"Uprisings?" Snow let out a dry rasping laugh that sounded like stones grinding together.
"We've had dozens of 'em since they first found that damned black rock. Over a dozen, at least."
He leaned back, his eyes distant. "Every single one erupted for the same reasons. Working hours so long they'd kill a Sea King. Workers denied a single day of rest, dropping dead right in the tunnels. That's what it takes to make men fight."
"The most recent one... the big one... that was ten years ago. It was the largest miners' uprising in our history. It involved nearly every single person who worked the mines. A full 150,000 people, all in revolt."
"150,000 people!" one of the younger Volunteer Army members gasped, his hand flying to his mouth.
"My god, that's twice the total population of my entire country!"
Dragon and the others were visibly shocked. In a world of islands, a "country" was often just one large landmass.
Due to the vastness of the sea, there were almost no large, contiguous continents (the Red Line didn't count).
Countries were scattered like stars.
A big island with a good environment might have a larger population, but a small one with a harsh climate would have far fewer.
In Dragon's experience, any country with over 150,000 people was already a medium-sized, significant nation.
Most of the World Government's member nations had populations between 70,000 and 100,000.
The fact that the Kingdom of Eryojakbu—just its mining population—could organize an uprising of that scale was truly astonishing.
Dragon, however, was puzzled.
His brow furrowed.
"Uncle Snow, I have a question. Ten years ago, I had already begun my training in the marines. Why have I never once heard any news of this event? A revolt of 150,000 people... that's not something you can hide."
Pfft.
Snow spat a wad of tobacco-laced saliva right onto the dusty floor.
His eyes, which had been lost in memory, suddenly turned to iron.
"You wanna know why you never heard about it in the marine, boy?" he snarled, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
"It's because it was the Marines that suppressed the uprising! It was your 'justice' that slaughtered us!"
The old man slammed his tobacco pipe on the table with a loud crack, a fierce, murderous glint in his eyes.
"If I hadn't been able to tell you're not like them... if I wasn't sure you weren't one of them... I would have poisoned that water an hour ago."
The members of the Freedom Fighter jumped to their feet, their hands flying to their weapons.
The friendly, informative atmosphere vanished, replaced by a tension so thick it was hard to breathe.
In stark contrast, Dragon acted as if he hadn't heard the threat at all.
He calmly, almost slowly, picked up the heavy kettle and poured himself another cup of the murky, awful water.
He didn't stop there.
He leaned over and refilled Uncle Snow's cup, which had gone empty.
Then, holding the old man's furious gaze, Dragon picked up his own teacup and took a long, slow sip.
The scene fell into a deafening silence.
The only sound in the entire house was Dragon drinking.
Gulp. Gulp.
Seeing this, the fierce light in Snow's eyes wavered.
The rage was still there, but it was now mixed with pure astonishment.
He let out a shaky breath.
"Young man," he grunted, slumping back. "You've got guts. You're quite impressive." He let out a dry chuckle.
"I must say, you're much smarter than your father. If it were him, he probably would have drunk the poisoned water and still thanked me for the drink."
Dragon just shook his head, setting the cup down.
"My father's abilities lie in... other areas. He doesn't pay attention to such minor details. But to be fair, ordinary toxins probably wouldn't be enough to kill him anyway."
"Hahahaha!" Snow's sudden, hearty laughter echoed in the air, and the tense atmosphere finally shattered, shifting from silence to a grudging liveliness.
"Uncle Snow," Dragon said, his pen once again poised over his notebook.
His rationality reminded him not to forget their task.
"You still haven't told us about the suppression of the uprising."
"Hmph. There's not much else to say," Snow grumbled, picking up his pipe.
"At that time, the miners... we actually won. We swept through everything. We defeated the King's Guard. If that coward king hadn't escaped so quickly, we would have hanged him on the gallows ourselves."
His face fell. "But after the victory... we didn't follow through. We stopped the mine's operations, of course. And... we prepared to celebrate. We thought it was over. We thought we were free."
He took a deep, rattling drag from his pipe.
"The escaped king contacted the Celestial Dragons. The World Nobles. He told them the miners had overthrown him, stopped the mine, and... worst of all... refused to pay the Celestial Tribute."
"The Celestial Dragons," Snow spat, "were furious. They dispatched the marines. And agents from the CP organization. In just half a month... it was over. The uprising was completely suppressed. It wasn't a battle; it was a massacre."
He went quiet, staring at the clean photograph on the table.
"My son... he also died in that battle." He took another deep drag, the smoke obscuring his face.
"He was the son of a foreman, destined to become a foreman himself. He had no reason to join the revolt, to mix with the common miners. But he did. He believed it was a meaningful cause. For the son of a foreman to die like that... it's a deeply ironic thing."
Dragon was deeply moved.
He was exactly that kind of person.
As the son of a marine hero, with exceptional talent, a Vice Admiral position was guaranteed, even if he'd been as lazy as Borsalino.
But after witnessing the evils of the world, his spirit became lost.
After months of contemplation, Dragon ultimately could not bring himself to live a lie.
He left the marines to travel the world, searching for answers.
He hadn't found all the answers, but he saw the inherent, rotting flaws of the nobility with crystal clarity.
He saved people along the way.
Most of them were the companions now at his side.
After listening to the old man's story, Dragon raised his glass of murky water, as if toasting the old man's deceased son.
Then, he drank it all in one go.
Old Man Snow looked at this young, intense former naval officer and, for a moment, seemed to see his own dead son again.
'How could there be another fool like this in the world?' Snow thought to himself.
He'd tried to persuade his son, told him their family didn't need to mix with the miners.
But his son wouldn't listen.
When the marine arrived, Snow had retreated with the other miners, and he'd lost contact with his son.
Only later did he learn his boy had died under artillery fire.
At first, he hated the marines.
But as he grew older, his hatred... shifted.
The marines was just a blade.
A tool in the hands of the Celestial Dragons.
Their sword was directed by the World Government.
Rather than hating the blade, he should hate the hand that swings it.
He'd thought about assassinating the king.
But he sadly discovered the king had learned his lesson.
New guard units.
New residences.
High walls, and thousands of marine troops stationed on the surrounding islands, ready to quell any hint of rebellion.
After so long, despair was all that was left.
He could only drag out his feeble existence in this house.
Dragon finished writing, closing his notebook.
He stood up, his gaze firm.
"Prepare yourselves," he said to his crew. "Tomorrow, we go work in the mines."
...
North Blue, Marine Branch, Commander's Office
"Ooooooh, Raaaaleigh..."
Borsalino, the Commander of the North Blue, was slumped so low in his chair that his chin was resting on his desk.
He was staring in abject terror at the scene before him.
His office, usually clean and sparse (perfect for napping), was overflowing.
Marine clerks, dressed in formal attire, were carrying in stack after stack of documents, each pile taller than a person.
"Raleigh, what are you trying to do?" Borsalino whined, not even lifting his head.
"Take them away. Take them all away. I'm serious, just seeing this much paperwork gives me goosebumps."
"What do you think?" Raleigh replied, a mischievous, almost evil, smile playing on his lips.
He was sitting backward in a chair, sipping tea.
"I'm governing, dear brother! And to better govern the North Blue, I'm inviting you to help me... digest... all these materials."
Since returning from the Doflamingo incident, Raleigh had been pondering the World Government's motives.
Borsalino had warned him about economic sanctions, so he'd started his investigation there.
But he quickly discovered the Celestial Dragons weren't really sanctioning the marines due to a simple funding shortage, but the reason was something deeper.
So, he'd had the clerks gather all the World Government's overt and covert planning documents, budgets, and inter-departmental memos... from the past one hundred years.
"You're not slacking, are you, brother?" Raleigh said, his smile widening. "We've got a lot of reading to do."