The loud words only served to give him an extra job to do, as he had to now not only fill up the s.h.i.+p's coffers but also discourage people from snooping around the gaudy vessel.

After the hitch in his last a.s.signment, Terrick had chosen to return to the s.h.i.+p and cool his head, at first he had thought to seek the advice of his ever-thoughtful captain, but swiftly dispersed the idea, having seen how up to his neck in his own project he was.

The boy had moved the a.s.sa.s.sin, anyone who said anything to the contrary could only be blind. True he had been an a.s.sa.s.sin for a long time, but he was used to having no emotions, having emotions when one could not act on them was merely a cripple from his point of view, and so he had gotten used to being unfeeling. But now, in a crew that basically mandated for freedom and agency, he had no choice but to ask himself why all those actions had been easy for him, chillingly so. This thought had not only plagued him, it had also left him feeling uncomfortable and uneasy.

With a tired sigh he looked over at the lone room that stood at the very forefront of the deck, the room was shut closed, mutters echoed from inside as the loud sound of the churning of pages sounded from inside. The captain sounded quite overworked.

On the first day the captain had returned to the s.h.i.+p sporting what looked to be a barrel full of snails, all of them of the transponder variety. Then after that and a few secretive calls, he had revamped the captain's quarters into what looked like a dungeon.

Snails stood on every pedestal, each with a name and a colored string leading them toward another one. These would at their end connect to what looked to be a hand drawn map of the different blues. Each island was seemingly allotted a color and each informant a name, though what all this implied, Terrick had not enquired and Lore had not seen important enough to inform to anyone on the crew, save for Fawkes.

Unfortunately, the threads seemed to be restricted to the North blue and a little to the West blue. A single island to be precise. The different unused snails so far had then been organized to where they go and placed in a makes.h.i.+ft reserve, where they had an abundance of leaf and a large enough field that it would not be too congested to be in.

The captain had been receiving information every day, and had been using different colored binders and what looked to be a weirdly foreign language to codify the information in. Terrick had been told that each of these binders were ordered on date, and held even the most trivial of information.

With this the crew had been informed that the sh.o.r.e leave would be extended for another week, enough to get the battery running as he had been told, and honestly Terrick was fine with this, he had his plate full with enough as it was.

With that thought and a deep sigh he trudged below deck to the cabin before piling onto a hammock and snoring away…

******************************************************************************

I sighed for the umpteenth time as I looked at the binder that stood before me, it housed all the information I had received of Doflamingo's family- The Donquixote family, and I had to admit, however much of an arrogant blowhard he was, he was at least as cunning.

Had he not died back then, then I was sure that the crew and my head would have come under a special type of gunning, not like the dogged persistence that the marines employed to follow most pirates, it was more of a level of persistence that one would a.s.sociate with an emperor.

The same chilling level of control, the same arrogant and unyielding disposition. The only difference I could see was that while an emperor would use pure strength and power, the pink flamingo used his connections.

Though Onigumo was in appearance a spider, Doflamingo was more of one. Knowing how each string of his web thrummed when it was flicked and acting as both an alert and a trap when someone were unfortunate enough to fall into the delicately wrought framework that he had built his empire on.

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The white devil, and the joker were scary opponents to face, especially for one not accustomed to using direct and brutal methods.

His web had seeped far into the grand line, and only his death had been able to disrupt the carefully laid out castle of webs, only by piggybacking on the stray elements of this web had Lore been able to grow a semi decent information agency, and even then it was only in its infancy, employing the aid of beggars and members of the North Blue mafia to somewhat make do in bringing in a hodgepodge of information.

BUT, Lore was happy he had invested their dwindling coffers into this venture, at least now he knew, he knew of the formidable force that they had only barely been able to evade.

They had the burly and frankly scary marine behemoth behind them. It was Vice Admiral Garp for f.u.c.ks sake. Lorean had more confidence against admirals then he had with that b.a.s.t.a.r.d and his three friends!

'f.u.c.king three musketeers of the marines..' he grumbled mutinously as he tiredly slipped in the latest bit of news into the green binder that he had dedicated to the Donquixote family. He was regretful, after going through the effort of beating the arrogant pink b.a.s.t.a.r.d but forgetting to raid his humongous reserves, Lore could feel his face itching with remorse as he thought of it.

Now, however Trebol one of the pink b.a.s.t.a.r.ds executives, his second in command in fact, had taken the reins of the underworld empire, sitting comfortably on the throne and ensuring the family's continued sustenance as a grand line level powerhouse crew.

The world government had not taken the news of the flamingos defeat lightly, they had sent in h.o.a.rds on h.o.a.rds of Cipher Pol agents to scour the town where the warlord had fallen, only managing some semblance of normality by pa.s.sing on the position to the inc.u.mbent Trebol, who had gladly accepted, if only to ensure the marines stayed off their back.

The world government had done this discreetly however, putting off the entire incident as the warlord 'retiring' early to be replaced by his second in command, because of 'old injuries' and other oceans of bile and propaganda.

'Big news' Morgans on the other hand, had been able to report that the warlord had fallen but was unsure of the cause, the remote location of the battle and the distance between there and the headquarters of the journalists head quarters playing a key role in the lack of credible information, the albatross had been extremely keen on covering the case on his own, and had thus asked for all his subordinate journalists to let him do the field work this time around.

Though I was glad at the information I had received I could not help but gnash my teeth, both at the cost I would have to bear to develop this information system and how I could maintain its use to me later on in my adventure.

Luckily however, if I could say one thing, then it was this, the head of Mimir had surfaced from the water and would someday know everything about everything.