The fleet under Elus's command remained at Whale Tail Island for two days, primarily to untangle a mountain of logistical nightmares. Twenty thousand corpses were not a small matter; many belonged to pirates with active bounties, requiring them to be processed for exchange at the Marines' G-1 Branch. Then there were the fifty-plus warships—vessels in excellent condition provided by Umit to bolster Amento. Selling them off would net a staggering fortune.
Handling these mundane affairs was an exhausting drain on time. Even with the diligent assistance of his adjutants, Elus found it impossible to step away entirely.
[This only reinforces my resolve,] Elus thought, staring at a stack of manifests. [Being a Crown Prince is already this much of a headache. If I actually ascended the throne, I'd be a prisoner within the palace walls. My father always brags about his 'glory days' of adventure, yet he never mentions the decades spent behind a desk after becoming King.]
"It is definitely better to delay the succession for as long as possible," Elus murmured to the empty room.
Finally, after the last of the loose ends on Whale Tail were tied, Elus led his fleet northward. Their objective: the reclamation of Whale Belly and Whale Head islands.
Meanwhile, the news of the clash between the Kingdom of Echemondo and the Kingdom of Amento began to ripple outward. This was largely due to a certain newspaper president's peculiar obsession with a certain prince, which led to the acquisition of first-hand intelligence. Almost immediately, a special segment was carved out in the papers to report on a war that, by New World standards, should have been a mere footnote.
Of course, "insignificant" was a relative term.
Umit's machinations had been intended as a deep secret, but it was impossible to deceive everyone in these waters. Stussy, the Queen of the Pleasure District who controlled the New World's "hospitality" industry, was also a top-tier information broker. She had sold the details of Umit's plan to Echemondo for an astronomical fee, after which the kingdom had strategically leaked the information.
By now, nearly every powerhouse in the New World was aware of Umit's little scheme.
Because of this, many eyes were fixed on the struggle. Underworld gambling magnates had even opened high-stakes books, taking bets on whether Umit could successfully swallow Echemondo. Rumor had it the wagers from certain "Great Figures" were massive.
Consequently, when the latest headlines hit the stands, a storm erupted across the New World.
The magnates who had bet on Umit to succeed were particularly vocal. Having lost a fortune, many were busy cursing Umit for his incompetence and Echemondo for its sheer, uncanny luck.
To have severed Umit's reaching claws without even borrowing the strength of the Whitebeard Pirates was one thing. To have done so without the kingdom's famous champions, 'Beautiful Sword' and 'Fighting Dog,' even setting foot on the battlefield? That was beyond uncanny—it was sinister.
The New World seemed like a chaotic den of hidden dragons, but the hierarchy of power was actually quite clear. Umit was a titan of the Underworld; Echemondo was a strong nation, but compared to a giant of the dark side, most saw the outcome as a foregone conclusion. The only reason the bets were even placed was the variable of Whitebeard's potential interference.
No one expected the Whitebeard Pirates to remain silent while a new player emerged.
Soccachio Elus had appeared out of nowhere, beating Umit's men into the dirt and slaughtering twenty thousand in a single engagement. This ruthlessness and efficiency immediately earned the respect of the New World's veterans. To rise in these waters, one's path had to be paved with the bones of ten thousand enemies.
Looking at the history of the New World's lords, whose hands weren't stained by a sea of blood? Even 'Red-Haired' Shanks, the man with the least desire for conflict among the Emperors, had used the bones of countless foes as a staircase to reach his throne.
"Twenty thousand dead... not a staggering number, but not small either. It seems the Prince has a taste for cruelty. Even Venculla was defeated... Is a new storm brewing in the New World? How truly exhilarating! Fuffuffuffu!"
This was the commentary of a certain King who also held a seat among the Seven Warlords of the Sea.
"I had no idea Venculla was one of Umit's dogs. I'd actually considered recruiting him once; I nearly fell for that bastard's scheme. Echemondo... hm. I'll give them a ten percent discount from now on."
This was the statement of a titan in the New World's warehousing industry.
"The Soccachio family. I remember old Worreck. Is this Elus that shameless old man's grandson or great-grandson? Worreck once mentioned a marriage alliance with my house. This young man seems like quite a suitable candidate!"
The speaker was the owner of a massive, multi-national hotel chain in the New World.
"Oh my! Looking at the photos, he truly is a handsome Prince! My, my... just looking at him makes me feel quite flustered!"
The woman acting like a lovestruck youth was, in reality, the icy controller of the New World's black-market pharmaceutical trade.
Leaving the spectators aside, the atmosphere on the Moby Dick—flagship of the Whitebeard Pirates—was far more somber.
A few days prior, 'Pale Horn' Gio, the Second Division Commander, had passed away from an incurable illness. Compounded by Whitebeard's own declining health—the old man had been hooked to IV drips for days without reprieve—the mood of the crew was suffocatingly dark.
Among the sixteen hundred crew members, not a single one dared to speak above a whisper. They worried for their "Pops" and mourned their brother. Even a certain hidden traitor was busy performing a perfect mask of grief.
This heavy atmosphere persisted for some time, and not even the return of First Division Commander Marco the Phoenix could break the tension.
Until—
On the deck of the Moby Dick:
"Elus... is that the arrogant brat?"
Whitebeard, still connected to his IVs, flipped through the day's paper. He noted the report on a secondary page, his eyes narrowing at the familiar name.
"Pops, if you mean the little guy who rejected your invitation five years ago, I don't think there's a second Soccachio Elus," Marco replied, also reading.
As the second-in-command, Marco was well-aware of the nuances of the Echemondo-Amento conflict. When Underworld giants start opening betting pools, it's hard not to notice—especially since those giants paid regular "taxes" to Whitebeard for the privilege of operating in his territory.
"The arrogant brat has finally grown up, it seems! Gurararara!"
Recalling how he had been turned down five years ago, Whitebeard felt no anger. Instead, he found it amusing, letting out his first genuine laugh in over a month.
Hearing that familiar, booming laugh, Marco's heart finally settled. As long as Pops' spirits were high, he wouldn't have to worry about his health taking a further turn for the worse.
"Pops."
Marco briefed Whitebeard on the specifics of Umit's moves against Echemondo. He then added: "Should we give Echemondo a hand? Perhaps give Umit a lesson he won't forget?"
Seeing as Elus's antics had made his father laugh, Marco was inclined to offer some help. Furthermore, Umit's boldness in targeting a vassal under their protection required a firm response. The Whitebeard Pirates' territory was not a place for outsiders to run wild.
"No," Whitebeard grunted, dismissing the suggestion.
"The affairs of youngsters should be handled by youngsters. Umit... let the boy deal with him for now. If things get out of hand, it won't be too late for us to step in then."
"Understood, Pops."
Marco was slightly surprised by the faith Whitebeard placed in that prickly, arrogant kid, but he obeyed without question. Fine then—let Umit enjoy his freedom for a little while longer. The debt could be settled in due time.