In the office, Wilder stared intently at Jesse, mentally weighing the pros and cons.
Without question, a scientist was a priceless asset, extremely hard to come by. However, this particular individual seemed unreliable, blindly arrogant, and frankly… naive, like a frog peering out from the bottom of a well.
Then there was the Germa 66 issue. Wilder would have to be a fool to believe Jesse's fabricated story about being "kicked out." Wilder wasn't ignorant; he had already tasked Ashin with investigating Jesse's background prior to this confrontation. The findings confirmed Jesse's identity as a scientist and made his origin from Germa 66 highly probable. The crucial discrepancy lay in the fact that Jesse hadn't been kicked out—he had defected, stealing the experimental Soft-Soft Fruit in the process. After his theft was discovered, Germa 66 had relentlessly pursued him, chasing him all the way from the North Blue until he finally fled to the relative safety of the East Blue.
Truthfully, the intelligence gathering capability was currently the only aspect of the Black Serpent Guild that truly satisfied Wilder. The vast amount of data collected from Impel Down and Marine Headquarters had given him an initial advantage, providing information unknown to most pirates and other powers. His initial goal had been to use this information to build the basic framework of an intelligence network. The ultimate aim, however, was far grander: to fully digest this information and leverage the framework to construct a vast, intricate intelligence-gathering machine spanning the globe.
Of course, this was just the foundation. The data obtained from the Marines provided the initial structure but lacked critical details. Furthermore, achieving such a grand vision was still a distant prospect; everything had to proceed step by step. Building such an organization would not be easy.
Jesse's identity as a scientist wasn't the problem. The real problem was his status as a defector from Germa 66. As the undisputed rulers of the North Blue, with a fearsome reputation extending even into the underworld of the Grand Line, Germa 66 was infamous for being a collective of war fanatics. One could easily imagine their stance towards defectors.
"Not worth the trouble," Wilder suddenly stated aloud into the quiet room.
Jesse, unaware of the calculations running through Wilder's mind, didn't understand the context of the abrupt, cryptic statement. He only felt an icy chill crawl up his spine. Looking up, he met a pair of utterly cold eyes.
In an instant, Jesse understood. A bone-deep coldness enveloped him, as if he'd been plunged into a glacial abyss, leaving him trembling uncontrollably.
Tap… tap… tap…
Wilder stood up and walked over to Jesse, stopping directly in front of him, looking down with completely emotionless eyes.
"Wait!" Cold sweat beaded on Jesse's forehead. He desperately tried to maintain his smile, but his deathly pale face made the attempt look not only forced but utterly comical, like a terrified clown. Suppressing the rising panic, he forced himself to meet Wilder's gaze, his lips twitching, throat bobbing nervously. "Please… Please let me live! I swear…"
"You don't understand the mindset of those in power," Wilder interrupted, his voice low and flat.
Jesse stared blankly.
"Your little game… your 'test'… it cost me dearly," Wilder leaned down, his eyes fixed on Jesse as if observing something already dead. "What qualification do you possibly possess to demand I spare your life?" His voice continued, soft and low. "You seemed to think you were some kind of delectable cake, something I'd find irresistible." A pause. "But what you failed to realize is… I don't particularly like cake." The finality in his tone was like a death knell.
The wall clock ticked softly, tick-tock, tick-tock, the second hand relentlessly marching forward. Jesse's heart hammered against his ribs, seemingly synchronized with the clock's rhythm, feeling as though it were being squeezed by a powerful, unforgiving hand. He lowered his head, his breathing becoming increasingly rapid and shallow.
"Please, just give me one chance!"
Jesse finally snapped, unable to bear the suffocating pressure any longer. He roared the words out desperately, eyes shot with blood, chest heaving violently. Trembling, he lifted his head again, meeting Wilder's unwavering, emotionless gaze.
"Please… just give me a chance! I can dedicate my life to you! I can create anything you desire! Please, believe me!" It was as if a switch had flipped. The childishness, the blindness, the arrogance, the self-assured assumptions—all vanished, replaced solely by the raw, primal instinct to survive.
Wilder stared down at him intently, unmoving for a long, tense moment.
Just as Jesse began to lose all hope, Wilder slowly straightened up from his leaning posture. He glanced down at Jesse one last time, paused, then turned and walked towards the door.
"Claire," he called out. "Give him food."
"Yes, Boss," Claire replied, stepping out from a corner of the office where she had been waiting silently.
Jesse stared blankly at Wilder's retreating back. After a few moments, two long streams of snot began to drip uncontrollably from his nostrils.
THWACK! A high-heeled shoe instantly imprinted itself on his face, sending him flying backwards to smack against the wall.
Claire lowered her long, fair leg, her expression terrifyingly dark. "Don't let me see that disgusting stuff coming out of you!"
"Ah… Yes… Yes…" Jesse stammered, his face twitching uncontrollably.
Being "given food" was code for imprisonment. Jesse was quickly secured and locked away, his life spared, at least for the time being.
Having dealt with that matter, Wilder immediately set other plans in motion. He hadn't yet decided Jesse's ultimate fate, but he certainly had no intention of releasing him anytime soon. His eyes glinted as various thoughts flashed through his mind, but ultimately, he decided a cautious, stable approach was best for now.
Data files were delivered to his desk. Based on the available intelligence, he meticulously filtered the potential candidates down to the twelve most suitable prospects. Recruiting capable personnel was now critically urgent. Wilder decided he needed to handle this personally.
For the time being, the Black Serpent Merchant Guild would be managed by Vice, Claire, and the other core executives. The current territory—twelve islands—was manageable for them in the short term. Once he successfully recruited new officers, Vice and the others could be freed up for more strategic roles.
After two days of preparations, Wilder boarded the massive warship alone—well, accompanied only by a contingent of about fifty low-level crew members responsible for sailing the vessel and attending to his basic needs, like meals.
Set sail!
The enormous black-and-red warship slowly pulled away from the docks. Bathed in the fading light of the sunset, it gradually shrank into a black dot on the horizon, eventually disappearing from view.
The sails billowed, catching the wind as the great warship journeyed for days, leaving the Black Serpent headquarters far behind, eventually reaching a stretch of sea untouched by their current influence.
Wilder lounged on his customary beach chair positioned at the ship's bow. While idly manipulating the swamp within his body to practice control, he reviewed the files detailing the twelve individuals on his recruitment list.
These twelve targets had been carefully selected based on intelligence indicating significant combat strength and potential. Their current occupations were diverse: pirate, bounty hunter, farmer, even a general from a kingdom. Bounty hunters constituted the largest group, numbering six. The remaining six included one farmer, one pirate, one general, one delinquent street punk, and two merchants.
Aside from the six active bounty hunters, the other six individuals, regardless of their present roles, all shared a single, common identity from their past…
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