merchandise.
So he made a small gesture with his fingers, a quick sign used by people in the trade.
Eli answered with another sign.
The man's grin faded.
His eyes sharpened.
The message was clear: big deal. Big enough to alert Peterman himself.
He waved Eli closer. Eli turned back toward Axel and the others with the smile of a guide who had not been threatened into cooperation at all.
"Please wait a moment. I'll arrange the service for you."
Then he moved aside with the men.
They huddled together.
"Eli," one of them whispered, "are you serious? You know what happens if you waste Boss Peterman's time. If this is fake, we're going down with you."
"It's real," Eli said quickly. "Look carefully. Don't be fooled because their clothes look plain. That's DOSKOI PANDA."
The men froze.
"Doskoi Panda?"
"The real thing," Eli said. "And not the cheap street knockoffs either. That fabric, the cut, the stitching—top quality. One outfit like that costs at least several hundred thousand Berries."
Several hundred thousand Berries.
For clothes.
The men's eyes changed at once.
Most of them could not bring themselves to spend several thousand Berries on an outfit unless their old one had been burned off their bodies. Several hundred thousand was the sort of price that made people stop asking questions and start bowing.
One of them turned immediately. "I'll inform Boss Peterman. You lot take them to the VIP room."
Under the guidance of Peterman's men, Axel and the others were led through the base and into a private room.
The room had clearly been prepared to impress customers. Plush sofas. A polished table. Thick carpets. Decorative lamps. Expensive liquor in glass cabinets. Everything was clean, tasteful, and warm.
Which only made the place feel more disgusting.
A little while later, the door opened.
A gaunt man with an old-fashioned style entered. His chin was sharp, his expression businesslike, and his eyes carried the practiced calculation of someone who had long ago stopped seeing human beings as anything but inventory.
He sat down on the sofa opposite them.
"I'm Peterman," he said. "I hear you have business to discuss."
Axel sat in the center. Issho's face was too honest for deception, and Hawkins' talent for conversation was roughly on par with a tombstone. So the role of negotiator naturally fell to Axel.
He tilted his head slightly. "What do you have here?"
Peterman paused for only a moment at the sound of a child's voice, then recovered smoothly.
"Beautiful women, strong men, obedient children, the elderly, rare races—anything you want, I can obtain." His smile widened. "It all depends on what you're looking for."
"Can we inspect the goods first?"
"Of course."
Peterman clapped his hands.
A subordinate standing by the wall pulled back a heavy curtain. Behind it was a pane of reinforced glass, and beyond the glass was another room.
Inside that room stood iron cages.
People were locked inside them.
Men, women, children. Some sat curled in the corners. Some gripped the bars. Some stared blankly into nothing. Their faces were different, their ages were different, but their eyes were all the same.
Empty.
It was the look of people whose fear had been squeezed dry.
Peterman frowned slightly.
He was displeased.
They were being shown to guests, yet they looked like corpses waiting to be buried. That lifelessness would lower their appeal. Once this meeting was over, he would need to have them "trained" again.
Fortunately, the child making the decision appeared to be blind.
Peterman's attention shifted to the only two people who could properly observe the room: Eli and Hawkins.
Eli was a guide. He knew the rules and would not dare cause trouble.
Hawkins was harder to read.
That fierce face, those cold eyes—he did not look like a merchant's guard. He looked like the sort of man who might carry a coffin around because he liked the shape.
Peterman watched him carefully.
Hawkins stared at the cages for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"Acceptable."
Peterman relaxed.
His smile returned. "Then, will you be taking all of these?"
"No."
Peterman's smile stiffened.
He thought the deal was collapsing and quickly adjusted his tone. "Then you'll need to give me a general category. Age, gender, appearance, race, temperament—"
"I want all the slaves here," Axel said.
Peterman stopped.
For a second, even his breathing seemed to pause.
"All of them?"
"Yes," Axel said calmly. "All of them."
The gloom in Peterman's eyes vanished, replaced by greed bright enough to light the room.
A big fish.
A truly big fish.
He dealt with auction houses and nobles often, but those people were wolves in silk. Every one of them knew how to squeeze the price until it screamed. Making real profit from them was difficult. But a buyer who wanted everything in one sweep?
That was rare.
That was valuable.
That was prey.
Peterman forced himself not to look too eager. He leaned back, lacing his fingers together.
"That will be quite expensive," he said. "How much are you prepared to offer?"
Axel raised one hand.
One finger.
Peterman looked at it and narrowed his eyes.
"One hundred million Berries?" he said. "That may not be enough. We still have around a hundred slaves in this base, and some special goods are naturally priced higher."
The words were half truth, half bait.
There were about a hundred people left, yes. But most of the high-quality "goods" had already been sold to nobles or sent to auction houses. What remained were the ones with lower value, the difficult cases, the injured, the inconvenient.
One hundred million Berries would have been more than enough.
But why stop there when the fish had already opened its mouth?
"No, no," Axel said, still holding up that one finger. "I mean this number."
Peterman's face darkened.
"Ten million Berries?" His voice cooled. "Sir, are you trying to make things difficult?"
Axel smiled.
"One Berry."
.....
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