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The blueprints for Pluton rested in the hands of Tom, the fish-man shipwright of Water 7. Both Arthur and Vegapunk had coveted them for years.
Vegapunk was currently transforming the Thor on Punk Hazard, and incorporating the ancient designs was crucial to the project.
Arthur knew the scientist possessed the brilliance to build sothing even stronger than Pluton from scratch—yet why waste ti reinventing the wheel when you could learn from the ancients?
Their feet barely disturbed the water as they stepped onto the docks, arriving unnoticed amidst the bustling harbor traffic.
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"Water 7..." Redfield mused, surveying the unique cityscape. He still carried his umbrella-weapon from Impel Down, though he had discarded the tattered prison garb. "You go get the blueprints. I need a change of clothes."
He had no doubt Arthur could handle it. Any danger they might encounter here was beneath his notice.
"Fine." Arthur nodded. "Will not take long. et back at the Sea Train tracks when you are done."
With that, they separated, lting seamlessly into the city's massive crowds.
Arthur trusted Redfield. A man that proud would not break his word. That was why he had not hesitated to reveal his objective:
Obtaining Pluton.
He knew the World Governnt considered the Ancient Weapons an existential threat. If they even suspected the blueprints were here, they would descend upon Water 7 with their full military might. The weapons could not fall into the hands of pirates—especially ambitious ones.
Yet Arthur was not worried about Redfield leaking the secret.
First, he was confident in his own strength to handle any fallout.
Second, he trusted Redfield's character.
Certain n on the seas simply did not care about the Ancient Weapons. They viewed them with disdain, even contempt. Whitebeard was one. Redfield was another. They believed in their own strength above all else and had no desire to overturn the world order.
The Golden Lion, Shiki, on the other hand... he was the type to lose his mind over such power.
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Arthur strolled through the city toward the shipyards, taking in the sights. The network of canals was complex, navigated by unique, bull-like creatures called Yagara Bulls, which served as both transportation and moving assistance. Nearly every household seed to own one.
Today felt festive. The streets and canals were crowded with residents wearing colorful masks, their laughter echoing through the air.
Finding Tom proved difficult. As a convicted criminal, albeit one on probation, his na was rarely spoken aloud.
After listening in on conversations for a while, Arthur finally overheard a masked man—presumably just off work from the shipyard—ntion Tom's location.
He followed the directions, making his way toward Tom's workshop on the city's outskirts.
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In a secluded corner of the shipyard district, by the water's edge.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
A hulking fish-man with horns, stripped to the waist, his skin a pale yellow, hamred away at the hull of a dilapidated ship. His focus was absolute.
'Is that not the Oro Jackson?' Arthur thought, recognizing Roger's legendary vessel as he stepped into the seaside workshop.
"Repairing a pirate ship right under the Navy's nose... you got balls, fish-man."
"There is no good or evil in a ship," Tom said without turning, his voice a deep rumble. He set down his hamr. "It does not matter what kind of ship you build. Even if it hurts people, even if it destroys the world, the one who built it must love it. Only the creator cannot deny it, cannot bla it. A man stands proudly by the ships he builds!"
He had heard the unspoken accusation in Arthur's voice.
"Makes sense." Arthur conceded. "A pity Roger still caused you so much trouble."
"To have played a part in the life of a great man like Roger... it is my greatest honor!" Tom suddenly roared, turning to face him. His eyes blazed. He clearly did not appreciate the implication.
"Get out! Tom's Workers does not welco you, Thunder Emperor Arthur!"
His powerful voice reverberated through the workshop. From a nearby window, two small heads popped out—curious eyes peering at the newcor.
Franky and Iceburg.
Tom had recognized him instantly. Yet the fish-man possessed a powerful conviction of his own and showed no fear. He would not allow anyone to insult his ship or the man he admired. Building the Oro Jackson was the proudest achievent of his life, even if it cost him his freedom, even his life.
This world was full of such people—n and won willing to die for what they believed in, without regret. Arthur had not understood it in his early years, yet sowhere along the way, he had beco one of them. It was a belief that shook the soul. Perhaps it was this very quality that made the sea so endlessly fascinating.
"Do not misunderstand," Arthur said, his voice softening slightly. "I did not co here to insult you."
A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips.
"I ca here to take sothing. Sothing Roger did not want. But I do."
Pluton was built in Water 7 eight hundred years ago. If blueprints existed, Roger—who had searched relentlessly for the truth of the world—must have seen them. Even if he had not, Tom would have shown them to him.
Arthur even wondered if Roger had brought the blueprints back from Laugh Tale. It was not impossible. The final island surely held all the world's secrets.
"GET OUT! Whatever you want, I do not have it!" Tom roared, hefting a massive sledgehamr.
"Whether you have it or not, does not matter." Arthur's voice turned cold again. "If I want it, you will find it for ." He glanced toward the window where the two boys were hiding. "Those two your apprentices? If I do not have the blueprints in ten seconds, one of them dies."
He vanished in a flicker of motion and reappeared before Tom, holding Franky and Iceburg aloft by their necks. His grip was like iron. Their struggles were useless.
"To think the great Thunder Emperor would resort to threatening children," Tom gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his eyes turning bloodshot with rage.
"Extraordinary circumstances require extraordinary asures. Ten seconds are up."
Arthur's voice was rciless. He tossed Franky aside and flicked a finger against the boy's stomach. An invisible, irresistible force struck him, shattering his internal organs.
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