One Piece: Starting with the execution of Pirate King Roger

Ryan's gaze swept over the crowd, his voice calm yet undeniable:

"Since this is a military base, let me see what kind of military base Nelson left me."

Upon hearing this, the group of seasoned veterans were not alarmed at all. Instead, they seemed to have finally found an opportunity to vent their frustrations, and a hint of cunning flashed in their eyes.

Since the "soft" approach wouldn't work, let's try the "hard" approach—using that pile of rotten accounts to make this young superior back down.

Soon, a thick stack of ledgers and reports was brought up and piled in front of Renn, emitting the musty smell unique to old paper.

"Base Commander, look, the accounts of the G-17 branch over the years are all here."

The lieutenant colonel in charge of logistics rubbed his hands together, pointing to the pile of documents with a distressed expression, his tone full of helplessness and grievance:

"Major General Nelson...the previous commander squandered the base's funds. Now, not only is there no money in the accounts, but we also owe a large sum of money. We can't even afford to repair the fortifications, let alone keep the base running next month."

Colonel Moore, standing to the side, echoed, nodding his head vigorously like a chicken pecking at rice: "Yes, yes! Sir, we're also like a skilled cook without rice to cook. The soldiers below haven't seen their bonuses for months, everyone's complaining, and morale is really low..."

Ryan sat in a large chair, watching the group of poorly performing officers.

These people didn't dare to openly rebel, so they started playing this trick of feigning poverty. They were betting that the new official, Renn, was either thin-skinned or incompetent, and they wanted to use this pile of bad debts to sideline Renn or force him to compromise.

"No money?"

Raine didn't look at the obviously falsified ledgers; he just smiled faintly. He wasn't angry, nor did he refute them. He simply stood up and straightened his collar.

"Since it's so difficult, I'll just stop looking at these pieces of paper."

Ryan walked around the table and headed straight outside: "Since you say the low morale is because of a lack of money, then I'll go and see what kind of state you've created by leading soldiers without money."

……

The training ground in the morning should have been used for training.

However, at this moment, it is as quiet as a nursing home.

Under the blazing sun, not a single formation could be seen on the vast playground.

Hundreds of soldiers in naval uniforms were scattered in twos and threes, either under the shade of trees or in the shadows of the gun emplacements. Some were sprawled out asleep, their hats covering their faces; others were playing cards in a circle; some had even taken off their boots and were picking at their toes. A sense of decadence permeated the air.

Those rows of rifles, which should have been treated like a second life, were now carelessly tossed aside in the corner like firewood sticks. Some of the barrels were even being used as clotheslines, with freshly washed undershirts still dripping wet on them.

"Is this the elite of the G-17s?"

Smoker, who was following behind Ryan, saw this scene and the veins on his forehead throbbed.

For this tough guy who came from the elite training camp, this scene was nothing short of mental pollution.

But what puzzled him even more was another sense of unease.

“Hey, Ryan,” Smoker said in a low voice, “This isn’t right. Those soldiers who ambushed us in Sector D, while they were scum, at least acted like soldiers; they fired their cannons properly. How come the soldiers here… are so rotten?”

Ryan glanced at the demoralized soldiers and sneered, "Nelson's a businessman too. He uses his best resources where they matter most. Those elite troops are his private army, paid for at great expense, for dirty work and self-defense. And these few hundred men..."

Renn pointed at the group of lazy guys on the training field: "These are just paid doormen, there for the job. No money, so they'll just rot in front of you."

"Get up, everyone! Assemble!"

Smoker strode over and kicked over the table of several soldiers who were gambling, his roar like thunder.

"Splash!"

The table overturned, and the cards were scattered all over the floor.

The soldiers were startled and stood up sparsely. But their faces showed little fear, more annoyance at being disturbed, and a look of disbelief as if they were looking at idiots.

"Who is it... that's so angry..."

An old soldier with his collar open and hat askew slowly picked up the cards from the ground, not even bothering to salute. He glanced at Smoker with an indifferent expression that was enough to make anyone furious: "Sir, it's so hot, and we're on G-17 here. There's not a single pirate in the entire 500 nautical miles around. What are we doing?"

"Bastard!"

Smoker grabbed him by the collar, pointed at the pile of guns in the corner, and gritted his teeth: "As soldiers, you just leave your weapons aside?! What if the enemy comes?! Is this how you uphold justice?!"

"justice?"

The seasoned veteran scoffed. He wasn't afraid of Smoker, because Smoker was utterly rotten. How could someone who didn't even know where he'd be tomorrow be afraid of his superiors' scolding?

"Sir, you're a big shot from headquarters, it's easy for you to talk when you're not in the same boat."

The veteran let Smoker grab his collar, shrugged, and acted like a dead pig that wasn't afraid of boiling water: "The personal guards that Major General Nelson keeps eat meat every meal and get double pay. What about us? We can't even get a hot bowl of soup. For this little money, we're expected to keep our guns shiny and risk our lives? It's not worth it."

The surrounding soldiers joined in the jeering, their voices filled with resentment and mockery.

"That's right, sir. We're just here to make a living."

"You'll only do as much work as you're paid for!"

"Since there's no money to distribute, then don't keep everyone from sleeping."

The group of people were grinning and joking, their faces completely shameless.

Smoker was so angry his fists clenched. This was even more disgusting than encountering pirates. These people were completely hopeless; they had lost all sense of shame.

"That makes perfect sense."

A calm voice suddenly broke through, interrupting the noisy commotion.

The crowd parted, and Raine walked over with his hands in his pockets and an expressionless face. Gion followed behind him, her brow furrowed, clearly shocked by the military discipline here.

Ryan walked up to the old veteran.

He wasn't angry. But the invisible pressure from his superior made the old soldier, who had just been grinning, subconsciously stop smiling and shrink back.

"You just said that because there's little money and no wars to fight, there's no need to train properly?" Ryan asked.

"Uh...yes, yeah," the veteran said, forcing a smile, his eyes darting around. "We're all just trying to make a living. This gun's been issued for three years, and I haven't even opened the safety on it..."

"Ah."

Ryan nodded, as if agreeing with him.

Just when everyone thought the young officer was about to compromise, or was about to deliver a nonsensical speech about "we should be ashamed of this"—

Suddenly, Ryan reached out and picked up a brand-new rifle from the shelf next to him.

He didn't check the bolt; he simply gripped the barrel with one hand.

"Zi-"

Under the horrified gazes of the crowd, the steel rifle in Ryan's hands quickly turned red and softened, as if it had become a wax toy.

Just one second.

"Tick."

The gun barrel turned into a pool of molten iron, dripping onto the old soldier's boots and instantly burning through the floor, sending up a plume of smoke.

"Wow!"

The veteran screamed in fright, fell to the ground with a thud, his face ashen, and stared at Ryan in terror.

Ryan released his grip, letting the remaining half of the gun butt fall to the ground.

He took out a handkerchief, slowly wiped his hands, and glanced around the room.

At that moment, the temperature on the previously relaxed training ground seemed to plummet to freezing.

"If you think the gun is useless, then don't take it."

Raine's voice was as cold as ice, scraping across the faces of every soldier:

"What I hate most is someone who holds a position without doing anything."

"They occupy a naval post and receive naval pay, yet they do the work of security guards and are lazy. They even think it's their due."

Raine took a step forward, and the soldiers instinctively retreated in unison.

“You are not worthy of carrying guns, or even of wearing these clothes.”

There were no angry roars, only calm statements. But this deep-seated contempt and denial was more hurtful than any insult.

The soldiers exchanged bewildered glances; their self-righteous arrogance at "just getting by" vanished under Rein's gaze. In their place lay a deep sense of shame and fear of this unknown power.

"It's all gone."

Ryan waved his hand listlessly, as if even glancing at them was beneath him:

"It's an eyesore."

After saying that, he turned and left without saying another word or issuing any orders for rectification.

This disregard instilled a sense of inexplicable panic in the soldiers present.

……

On the way back to the office building, Colonel Moore had already fled in fright, leaving only Gion and Smoker with Ryan.

"Why didn't you just punish them directly?" Gion couldn't help but ask. "Or did you simply apply to headquarters to transfer a batch of new recruits to replace them? Keeping these old hands around will only cause trouble."

"Change the player?"

With his hands in his pockets, Ryan said casually:

"Replacing them with new recruits won't help. If we throw new recruits into this melting pot, as long as things remain the same here, they'll become new seasoned veterans in less than two years."

He glanced at the distant horizon and added casually:

"I'll leave here sooner or later; I can't stay here as the base commander forever."

“If I only rely on high-pressure tactics or constantly changing personnel to maintain order, then as soon as I leave, things will go back to the way they were before.”

Raine turned to look at Gion and smiled:

"What I want to keep is G-17, a place where pirates dare not approach easily, no matter who becomes the base commander."

“As for these spineless cowards…” Renn’s tone turned colder, “they’re very simple.”

"Break their bones, then put them back together."

"Don't they think there are no pirates here? Don't they think there's no war to fight?"

Renn looked at the gradually darkening sea in the distance, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his eyes:

"They've forgotten what blood tastes like."

"Talking won't do the trick. We need to get them to pick up their guns again. We need to make them understand just how brutal this ocean really is."

Chapter 105 The weather at sea is truly unpredictable!

Late at night, dark clouds obscured the moon.

On the high-level watchtower of the G-17 branch, the cold wind howled, scraping against the cheeks like knives.

Wearing a coat, Ryan sat on a makeshift chair, toying with a gold coin in his hand, which flew rapidly between his fingers.

Gion and Smoker stood on either side of him in the shadows behind his hands, their expressions cold and stern.

Before them stood fifteen colonel-level officers, their clothes disheveled, some still buttoning their shirts, others still half-asleep. But the cold wind had jolted them awake; they hunched their shoulders, not daring to look up at the young base commander.

There are a total of eighteen chief officers.

Renn looked at the list in his hand and spoke calmly, his voice slightly ethereal in the wind: "Fifteen have been reached. Where are the remaining three?"

silence.

Dead silence.

The officers below exchanged glances, their eyes darting around. Some stammered as if to speak, saying he was "sick," others said he "went to patrol the defense zone," but their voices were so soft they didn't even believe it themselves.

"Patrolling the defense zone? In the middle of the night?"

Ryan chuckled, ignoring the clumsy lies. His gaze swept across the crowd, precisely locking onto Colonel Moore, who stood trembling at the very front.

"Moore".

"Yes...yes!" Moore shuddered and almost lost his balance.

“You tell me,” Ryan said, pointing to the empty spaces. “Those are two lieutenant colonels from the logistics department, and a major in charge of port operations. Where are they in the middle of the night instead of sleeping in their dormitories?”

Moore's face turned deathly pale instantly.

He glanced at his colleagues who were giving him warning looks, and then at Ryan's eyes, which shone frighteningly bright in the darkness.

Fear overwhelmed everything. He was already an outsider, excluded from the inner circle, never getting a share of the spoils, and always taking the blame. Now, faced with Renn's intimidating presence, his psychological defenses crumbled instantly.

"Pfft!"