Before the terrified gang member could even open his mouth, Charlotte already knew his answer. The man's thoughts flowed into his consciousness like water through a broken dam—crystal clear and undeniably honest.
The three remaining thugs, however, still harbored thoughts of revenge and escape. Their minds churned with violent fantasies and desperate schemes. Charlotte's expression hardened as their murderous intentions washed over him.
In three fluid motions, he ended their lives.
Blood sprayed across the survivor's face in warm, metallic droplets. The man's legs gave out beneath him as the full horror of his situation crashed down like a collapsing building. His companions—men he'd shared meals and stories with—now lay broken and still in the moonlit street.
"Don't kill me! Please don't kill me!" The words tumbled from his lips in a desperate torrent as he pressed his forehead to the blood-soaked ground.
Charlotte studied the groveling figure with cold calculation. Fear had a way of breeding loyalty—or at least compliance. This man would serve his purposes.
"Get up," Charlotte commanded. "Take me to your boss's house."
"Yes! Yes, of course!" Relief flooded the survivor's voice as he scrambled to his feet, legs trembling like a newborn colt's. As long as he possessed value, death would remain at bay.
The man—his mind now an open book to Charlotte—led the way through winding streets toward the gang's headquarters. Every step reinforced his terror and growing certainty that his former boss was truly dead.
•~•
The Wild Wolf Gang's stronghold stood like a miniature fortress in the town's heart—three stories of weathered stone and iron-barred windows that spoke of accumulated wealth and paranoid security. Guards lounged near the entrance, their casual postures suggesting they hadn't yet learned of their leader's fate.
Charlotte strode through the front door as if he owned the place, his blood-soaked guide trailing behind like a loyal hound.
"You—!" One guard started to challenge the intrusion, but his companion grabbed his arm with urgent force.
"Look behind him," the second man whispered.
The sight of their colleague's terror-stricken face and blood-stained clothes told the story more clearly than any words. Their boss had ventured out for revenge and found something far more dangerous than expected.
Charlotte found the safe exactly where his guide's memories had indicated—a massive steel box built into the manor's foundation, designed to withstand everything short of cannon fire.
"Is there a key?" Charlotte asked, running his fingers across the cold metal surface.
"Bess always kept it with him," the guide stammered. "We never—none of us knew the combination."
Charlotte's frown deepened momentarily, then cleared as inspiration struck. Brute force had served him well so far.
"Cut it open," he ordered, then paused as a more intriguing possibility occurred to him. "Actually... what's your name?"
"Ivan, sir. Ivan Kozlov."
"Listen carefully, Ivan. I'm disbanding the Wild Wolf Gang as it was, but I'm not destroying it entirely. Serve me loyally, and I'll put you in charge of whatever remains. Can you handle that responsibility?"
The transformation in Ivan's expression was immediate and dramatic. Terror gave way to cautious hope, then growing excitement as the implications sank in. From certain death to potential leadership—the night had taken an impossible turn.
"Absolutely, boss! I'll make sure every remaining member serves your interests. You won't regret this!"
Charlotte waved him away with casual authority. "Handle the safe first. Then we'll discuss your new duties."
•~•
Dawn crept through the manor's windows like a guilty secret, finding Charlotte sprawled across an oversized leather sofa that probably cost more than most people earned in a year. Mental exhaustion had claimed him sometime during the night—the strain of awakening multiple Haki abilities in such rapid succession.
He woke to find three young women in crisp maid uniforms approaching with silver trays bearing breakfast and washing supplies. The sight struck him as absurdly decadent.
"Corruption," he muttered to himself after they departed. "Pure corruption."
The comfortable furniture, attentive servants, and luxurious surroundings all conspired to soften his resolve. But he couldn't afford weakness—not when the Grand Line waited with challenges that would make last night's violence seem like children's games.
"I have to stay strong," Charlotte declared, pushing himself upright with renewed determination. "Stay fierce!"
The manor's courtyard revealed the fruits of Ivan's overnight efforts. A dozen former gang members stood in neat formation, their rough clothing replaced by matching black suits that gave them an air of professional menace. When they spotted Charlotte, they bowed in perfect unison.
"Good morning, boss!"
Charlotte acknowledged them with a casual wave. He felt no particular affection for these men—they were tools, nothing more. But tools properly maintained could prove invaluable.
"Boss," Ivan approached with visible pride, "the Wild Wolf Gang is yours. Everyone has sworn loyalty."
"Good. They're your responsibility now. I'll contact you when I need something."
Charlotte felt no concern about potential betrayal. Absolute strength rendered such worries meaningless—he could crush any rebellion with his bare hands. More importantly, his awakening Conqueror's Haki would ensure compliance when properly applied.
The revelation of his abilities still amazed him. Observation Haki with future sight capabilities. Mind reading through physical contact. And beneath it all, the sleeping giant of Conqueror's Haki waiting to be fully awakened.
Two souls merged into one, he reasoned. Enhanced perception, heightened senses—it's made my Haki exceptionally powerful.
The implications were staggering. Most people considered themselves fortunate to awaken even basic Haki. Charlotte had manifested advanced applications immediately.
"This body... there's something special about it," he mused, remembering his supernatural recovery rates during mountain training. Injuries that should have required weeks to heal vanished overnight with proper rest and nutrition.
Such gifts demanded proper development.
•~•
One Week Later
Charlotte had returned to his mountain domain, but his training regimen now reflected his expanded ambitions. Basic calisthenics no longer sufficed—he needed exercises that would prepare him for the monsters of the Grand Line.
Starting with one-ton stone weights, he gradually increased the load while running circuits around the mountain's base. From dawn to dusk he pushed his body beyond human limits, carrying burdens that would crush normal men, jumping chasms that would swallow the unwary, swinging massive stone dumbbells until his muscles screamed for mercy.
He'd read about Garp's legendary training—the Marine hero had flattened eight entire mountains while perfecting his punching technique. That became Charlotte's benchmark, his impossible goal transformed into inevitable destiny.
The townspeople who occasionally glimpsed his training sessions spoke in hushed, reverent tones about the impossible things they'd witnessed. Stories spread like wildfire through merchant networks, growing more fantastical with each retelling.
"I swear by my mother's grave," one trader insisted to his wide-eyed audience, "that boy lifted a boulder twenty times his size and used it for jumping jacks!"
"Twenty times?" another merchant scoffed. "My cousin saw him balancing a mountain peak on his shoulders while doing one-legged squats!"
"You're all wrong," declared a grizzled sea captain. "Charlotte's obviously the son of a god, blessed with divine strength. Mark my words—that name will echo through history."
The rumors evolved into legends, legends into myths. Merchants carried the tales to distant ports, where they took root in tavern songs and children's stories. Charlotte remained blissfully unaware that his reputation was spreading across the seas like ripples from a stone dropped in still water.
•~•
Evening Training Completion
"Food! Now!" Charlotte's voice echoed through the manor as he collapsed into his dining chair, every muscle fiber burning with the sweet agony of absolute exhaustion.
Servants rushed to accommodate him, bearing platters of roasted meat, fresh bread, and rich stews that would feed a family for days. Charlotte attacked the feast with primal hunger, devouring not just flesh but bones as well—his enhanced metabolism demanded every scrap of nutrition he could provide.
The sight never failed to unnerve the staff. Watching their seventeen-year-old master consume enough food for ten grown men while casually crunching through beef bones like breadsticks challenged their understanding of human limitations.
But Charlotte paid their stares no mind. Every calorie would fuel tomorrow's training, every gram of protein would rebuild muscle tissue stronger than before. He was constructing himself into something beyond human—a weapon worthy of the pirate world's ultimate challenges.
The Grand Line awaited, with its Sea Kings and Shichibukai, its Yonko and Marine Admirals. When that time came, Charlotte would be ready to claim his place among the monsters who ruled the seas.
For now, he ate, he slept, and he grew stronger with each passing day.