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A golden sea of wheat swayed gently in the breeze.
A dozen farmers, armed with farming tools, hid amongst the stalks, their eyes fixed on Arthur, their expressions grim, determined.
But such a flimsy disguise couldn't fool Arthur. The life force—the aura of a human was distinct, different from plants or inanimate objects. Unless Arthur actively ignored them, or they possessed some way of masking their presence, his honed Observation Haki would pick them up instantly.
"Did I trespass on their territory? Are they planning to attack me?" Arthur's lips curled into a faint smile. He was intrigued.
These islanders were bold—
Civilians with no apparent powers, daring to challenge an intruder in the dangerous New World? That took guts.
"Come out. If you want to kill me, come and get me." His voice, soft but clear, carried on the breeze, reaching the hidden farmers.
"You're one of Big Mom's officers, aren't you? The wheat isn't ripe yet! We can't give her the flour! Leave now! Or we'll make you regret it—!"
The farmers, their hiding spots compromised, emerged from the wheat field, brandishing their tools—men and women, young and old—their faces hardened with a shared defiance.
"Wheat Island? Flour?" Arthur's interest piqued. "So, this is Big Mom's territory? How convenient… Her Tea Party is in three days, isn't it?"
He'd been planning to head to Raijin Island and claim it as his own, but if he was in Big Mom's territory… well, he couldn't pass up an opportunity to experience her infamous wrath firsthand.
Roger's little "detour" might prove more entertaining than he'd anticipated.
"Stop pretending! We won't let you take our wheat, not before it's ripe!" an elderly farmer with a white beard yelled, his voice filled with a desperate courage.
Wheat Island was located on the edge of Totto Land, its high-quality wheat, milled into fine flour, a crucial ingredient in Big Mom's beloved sweets.
The Big Mom Pirates, with their sweet-toothed captain, wouldn't let such a valuable resource go unclaimed.
Charlotte Linlin, a woman who would destroy nations for a taste of her favorite desserts, flour was her lifeblood.
If a territory failed to deliver its tribute on time—her enforcers, her "Sweet Commanders," would descend, their wrath swift and merciless.
And Wheat Island, its inhabitants farmers with no fighting ability, if they failed to meet Big Mom's demands—they'd be slaughtered.
Which was why they were so hostile towards Arthur, mistaking him for one of Big Mom's officers.
"Kill him! Show him we're not to be trifled with!"
They charged, their hoes and sickles raised, a desperate, futile attack.
Arthur didn't even bother raising a hand. Such primitive weapons posed no threat to him.
He released a wave of Conqueror's Haki, its power undeniable.
The farmers froze mid-stride, their tools clattering to the ground as they fell to their knees, their bodies paralyzed.
Conqueror's Haki, a manifestation of one's willpower, could crush the spirit of the weak, rendering them unconscious.
Arthur, spurred by his clash with Roger, had finally gained some control over his own Haki. He could use it at will now—but he wasn't a natural. He couldn't knock out thousands with a single glare like some of the world's strongest.
The farmers, unconscious, lay scattered across the field. Arthur, unfazed, sat down, taking a swig from his sake gourd, waiting for them to wake up.
They'd revealed a crucial piece of information—Big Mom's enforcers weren't here yet. He could wait for them.
Thirty minutes later, the farmers stirred, their earlier bravado replaced by fear and apprehension. Conqueror's Haki, it instilled not just unconsciousness—but a deep-seated dread.
They looked at Arthur warily, their eyes filled with suspicion.
"Who's in charge here?" Arthur asked, his voice calm, even.
An elderly man, his hair and beard white, stepped forward, shielding the others behind him like a mother hen protecting her chicks.
"I am—Vit Novich, village elder of Wheat Island, What do you want, Big Mom pirate?"
"I'm not here to explain myself. I'll deal with Big Mom's enforcers. And in return, Wheat Island will fly my flag. Agreed?"
Arthur's gaze was steady, his voice firm, his intent clear.
If they refused—he would use force.
"Your flag? You're not with Big Mom?" Novich's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as he considered the implications, his expression shifting rapidly.
He didn't answer, turning to the other villagers, a whispered discussion ensuing. Weighing the risks and benefits before making a decision—it was human nature.
Even Arthur, seemingly driven by impulse, his actions reckless and unpredictable—still weighed the thrill of the challenge against the potential consequences. He simply valued excitement above all else.
The villagers' discussion was heated. Arthur's offer was a gamble—a challenge to Big Mom's authority that could result in their island's destruction.
But if they failed to deliver the flour…they'd die anyway. Big Mom's wrath was absolute.
Arthur offered a glimmer of hope. Staying here meant certain death.
The choice wasn't difficult.
Ten minutes later, Novich, his weathered face etched with determination, made his decision.
They lacked power... influence—a broader perspective. But even Civilians had their own kind of wisdom, a deep understanding of survival.
"If you can protect us from Big Mom's tyranny, keep us safe—then Wheat Island will fly your flag."
The villagers bowed their heads in unison.
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