Chapter 291: Whiskey Peak
"Beneath the moonlit sky, a figure stood against the heavens.
Neither imposing nor grand, yet marked by the colors of white and red.
Pitch-black wings descended from above, beautiful in their darkness.
They adorned a scene of unearthly beauty, yet carried with them the tolling bell of death.
When the skull descended, even the wings of the seagull could not endure.
And in its wake, death swept across the world."
Inside a dim intelligence room, a rugged-looking man slowly recited the passage.
The poetic words sounded completely out of place coming from someone like him. Clearly, he had not written them, nor did he possess that kind of literary talent.
The lines came from a report in his hand.
The document was dated Sea Calendar 1515 and had been written by some wandering bard who had summarized an incident that had occurred within the Marines several years earlier.
The man finished reading, tossed the report aside with obvious irritation, and let out a long yawn.
Then he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.
Before he could light one, a hand reached over, casually stole a cigarette from the pack, then snatched away the lighter as well.
The man looked up.
"Oh, it's you, Nisibi."
Nisibi lit the cigarette, took a drag, and slowly blew out a ring of smoke.
"Les, how's the investigation going?"
Les leaned back in his chair.
"How else could it be going?"
He gestured toward the discarded report.
"They expect us to find someone using information that might not even be true."
"Who the hell has wings like that?"
He scoffed.
"Probably more nonsense written by some bard trying to make an ordinary incident sound impressive."
Nisibi blew another smoke ring and yawned.
He looked just as tired.
"Who knows what the Boss is thinking?"
"But if it's a mission, we do it."
He shrugged.
"You know the rule in this business. Asking too many questions is the fastest way to get yourself killed."
"If you want to climb higher, keep your head down, stay patient, and take things one step at a time."
"At least working here is more stable than risking our necks out at sea."
This was Whiskey Peak.
To outsiders, it was a town famous for welcoming pirates.
In reality, it was a nest of bounty hunters.
Hundreds lived here.
There were men, women, and even children.
But almost no elderly.
Old people might earn sympathy just as women and children sometimes did, but sympathy meant little in a profession like this.
Age slowed the body.
Eventually, reflexes could no longer keep pace with thought.
Anyone who reached that point was quickly eliminated by the cruel reality of the Grand Line.
Most ended up as nothing more than another gravestone on Cactus Rock.
The enormous cactus-shaped mountains surrounding Whiskey Peak were covered in what looked like countless spikes.
Those spikes were actually tombstones.
Together, they formed Cactus Rock Cemetery.
The graves did not belong only to pirates.
Plenty of bounty hunters were buried there as well.
That was the nature of the profession.
A bounty hunter stepped toward death in order to survive.
Every battle was a gamble, and every victory merely bought another chance to keep living.
Les nodded.
Thinking about it still left him uneasy.
Compared with wandering elsewhere on the Grand Line, Whiskey Peak really was something close to paradise for bounty hunters.
At the very least, they did not have to sail constantly through the Grand Line's unpredictable weather.
Les glanced at the old report again.
"Still, trying to find someone based on this and what that kid looked like years ago is ridiculous."
The current year was Sea Calendar 1518.
Three years had passed.
There had been no news of the boy during that entire time.
Finding someone who had disappeared into the sea for three years was easier said than done.
"For all we know," Les added, "he's already been eaten by a Sea King."
Nisibi finished his cigarette and crushed the butt out.
"Whether he became fish food isn't our problem."
"If Baroque Works tells us to search, then we search."
He leaned against the table.
"As long as we follow orders, we earn contribution points."
"When the Ideal Nation is finally established, maybe I won't need to do this dangerous work anymore."
Nisibi smiled at the thought.
"I'll find myself a wife, have a kid, and spend the rest of my life peacefully."
Baroque Works was an organization built around the goal of establishing an Ideal Nation.
Its members were promised authority and status according to the contributions they accumulated before that nation was created.
No one knew the true identity of the Boss.
Most did not even know exactly how the organization had begun.
What they did know was that contribution points had genuine value.
They could be exchanged for resources, opportunities, and even things that could make a person stronger.
Rank within Baroque Works followed a simple principle.
The lower the code number, the stronger the agent.
Whiskey Peak was merely one branch among many scattered throughout the organization.
Les gave Nisibi a mocking look.
"You? Living peacefully?"
He laughed.
"If they handed you enough money to retire, you'd spend it all by the next morning."
"Probably on some woman, too."
Nisibi did not look offended.
"That's what a healthy man does."
"Sure."
Les snorted.
"You'd probably get divorced the day after the wedding."
"Tch."
Nisibi waved him off and changed the subject.
"What do you think about those Intermediate Agents who arrived recently?"
Les glanced sideways at him.
For a moment, he seemed to consider why Nisibi was asking.
Perhaps it was simple curiosity.
Perhaps not.
"Who knows?"
"I haven't seen anything particularly impressive."
"But if they were promoted to Intermediate Agents, they can't be weak."
A faint smile appeared on Les's face.
"Why don't you go test them yourself?"
"Like hell I will."
Nisibi immediately rejected the suggestion.
"There are pirates showing up every other day now. We're already busy enough without picking fights with our own people."
Les smiled knowingly.
That answer made sense.
BAROQUE.
That was the mark of Baroque Works.
This was not an organization built on friendship or camaraderie.
Climbing over one's fellow agents was considered perfectly normal.
Today, Les and Nisibi could sit together smoking and joking.
Tomorrow, one of them might be pointing a gun at the other.
Still, Nisibi was right about one thing.
Nobody wanted to take on extra trouble without a worthwhile reward.
"Get some sleep while you can," Nisibi said.
"I heard another pirate crew is arriving tonight."
"Again?"
Les looked at him in surprise.
"Didn't we just deal with a crew last night?"
"Why is another one coming already?"
His expression turned cautious.
"Could this be a trap?"
"Relax."
Nisibi waved dismissively.
"We've been watching this crew for a while."
"They aren't weak. Their combined bounty is several million Berries."
"But once they enter Whiskey Peak, their fate is already decided."
He glanced toward the distant cactus-shaped mountains beyond the building.
"They'll end up as a few more tombstones on Cactus Rock."
If there had been any real chance of a trap, Nisibi would never have come to warn Les.
He would have been the first to disappear.
The fact that he was standing here casually stealing cigarettes proved he saw little danger in the approaching crew.
"Several million Berries..."
Les immediately began calculating.
"If the payout is divided according to contribution, I should still get tens of thousands."
He smiled.
"That's enough to live comfortably for a few days."
Nisibi interrupted his daydream.
"Speaking of money..."
He rubbed his thumb and fingers together.
"You got any to spare?"
"Lend me some."
Les stared at him.
"I knew nothing good would come from you showing up."
"Get lost."
"I don't have any money."
Nisibi grinned.
"Les, I've noticed something."
"The way you look at Miss Wednesday isn't exactly innocent."
His smile widened.
"Trying to court her?"
Les did not show the slightest embarrassment.
"What?"
"Is it a crime to like a girl?"
"There's nothing wrong with it," Nisibi replied.
....
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