One might ask why Kyle, who could have ended the battle with a single Haki-infused slash, would conjure such a flashy and elaborate move. The answer is simple: because it's more fun that way. One might also ask why he would come to deal with such a small matter personally instead of dispatching a subordinate. The answer to that is also simple: his best enforcer was currently off somewhere, heaven knows which master swordsman he was enthusiastically clashing blades with this time.
The sky above Alabasta was sharply divided. On one side was Crocodile's raging sandstorm, a proud manifestation of a natural disaster. On the other was Kyle's effortlessly conjured black tide of iron, deep and silent, a prelude to the end. The two forces collided in mid-air, tearing and devouring each other. The grinding of iron and sand created an ear-splitting screech, sparking tiny flickers of fire where they met. The entire world seemed to have turned into a giant, grinding machine.
At the center of the storm, Crocodile's face was pale. Cold sweat trickled down his temples, soaking his collar. His greatest advantage—his home turf in the desert—had become a complete joke. His opponent could actually pull a more destructive weapon directly from the sand itself. What kind of outrageous ability was that?
Retreat! He had to find a way to escape. Crocodile's mind raced, calculating every possible route out of this nightmare.
In stark contrast, Kyle looked completely at ease, as if he were merely taking a stroll through a garden. He even had the leisure to reach out and feel the cold sensation of the iron sandstorm flowing past his fingers, a look of serene enjoyment on his face.
Just as Crocodile's mind was stretched to its breaking point, Kyle's figure suddenly vanished.
Not good! An alarm blared in Crocodile's head. Years of combat instinct made him throw himself backward while simultaneously conjuring a thick sand wall to shield his front. But the attack he anticipated never came.
Instead, a chilling sense of crisis erupted from behind him. Crocodile sensed it and whipped his head around. A hand, crackling with ominous black and red lightning, was already clamped around his neck. Though it was a hand of flesh and blood, it felt harder than Sea Prism Stone, making it impossible for his Logia body to disperse. All the strength was being drained from his limbs.
"Ugh…" A painful whimper escaped Crocodile's throat, his eyes bulging.
As his will crumbled, the sky-obscuring yellow sandstorm collapsed, turning into a downpour of sand that rustled to the ground. The black iron tide also subsided, breaking back down into countless tiny particles that sank into the boundless desert, as if they had never been there at all. The sky returned to a clear, azure blue.
On the boundless sea, an inconspicuous small boat swayed gently with the waves. Kyle lay comfortably on a deck chair in sunglasses, basking in the sun and sipping a glass of iced orange juice. Across from him sat a figure wrapped head to toe in bandages like a mummy, with only his eyes and mouth visible. The 'mummy' held a cigar in his mouth, gloomily puffing out smoke.
"Smoking when you're injured… that's not a very smart move," Kyle said casually.
Crocodile's visible eye twitched violently. You're the one who beat me into this state!
After being utterly defeated, Crocodile had been 'invited' onto this small boat for the return journey.
"It must have been hard on you, losing to Whitebeard back in the day," Kyle's lazy voice cut through the silence, reopening the most painful wound in Crocodile's heart.
The cigar clamped between Crocodile's lips stiffened, and his eyes became incredibly dangerous.
Kyle paid him no mind and continued talking to himself. "I lost to him once, too, when I was young. Of course, I wouldn't go out of my way to fight an old man now. I'm a new-era pirate who respects his elders." He took off his sunglasses, his pure golden pupils looking at Crocodile with a hint of amusement. "You're looking for that Ancient Weapon, aren't you? The one called 'Pluton'."
Boom! The words hit Crocodile harder than any physical attack. He shot upright, his bandaged eyes staring intently at Kyle, his voice a hoarse rasp. "You… how do you know?!" That secret was the entire reason he had spent years hiding in this desert. It was his ultimate trump card!
"Well, isn't that a coincidence," Kyle grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth. "I just so happen to have an archaeologist at home who can read the Poneglyphs."
Crocodile's body froze completely. An archaeologist who could read Poneglyphs… the survivor of Ohara?!
"So, you should just give up," Kyle said, finishing his juice and casually tossing the empty glass into the sea. "Alabasta doesn't have 'Pluton'." His tone was flat, yet it carried an undeniable certainty. He knew perfectly well that the blueprints for Pluton were in Water 7, and the weapon itself was sleeping deep within Wano Country.
Crocodile fell silent. His cigar burned down to the end, the ash falling unnoticed onto his bandages. More than a decade of planning and scheming, all for nothing? A huge sense of loss and confusion overwhelmed him. Seeing his defeated look, Kyle finally extended an offer.
"Instead of chasing an illusion, why not work for me?" Crocodile slowly raised his head, his eyes full of suspicion. "I can offer you a generous cut of the treasure, the best doctors, and your own fleet to command," Kyle said earnestly. "Most importantly, I can give you the ultimate thrill: the chance to stomp on Marineford and punch a Celestial Dragon at Mary Geoise. How about it? Tempted?"
Kyle stood up and spread his arms, facing the sea breeze with a wildly confident smile. "The Pirate King? That title is boring. Besides, I already finished that journey with Roger. What I want is to become the freest person in this world! To go wherever I want and fight whoever I want! I want this sea to have no rules that can bind me. I will be the only rule!"
This unbelievably arrogant declaration echoed in the sea breeze. Crocodile stared at the man's back, his heart pounding. Overthrowing the world… Wasn't that exactly what he had always wanted? He had just chosen to do it by controlling an ancient power. But the man before him wanted to do it head-on, in the most direct, violent, and arrogant way imaginable. In the face of such a grand vision, his own ambition seemed so small and laughable. So, this is the true presence of a king.
The confusion in Crocodile's eyes gradually faded, replaced by a fervor he didn't even notice. He slowly lowered his head, hiding his expression as he lit a new cigar. After a long moment, a low, hoarse sentence, tinged with a hint of reluctance, was squeezed from between his teeth.
"That's quite a boast… Boss."
In the days that followed, as the small boat sailed on, Crocodile began to learn more about the organization he now served. What he discovered, however, did not fill him with awe, but with a growing sense of disbelief and frustration.
"Are you an idiot?"
"Then I ask you, do you have any idea about your own subordinate industries?"
"Industries?" Kyle thought for a moment. "Oh, you mean that stuff? There's too much to keep track of. I guess some of it exists."
"'You guess'?!" Crocodile's voice rose an octave. "Do you know how many Berries the 'Furnace' in Shambles generates every single day? Do you know the monthly profit from its broadcasting rights and merchandise? And that doesn't even count how many powerful fighters it has recruited for you!"
"Oh, Caron is in charge of that. He's doing a good job," Kyle nodded.
"'A good job'?" Crocodile felt his blood pressure soaring. "It's a genius business model! But what about you? As the boss, besides lying here sunbathing, what have you done? Do you know where the funds are going? Have you formulated a single plan for expansion?" He extended a bandaged finger, almost poking Kyle in the face. "Also, the arms trade in the North Blue, the underworld port in the West Blue, and several of the most profitable shipping routes in the New World… the capital flow all points back to you! With that much cash and influence, you should have a clear plan for the future!"
The more Crocodile spoke, the more agitated he became. He looked at Kyle with the exasperated expression of a diligent founding father scolding a lazy heir who only knew how to waste money. He couldn't understand it. He had witnessed Kyle's god-like power and had been awed by his ambition to overturn the world. He thought he had joined the most terrifying overlord in history. But the result? This overlord was a completely hands-off manager who knew nothing about his own empire. He was a slacker who was only interested in sunbathing and drinking juice.
This huge contrast made Crocodile's newfound loyalty crumble into an absurd sense of exasperation.
Faced with Crocodile's tirade, Kyle merely yawned and waved his hand. "Sigh… that all sounds so troublesome."
"Just leave it to Caron. He's very capable. And if he can't handle it…" Kyle tilted his head, seemingly trying to remember who else he had working for him. "...if not, there's always Doffy."
"Doffy?" Crocodile asked, the name sounding vaguely familiar. Then, his brain felt as if it had been struck by a bolt of lightning, and he froze.
Doffy… Doflamingo?! Joker?! The Heavenly Yaksha, Donquixote Doflamingo? The man at the heart of the underworld, feared even by the Marines?!
Crocodile's eyes widened, and his mouth hung open. The cigar he was holding dropped to the deck with a thud. He stared at Kyle, his lips trembling, unable to form a single word.
"Wha… what did you say?!"
"Doflamingo… is also one of your men?!!!"
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