Ortoren sat back in his office chair, sipping tea while Tesoro, seated on the sofa opposite him, went over the numbers.
"Our total troop deployment across the various nations has now reached forty thousand. This covers twelve states within our jurisdiction—some Member Nations, some not. On average, each country hosts about three thousand men, along with at least one warship and three auxiliary vessels."
"The upkeep for these forty thousand soldiers is covered by the host nations, who remit the funds to G-5 for allocation. Last year alone, we recorded a surplus of 2.6 billion Belly..."
At that, Ortoren lifted a hand, curious. "A surplus?"
"Yes. Most nations give a little extra—some add two or three hundred million, others, in tighter straits, throw in tens of millions more," Tesoro replied with a smile.
"Good. They've got some sense, then. Contributions like this need a flexible baseline, or else we won't have the freedom to be flexible ourselves..." Ortoren said with satisfaction.
Originally, the plan had been just to spread the burden of maintaining such forces across the nations. The fact that it ended up turning a profit was a pleasant surprise. True, twenty-odd billion Belly wasn't much by G-5's current standards, but free money was free money—why say no?
"After two years of conscription, G-5 now fields 54,272 troops on paper. Of those, forty thousand have been through at least three battles and have all grasped the basics of Armament Haki. They can rightly be called elite. But the cost of maintaining them is high. Since you, Ortoren-sama, have always insisted our soldiers' pay and bounties be issued at the highest standard, the strain is considerable. My suggestion is that we could moderately scale back—"
Tesoro hadn't finished before Ortoren cut him off with a wave of the hand.
"Reducing wages, benefits, or bounties is not up for discussion. That's a hard standard. No one in G-5, including myself as Base Commander, has the right to alter it."
After a brief pause, he added with some resignation, "Given the New World's pressures, I've already been harsh enough in training. Most conscripts barely learn how to shoot before I send them to the front—that's brutal as it is. Precisely because of this, when the men fight and die for me, I have to make sure they're paid properly. If even that life-risking pay is cut, who'd be willing to lead the charge next time? Our combat power would drop—and that's not something I intend to allow."
He was right. G-5's casualty rate was the highest in the Navy, especially over these past two or three years of Ortoren's iron-blooded drills. To build fifty thousand elite troops from scratch, the cost in blood had been staggering.
From the start, even if it meant tightening his own belt or shamelessly extorting others, Ortoren had insisted G-5's pay and rewards be set at the highest level. Otherwise, he'd never forgive himself.
These were his men—not slaves imported from Impel Down to be used and discarded.
As a result, G-5's military pay, welfare, and post-battle rewards were at least triple those of Marine Headquarters.
And because Ortoren never withheld benefits—and had personally purged corrupt officers and officials three times—though G-5 bore enormous pressure, his prestige within the base was unshakable.
In Ortoren's eyes, prestige wasn't built by holding endless meetings, setting targets, or forcing people into submission with power and fear.
True prestige came from what you could deliver for your brothers.
Promotion and wealth—that was the surest way. It was why Ortoren respected Sengoku so much. Back when Sengoku was his direct superior, he never dangled empty promises. If a raise was due, he gave it. If a promotion was earned, he granted it—promptly and without fuss. That built trust. That made Ortoren willing to fight for him.
The same principle now applied to G-5.
In just the past two years, G-5 had sent over a thousand officers back to Headquarters. Most had arrived as raw recruits. Within two years, anyone who survived a tour of duty left at least as a junior officer. The lucky ones, who lived through multiple campaigns or achieved notable feats, often returned with field officer insignia on their shoulders.
Of course, G-5 couldn't keep them all. Those who stayed were made to lead new recruits. The rest were sent on to Headquarters to continue their careers.
The base was simply too small to house that many officers.
But for both Ortoren and G-5, this was still invaluable. These men might not look like much now, but one day they'd become the backbone of a new G-5 faction within the Navy. Their influence wouldn't be confined to one base—it would spread throughout the entire organization.
Seeing their Base Commander so determined to stand up for his men, Tesoro could only feel helpless, though his heart warmed. Who wouldn't want a leader who truly had their backs?
If the Base Commander was willing to shoulder such crushing financial pressure just to secure benefits for the lowest-ranking, most voiceless Marines, then for those like Tesoro who had already risen into leadership, there was nothing more to ask for.
It was just like Ortoren's promise to Smoker not long ago: once you came to G-5, you were under his protection. As long as you didn't disgrace him, even if the sky itself came crashing down, Ortoren would hold it up for you.
Without that kind of resolve, how could anyone be expected to charge into danger at your side?
"Since you're so set on this, I won't argue further. But with such premium benefits, our financial strain is enormous. This year's spending on military costs, bounties, and welfare has already left us in deficit. Based on the merchant guild's operating model, this alone amounts to nearly 130 billion Belly in losses for the year..." Tesoro reported.
"What!?" Ortoren froze in disbelief.
Moments ago, he'd been pleased with a tidy surplus of twenty billion, and now he was staring at losses in the hundreds of billions?
"One hundred and thirty billion Belly," Tesoro repeated calmly.
Ortoren pressed his hands to his head, his voice heavy with disbelief. "So I'm losing six and a half Shichibukai in a single year?"
"Our G-5 Navy is supporting over fifty-four thousand men. With the high standards you've set, the average monthly cost per soldier is close to 300,000 Belly. Just regular salaries alone add up to over sixteen billion a month—nearly two hundred billion annually. And that's only payroll. After every battle we issue bonuses, which come to at least seventy billion a year. On top of that, we have welfare—daily supplies, rations, and so on—totaling almost forty billion annually. And given our casualty rate, there are massive payouts for relocation, death benefits, disability subsidies..." Tesoro continued, laying out the figures in detail.
The endless string of numbers made Ortoren's head pound, but when he thought about it carefully, the math did add up.
"So you see, a deficit of 130 billion isn't actually that extreme. If we maintain last year's pace, this level of deficit will repeat every year," Tesoro said with a faint smile.
"You can still smile!?" Ortoren shot him a glare full of indignation.
"There's no need to worry, Ortoren-sama. Based on projected revenues, if we simply maintain the current level for another three months, next year we'll be able to cover all these expenditures comfortably—and even show a surplus," Tesoro reassured him.
Only then did Ortoren let out a breath of relief. "So the other ventures have started showing results, haven't they?"
"Yes. The first shipment from the North Blue sold out almost instantly in Totto Land. With our current shipping volume, we're pulling in nearly seventy billion Belly in net income every month—close to one trillion annually. And this is just the initial stage. Once our routes are fully established and the number of armed transports capable of crossing the Calm Belt increases, the profits will reach terrifying heights. Surpluses of a trillion Belly a year are entirely possible..." Tesoro said with anticipation gleaming in his eyes.
This kind of cross-sea smuggling, with stable sales and secure routes, was the very definition of a goldmine.
"A trillion a year!" Ortoren shot up from his seat, slamming his hands on the desk. "Then commanding half a million men won't just be a dream for me!"
Of course, once you factored in the shackles of Headquarters, even a trillion in annual revenue might not be enough...
But this was only the beginning. Beyond this venture, Ortoren still had the vast reserve of imported pirates from Impel Down, waiting to be put to work—ready to create value and devote themselves to the cause of justice.
...
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