"What else?"
Rindo hadn't expected Leo to have even more layers to his reasoning. She was momentarily stunned, realizing his mind operated on a completely different frequency. She hadn't been privy to the high-level strategy sessions in the Empress's private chambers, so she hadn't understood what exactly made the Empress so infatuated with this "physically useless" man. Now, it was starting to click.
But Rindo was stubborn. She refused to admit defeat so easily and lowered her head to think. What else could there be?
Leo waited a moment, and when he saw she was truly stumped, he offered a thin smile. "Discipline and obedience. I'm conditioning them to follow my lead. I want them to realize that even after we leave the Calm Belt, their fates are tied to ours. If they try to desert, they won't last three days. By keeping them dependent now, they'll hesitate to run later."
"And if I'm on their ship, my safety is guaranteed because I hold the keys to their survival," he continued. "But the most important part? I get to decide how they eat, when they eat, and where they eat."
Rindo looked at him with a visible question mark over her head. She didn't understand why something as simple as eating was so vital.
Leo, however, understood something most in this world didn't: the psychological power of a structured meal.
Most pirate crews lived in squalor. They didn't have dedicated chefs; they ate whatever salted meat hadn't rotted or hardtack that was more stone than bread. Rats in the hold usually ate better than the sailors. Conditions were barely better than the dark ages—men slept in cramped hammocks, waking up with aching backs and sour tempers.
Hygiene was a luxury. Fresh water was too precious to waste on bathing; it was needed to scrub the salt off the decks to prevent the wood from rotting, and the rest turned stagnant within days. This was why pirates lived on rum and wine—alcohol was the only thing that stayed "fresh."
Leo had brought a hundred loaves of fresh bread, two massive slabs of cured ham, and dozens of bottles of rum. He wasn't just feeding them; he was providing a miracle.
As the Scimitar ship lowered hooks to haul Leo's lifeboat up, the starving pirates surged forward like a pack of wolves. Rindo immediately leveled her massive shoulder cannon at them, her eyes cold. They froze in their tracks.
"Get me two clean tables," Leo commanded, his voice booming across the deck to "Great Scimitar" William. "I want every officer over here to assist me. Bring me two sharp, clean knives."
Leo didn't even step out of the lifeboat yet. He looked at the restless crowd. "Everyone line up! Two straight rows. Now!"
With Rindo's cannon as the primary motivator, the pirates remembered their status as captives. They grumbled and shifted but eventually settled into a shaky formation. Leo nodded to himself. They were exactly as he expected: brutal, opportunistic, but ultimately driven by their own skin.
They were men who had nothing. No land, no family, no country. They were the discarded scrap of the World Government's kingdoms.
Originally, Leo had hoped to start his "revolution" among the Kuja warriors, but he realized they lacked the fundamental requirement for a revolutionary: desperation. The Kuja lived in a self-sustaining utopia. They had property, they were safe, and they were content. His "grand ideals" were just pretty words to them because they didn't feel the weight of the world's chains.
But these eighty-odd pirates? They were the perfect demographic.
The Kuja were an anomaly. The Straw Hat Pirates were an anomaly. You couldn't build a world-changing movement on anomalies. But these hungry, desperate men represented the millions of sailors and outcasts across the five seas.
If Leo could convince them, he could convince the world. A single Warlord couldn't win a war against the World Government. But a commander with the support of the "nameless" masses? That was a different story.
"Everyone, listen up! Line up at the left table. Once you have your bread, move to the middle for your ham, then the right for your rum."
Leo wasn't going to talk about philosophy yet. His first lesson for the vanguard was simple: Discipline.
"Anyone who breaks the line doesn't eat today. Begin."