Chapter 146: Only Asking About the Original Intention
The study was lavishly decorated.
A heavy desk stood to one side, with bookshelves lining the walls and fine stationery arranged neatly across the tabletop. Everything about the room spoke of taste, wealth, and habit. It was clearly a place where its owner handled business.
Franklin sat behind the desk.
At first glance, his upper body looked calm and composed as he worked through the documents before him.
But if one looked beneath the edge of the desk, through the narrow gap between wood and shadow, his legs were trembling.
Badly.
After forming his so-called cooperation with Axel, Franklin had renovated this room from top to bottom.
First, the door had been reinforced with special materials. Then he hired more bodyguards. The windows had been sealed with thick iron plates, leaving only a small ventilation slit. Even the balcony outside had been demolished entirely.
The room was on the third floor.
With the balcony gone, no one should have been able to sneak in quietly.
Even the floor had been replaced.
The old cold mineral stone had been torn up after leaving Franklin with a certain psychological shadow. In its place, he had installed warm ore flooring instead.
The reason for all of this was simple.
He no longer felt safe.
It was not that Franklin was timid.
At least, that was what he told himself.
The truth was that Axel's demands were too ruthless. They were practically an annihilation plan aimed at the merchant alliance. His instructions had relentlessly suppressed Franklin's former colleagues and bitten into their interests again and again.
Franklin had already boarded this pirate ship.
He had no choice but to cooperate.
Because of that, he had also become the target of retaliation.
A knock sounded at the door.
Franklin's shoulders jerked.
He immediately asked, "Who is it?"
A slightly deep voice answered from outside.
"It is me, Abbott."
Franklin recognized the voice.
Abbott.
His butler.
He trusted Abbott completely. The man had taken care of him since childhood and was practically an elder who had watched him grow up.
Franklin relaxed slightly.
"Come in."
The door opened.
A white-haired man entered the room.
Age had not weakened his spirit. Abbott wore a perfectly tailored butler's uniform, neat from collar to cuff. His hair and beard were trimmed with almost severe precision. His face was serious, even stern, and every step he took carried the discipline of a man who had turned etiquette into instinct.
He walked to Franklin, bowed with textbook perfection, and spoke in a measured voice.
"Lord Franklin, the items you arranged have been prepared."
"Good. I understand."
Franklin showed neither joy nor relief.
Instead, he looked somewhat dejected.
The things he had ordered Abbott to prepare were related to Axel.
Local delicacies.
Franklin had no interest in whether they were well prepared.
After the negotiation that day, he and Axel had left the gathering together. Axel then lent him the support of the Marines and gave him instructions on how to annex the others.
There had not been many instructions.
But every single one was brutal.
By following them, Franklin had offended almost all of his former colleagues. Once their interests were threatened, they did not hesitate to draw knives, hire men, and apply pressure in every way they could.
That was why he had become so paranoid.
Anyone whose subordinates had been attacked ten times in just over ten days would have become even worse.
Fortunately, although Captain Axel seemed unreliable, he was surprisingly reliable when it came to action.
That was why Franklin was still alive and unharmed.
Because of that, Axel's requests were generally satisfied.
As for caring whether Franklin was troubled?
Impossible.
Franklin could barely take care of himself right now. He had no room left to care about anyone else.
Abbott continued, "The island's merchants have come again. They are gathered outside the entrance, demanding to see you."
"Again…"
Franklin sighed.
His business now covered multiple industries. In practice, he had already become the leading merchant on the island.
It was the position he had always wanted.
And yet he felt no joy at all.
"Let them surround the entrance," Franklin said tiredly. "There are Marine guards outside. They won't dare force their way in. If they ask where I am, say I'm not home."
"Yes, I understand."
Franklin thought for a moment, then added, "If they still haven't left after an hour, ask Captain Axel to scare them away. Remember, ask him."
Abbott's expression shifted slightly.
"But he has left."
Franklin shot to his feet.
"What?! When did he leave?"
"Immediately after finishing the feast we prepared."
"…"
Franklin's legs nearly gave out.
…
The one-month appointment with Tom was almost due.
After reluctantly finishing the meal Franklin had prepared, Axel left without much hesitation and took the Sea Train to Water 7.
Once he arrived, he rented a Yagara Bull and followed the route he remembered toward Scrap Island.
When he reached Tom's house, he stepped up to the door and knocked.
No response.
Axel waited for a while.
Still nothing.
He placed his hand on the door and gave it a light push.
It was unlocked.
The heavy wooden door slowly opened under his palm.
The sight was somewhat eerie.
The door had been built according to Tom's height and build. It was nearly twice as wide as an ordinary door, and the wood itself was thick and heavy. A normal person would have needed considerable strength to push it open.
The door creaked inward.
Dust stirred in the room.
Axel frowned.
It had only been a month since he last came here.
How had the place changed so much?
A bad thought quickly rose in his mind.
Could Tom have already been arrested by Spandam?
But that did not seem right.
When Axel first arrived here, Franky's Battleship Number Thirty-Four had only just been completed.
In the original course of events, Tom was arrested after Battleship Number Thirty-Five was completed.
Building a ship should not have taken only a month.
That was why Axel had only warned Tom and the others last time.
He stepped inside and carefully observed the room.
With his memory, the way Tom's house had looked before was still clear in his mind. Now, however, every room showed signs of having been searched.
Ransacked, almost.
Documents were scattered across the floor.
Axel casually stirred the air with his ability, gathering the loose papers, sorting them, and placing them back onto the bookshelves.
Whoever had searched this place had not missed a single corner.
The floorboards had been pried open. The wooden planks beneath had been dug up. The surrounding walls had also been opened, though they had later been put back into place.
That kind of meticulous search method did not look like the work of ordinary thieves.
Government intelligence personnel.
Only they would search this thoroughly.
As for what they had been looking for, there was no need to guess.
Pluton.
Axel did not stay in the house.
He turned and headed toward the bay, hoping to find more clues there.
When he arrived at the shore of Scrap Island, he saw wreckage scattered everywhere.
Among the garbage, the Franky Battleship that had once been moored there was now smashed apart, its remains mixed into the surrounding waste.
But because Franky had maintained it carefully not long ago, some of the wooden planks were still new.
They stood out sharply among the old wreckage.
With Axel's eyesight and observational ability, he quickly spotted a fresh plank among the debris.
On it was written the number 35.
That confirmed his conclusion.
Tom had been arrested.
It seemed Tom had not listened to his advice.
He had not burned the Pluton blueprints.
Nor had he made Franky destroy his battleship.
Axel crouched down and ran his fingers across the broken planks. He studied the marks, the cuts, the texture of the wood, and the traces left by seawater and impact.
Warship Number Thirty-Five had not been completed long ago.
Probably within the last few days.
But to know more, he still needed further investigation.
Theoretically, Axel should have chosen not to interfere.
Tom had been taken away by the government. From a purely practical standpoint, staying out of it would be safest. It would also fit the so-called justice expected of him as a Marine officer.
But this time, Axel did not want to stand aside.
If he could not even save someone like Tom, then what was the meaning of the justice he had been searching for?
He did not ask for reasons.
He only asked what his original intention had been.
.....
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