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Arthur couldn't be bothered with the Ohara archaeologists.
Having dreams was fine. No one had the right to stop someone from chasing their dreams. But dragging others into your obsession? That was a different story.
If their goals aligned—fine. But forcing your agenda on someone else? That was something Arthur wouldn't tolerate. He'd been remarkably restrained so far—not reducing them to ashes with a well-placed lightning bolt.
Nico Olvia watched him leave, her face etched with disappointment.
"An auction?" Arthur reconsidered. He had some time to kill. Might as well see what kind of shady dealings were afoot.
He walked towards the auction house in Grove 1.
Such events, often dealing in illicit goods, didn't require invitations. Anyone with money was welcome.
He reached the entrance—a grand, imposing structure—watching the steady stream of shady characters entering, then joined the crowd.
The bright sunlight faded as he stepped inside.
The ground floor was filled with seats, the upper level lined with private boxes—reserved for VIPs, wealthy nobles, and infamous pirates. Arthur, despite his growing notoriety, lacked the influence—the crew, the territory—to warrant special treatment.
The seats, arranged in a semi-circle, sloped downwards towards the stage, where an elderly man with white hair and a long beard stood patiently, waiting for the auction to begin.
A waiter led Arthur to a seat in the front row.
The hall slowly filled, lights flickering on in the private boxes above.
Arthur's Observation Haki located Nico Olvia and the archaeologists. They were seated in the back, whispering amongst themselves about the ancient journal that was to be auctioned.
The quiet murmur of the crowd grew louder.
"Hmph! The last slave I bought broke in two days. I hope they have something more... durable this time."
"I heard they have a Devil Fruit. I might buy it for one of my crew."
"Any mermaids? I haven't seen any high-quality slaves like that in a while."
The hushed conversations, echoing in the dimly lit hall, were as shady as the clientele—wealthy merchants, notorious pirates, and corrupt World Government officials.
"Ahem! Now that everyone's settled—let's begin!" The auctioneer—having waited for the crowd to quiet down—stepped forward, his gavel in hand.
"I'm Frotoryak, your auctioneer for tonight. Welcome!" He paused dramatically. "I know you're all eager to get started—so, without further ado, let's begin with our first item."
He banged his gavel. Two scantily clad women carried a covered object onto the stage.
"Our first item—a Wazamono blade—the Nagabune! 73.63 cm in length! Forged by master swordsmiths of Wano Country in the New World."
Frotoryak's voice rose, his practiced cadence drawing the crowd's attention, their gazes fixed on the blade. The swordsmen in the audience leaned forward, their eyes gleaming.
"We must acquire that ancient journal. It will help us decipher the ancient text!"
"It could unlock the truth of our shared history!"
"We have to verify this bold hypothesis."
"Let us proceed with caution. Hopefully, nothing goes wrong."
The Ohara archaeologists whispered amongst themselves, their determination to acquire the journal absolute.
In a private box on the second floor.
Vice Admiral Jaguar D. Saul, his orange hair and beard as wild as a lion's mane, his massive arms crossed, his face set in a perpetual frown—observed the proceedings below.
"Relax, Saul. Constant surveillance is exhausting. I even rode my bike all the way from Headquarters for this mission." Kuzan, lounging in a chair, an eye mask covering his forehead, his eyes half-closed, drawled lazily.
Saul had been ordered to investigate the Ohara archaeologists. But the giant wouldn't act without sufficient evidence. And even then, he wasn't keen on arresting them.
He saw no harm in their pursuit of knowledge. Why stop them from seeking the truth?
"Dereshishishi! Kuzan, I think this mission is a failure. I have no desire to arrest them." Saul chuckled, tears welling up in his eyes.
He and Kuzan were close friends. He could be honest with him.
"That's your decision." Kuzan shrugged, then his gaze shifted to the front row, settling on a man with a blue greatcoat draped over his shoulders, his demeanor calm and collected.
"He's the one we should be worried about. This is troublesome. I didn't expect him to still be in Paradise. And attending an auction?"
Saul, following Kuzan's gaze, turned his attention away from the archaeologists.
Arthur, sensing their scrutiny, turned towards the private box, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his face. He mouthed the words silently, ensuring Kuzan could read his lips.
"Vice Admiral Kuzan. What a coincidence!"
One by one, the items were auctioned off, including the ancient journal, much to the Ohara archaeologists' dismay. They would have to approach the buyer and try to negotiate access.
Finally, the main event arrived—the item most of the attendees had been waiting for.
"And now—a treasure of the sea—a Devil Fruit!" The auctioneer's voice boomed, filled with dramatic flair.
The atmosphere in the hall crackled with excitement, the murmur of the crowd growing louder.
Stories of Devil Fruits granting incredible power were common. Everyone knew of their existence. But few had ever seen one in person.
So what if it meant losing the ability to swim? These wealthy individuals, they had everything—except power. And many Devil Fruit users couldn't swim. Did that stop them?
A woman, carrying a platter covered with a red cloth, walked onto the stage. As the crowd watched, their eyes gleaming with anticipation—she slowly lifted the cloth.
On the platter lay a small, white, cube-shaped fruit, its surface marked with straight lines that connected on each of its four sides, resembling a miniature cage.
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