As soon as Aeridar heard Crocodile's description, he instantly knew who the man was talking about. It could only be someone from the Cipher Pol agencies under the World Government—those ever-present, insidious agents.
Aeridar might've only personally encountered a single rogue agent before, but in his previous life, he'd seen plenty of them in anime. Once you got tangled up with those people, it was nothing but a headache.
Take CP9 for instance. Those guys spent five whole years undercover, posing as employees at the Galley-La Company just to get their hands on the blueprints of the Pluton battleship. They cozied up to Iceburg, the company president, gaining his trust and learning the layout—then struck the moment they found their chance.
The very thought made Aeridar shudder. Just imagining an agent like that hiding by your side, acting like a brother every day, only to turn on you when the time was right... it was chilling.
"Hey~ hey~ Crocodile," Aeridar took a few steps forward, that cryptic smile still lingering on his lips. "We've gone a few rounds now. Sure, you and I both still have cards up our sleeves—but if we're being honest, I can't take you down, and you can't take me down either. So... how about we talk business instead?"
Crocodile shot him an annoyed glare but didn't object. Truth be told, throughout their entire skirmish, he hadn't managed to gain the upper hand even once. In fact, he'd even taken a sucker punch earlier. As he'd said, he wasn't out of tricks, but clearly, Aeridar hadn't gone all out either. The two of them were evenly matched.
Though irritated, Crocodile kept his hands to himself. What really pissed him off was the absurdity of this situation—where had this damn monster even come from? A greenhorn fresh out to sea shouldn't be this strong. This guy had just redefined what "rookie pirate" meant.
Now Crocodile couldn't help but wonder—should he start taking every rookie seriously from now on? Getting outmaneuvered was one thing, but if he actually lost to one? His reputation would be shattered across the entire world.
If Aeridar knew what Crocodile was thinking, he'd probably offer a silent prayer for Luffy's future.
After all, Crocodile didn't lose to Luffy just because of that infamous protagonist's luck. A huge part of it was Crocodile underestimating him. Luffy fought Crocodile three times—lost twice, won once. From Crocodile's perspective, it was just some no-name rookie who'd already lost to him twice. You couldn't exactly blame him for not seeing the kid as a threat.
Besides, Crocodile had been stuck in Alabasta for far too long. After his humiliating loss to Whitebeard, he holed up in this desert kingdom. The only people he'd fought since then were third-rate pirates who barely posed a challenge. His strength had stagnated. He was over-reliant on his Logia abilities. Using Sand-Sand Fruit tricks to overwhelm the weak might have worked then, but... everyone knew how that ended.
Let's be honest—Crocodile had no one to blame but himself. Just because someone could punch him when wet didn't automatically mean they had Haki. Getting soaked disabled his intangibility, sure, but his powers were still usable. He had techniques like "Ground Secco" that could absorb moisture—he could've just dried the water off himself. Instead, his slow reaction cost him.
That said, Crocodile wasn't weak by any means. The guy did survive a clash with Whitebeard, after all. And during the Paramount War, even Doflamingo—who openly mocked Moria—chose to team up with him. That alone spoke volumes.
Crocodile had taken his Sand-Sand Fruit to a terrifyingly advanced level. He was even the first to bring up the concept of Awakening.
"Business, huh?" Crocodile scoffed. He pulled out a cigar, lit it, and took a drag before blowing out a long stream of smoke. His voice was laced with irritation. "I'm not in the mood today. If you've got something to discuss, come find me at Rain Dinners. I'd like to see what kind of deal you think is worth my time."
"Sure thing. I'll be there," Aeridar said with a calm nod. "And I promise—it's an offer you won't regret."
He didn't take offense. After all, Crocodile was a notorious pirate with a legacy behind him. Being pushed this far by a complete newcomer had to be eating at his pride. Letting off some steam was perfectly understandable.
Crocodile turned to leave, preparing to dissolve into sand—but suddenly stopped. He glanced over his shoulder, voice low and deadly serious.
"One more thing. Don't cause any more trouble on my turf. Or I swear, I'll take you down... even if it kills me."
As he spoke, a chilling aura of bloodlust radiated off him. He wasn't bluffing.
"Damn, that's scary," Aeridar muttered under his breath. That pressure... he couldn't match it yet.
But he also knew Crocodile's larger scheme—and meant what he said next. "Relax. If any other pirates stir up trouble, I'll help clean them up."
"Hmph. Whatever." Crocodile grunted, his face relaxing just a fraction. With a final scoff, he turned into a stream of sand and drifted off toward Port Nanohana.
Aeridar watched him disappear into the distance. The corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "Tch. Stubborn old bastard."
Then, in one explosive leap, Aeridar launched himself skyward, feet bursting with shock force. After clearing a hundred meters, he landed again—continuing on toward Port Nanohana the same way he came.
Port Nanohana, Second Street.
The entire street had been reduced to rubble. Craters and cracks ran like scars across the ground, smoke still curling into the air. Collapsed buildings lined the road, and over a hundred mangled corpses lay scattered among the debris. Guns and blades were strewn across the dirt.
"Boring. Not enough strong opponents," Oliver muttered lazily. He sat atop a broken slab of stone, casually wiping down Nagamitsu with a white cloth.
Arlan blew a smoke ring into the air, slouching with the same look of apathy. "I thought at least one of the reinforcements would be worth something... turns out they were all fodder."
Gorbo, Backan, Dimitri, and the sisters Millie and Mina all sat or stood idly nearby, just as uninterested. The entire street was a battlefield-turned-wasteland. The regular members of the Chris Pirates moved through the wreckage, finishing off any enemies who still clung to life with a cold efficiency—stabbing or shooting without a second thought.
"You bastards... You ruined everything! My dream... I'll kill you all someday!"
Suddenly, a voice—thick with hatred and venom—rose from the ruins.
Arlan, Oliver, and the others turned their gaze toward the source. There, lying broken in the middle of the street, was a man drenched in blood.
His chin rested on a jagged rock, his face caked in grime and gore. His body was torn to shreds—deep lacerations from blades, scorched wounds from explosions, dents from punches, and gunshot wounds that had pierced through flesh and bone. Both arms were twisted grotesquely in the wrong direction—clearly shattered. His right leg was coated in a corroded, rust-like stain, like metal rotting away—but on human flesh, it looked nothing short of eerie.
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