The Morning After.
Meeting Stussy eavesdropping in the corridor was just a minor interlude.
After York left the room, he went straight to the galley. He grabbed some raw ingredients and personally prepared a nutritious breakfast.
Meat, eggs, milk, and vegetables—all four essential elements were present. He cooked them in a Chinese style, ensuring the color, aroma, and taste were perfect.
As he stepped out of the kitchen, the savory scent immediately attracted two hungry wolves.
Whitebeard and Shiki were loitering in the hallway, their noses twitching.
"It smells so good~~"
"Oho? York, I didn't expect you to have such culinary skills."
Seeing their covetous expressions, York walked directly between them, shielding the tray.
"Get out of the way! This is specially prepared for my woman! If you want to eat, go lick the pot; I haven't washed it yet."
"You brat! That's going too far!"
York snorted without looking back.
"I'm not your chef!!"
Returning to his quarters, York found Gloriosa awake.
She was sitting propped against the headboard, the sheet pulled up to her chest. Her eyes were somewhat vacant, staring at the wall.
York entered the room, the aroma of food filling the air. Seeing her lack of reaction, his eyes flashed with a sacred white light.
Buzz.
"Hnnngh!"
Gloriosa let out a muffled groan. Her vacant expression vanished, replaced by a flush of shame and anger as she glared at him.
"Don't glare at me with those eyes. Come eat."
The light in York's eyes faded, and the pressure on her body lifted.
She threw off the blanket. A faint, glowing white rune—a Slave Crest of light—faded from her lower abdomen.
As she moved to leave the bed, her legs gave way.
"Ah..."
Before she could fall, a strong arm reached out to encircle her waist, stabilizing her.
"Let go of me!"
Gloriosa struggled weakly, but her strength had been drained. She could only let the young man help her to a chair.
Looking at the lavish dishes in front of her, Gloriosa didn't act coy. She was an Amazon; she knew she needed strength. She picked up the chopsticks and began to eat.
As the food entered her mouth, her eyes widened slightly at the taste, but she remained silent, devouring everything on the plate.
After the meal, York cleared the dishes.
Gloriosa wiped her mouth and looked at him coldly. "Even if you have my body, I can't possibly love you! My heart belongs to Roger!"
"I don't care."
York replied calmly, stacking the plates.
"What I value is your body. I will have many women in the future. It's impossible for every one of them to love me one hundred percent."
Of course, this was a lie.
York's possessiveness was absolute. If he didn't crave total domination, his will wouldn't have manifested the Happy-Happy Fruit.
He said this merely to manipulate her.
Women are emotional creatures.
Women admire strength.
And most importantly, living beings are controlled by their physical instincts.
By stating he "doesn't care," he stripped away her leverage. She couldn't hurt him by withholding her heart.
By conquering her physically, he proved he was irresistible.
And by acting as a provider—cooking for her, caring for her—he attacked her emotions.
Body. Mind. Soul.
With this three-pronged assault, it was only a matter of time before the Empress fell completely.
Unless, of course, she was truly deeply in love with another. But York knew the truth: Gloriosa's love for Roger was unrequited. It was a crush, not a bond.
And York had a rule: No used goods. He only wanted the untouched. Gloriosa fit the criteria perfectly.
After Gloriosa recovered, Rocks held a formal welcome banquet for the new member.
The celebration was short-lived. The Captain was hungry for violence.
"Set sail, lads!!"
Rocks issued his first command in six months.
"Target: The Kingdom of Saxon!"
The reason was simple: Money. Saxon was one of the wealthiest nations in the New World.
Previously, they hadn't attacked because the kingdom's military was formidable. But a few months ago, the old warrior king died. The new king was a foolish pacifist who had disbanded the army and exiled the kingdom's strongest champions to save money.
Rocks smelled blood in the water.
"Those without guts can stay in the cradle! The rest of you, follow me!!"
"OOOOOOOHH!!!!"
The Rocks fleet—a massive armada led by the flagship—cut through the waves.
10 Days Later.
The fleet arrived at Saxon.
"Fire the cannons!!"
Rocks swung his sword, signaling the start of the slaughter.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Hundreds of cannons roared.
York didn't wait for the gangplank. He leaped from the deck, stepping on a mid-air cannonball to cross ten nautical miles in a single bound.
He landed in the center of the port defense force.
CRASH!
Dust billowed. York stood up, drawing his katana.
"You are brave warriors who defend your homeland!"
He grinned, his eyes cold.
"You deserve to die by the sword, not by magic!"
He didn't use his Devil Fruit. He charged into the phalanx, swinging his blade.
Slash! Slash!
Blood sprayed. The intelligence was accurate; the defenders were weak.
Occasionally, a captain would coat his spear in basic Armament Haki, but against York's brute strength and speed, it was like paper trying to stop a cannonball.
"Gyahahaha! For the sake of treasure, DIE!!"
Behind him, the monsters landed.
Shiki, Whitebeard, Linlin, Captain John...
They restrained their Devil Fruits to avoid destroying the loot, but their physical strength alone turned the battlefield into a meat grinder.
The massacre of the Saxon Kingdom had begun.
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