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"If you truly want something from me, Ayr… come see me in person," the Red Earl said, his crimson eyes settling with cold amusement on the CP agents arrayed before him.
Across the table the agents stood rigid, and Redfield's gaze drifted to the weight of the news that had been sweeping the New World: five of its most notorious pirates had joined forces, a convergence of power capable of stirring the sea itself. He scoffed and lifted a goblet to his lips. "Business? Since when does the World Government negotiate business with pirates?" The question hung in the smoky air as if daring them to answer.
What had driven the government to such an absurdity was obvious to him: the Phantom Bat Fruit, an Eudemons model whose rumored powers had consumed his ambitions for decades. Its whispers promised something nearly immortal — the ability to drain life, to restore youth, to hold a prime that never faded — and that promise had been enough to bend even sovereign pride.
Byrnndi World, however, kept a festering hatred for Ayr the way some men keep weapons: always within reach. That grudge had not dulled since their last clash, but concrete clues to Ayr's movements were scant—until now. When Ayr finally sailed for Totto Land, Charlotte Linlin moved without hesitation, personally handing an Eternal Pose to the Valley of the Gods to a trusted commander; she had no intention of letting him run loose. Even the famed pillars of the Roger Pirates — Rayleigh, Scopper Gaban, and Kozuki Oden — no longer measured up to Ayr's current might. That truth had already spread.
The Red Earl chuckled, a corner of his mouth curling into a confident smile as he considered the offer. He imagined the fruit's strange pulse, imagined its capacity to steal life and grant renewal, and felt the dangerous thrill of possibility. "Of course," he admitted inwardly. An advantage like that could tilt fate.
"No. What we want," the CP leader corrected with a voice colder than the drink chilled at his side, "is not your attempt to help us. It's your guaranteed assistance in eliminating Ayr."
Baroric Redfield had spent long years under the government's wary eye; they knew the breadth of his cruelty and the reach of his ambition. Yet here they were, holding out the very thing he had hunted—on one condition. He toyed with his goblet, watched the rippling reflection of masked faces, and mused aloud, swirling the drink as if measuring more than liquid. "You're offering me the Phantom Bat Fruit to convince me to join the others—Ochoku, Captain John, Silver Axe, and Byrnndi World—to kill Ayr."
He snorted at the notion, pride bristling. "Do you really think that's enough?" Pride warred with temptation; it always had. He had seen Ayr's strength with his own eyes in Loguetown the day before, and that power had been nothing ordinary: it was the kind of force even a Yonko would think twice about confronting.
Still, opportunity can be a quiet seducer. He leaned forward, curiosity and calculation lining his features.
"Yes. We are indeed here to recruit you," the CP agent said flatly. "Join the alliance of New World titans and take down Ayr."
Redfield remembered the fruit from distant encounters—how it had vanished from every grasp that had pursued it. Now, the World Government held it and dangled it before him. Paired with Ochoku, John, Silver Axe, and Byrnndi World, perhaps they could finally try to overwhelm Ayr. The idea tempted even a man who had never bowed to any flag.
"It's amusing," he said at last, amusement edged with contempt. "To see the World Government stoop so low—offering one of the rarest Eudemons Fruits to pit pirates against each other. You've already convinced four; I suppose you only need one more." He took a long sip, letting the words settle.
"In that case, I'll accept," he decided.
The CP members breathed a collective sigh that might have been relief or satisfaction; Redfield's eyes, however, narrowed the fraction of a degree that always meant he was already calculating contingencies. "However… you'd better not be lying. I want that fruit in my hand."
"We'll deliver the Eudemons-type Bat Fruit shortly," the CP leader promised, and produced a transponder snail with a quick, practiced gesture. "Name your price. The World Government is willing to meet any demand—so long as you join the alliance and kill Ayr."
Redfield's crimson stare hardened on the masked agent. "Well… you do have what I want," he admitted, and allowed himself a small, dangerous smirk. "And frankly, Charlotte Linlin underestimates me." That smirk widened into a grimace of ambition. "I'll take that fruit. Then we'll see."
Far from the chamber and its bargains, Charlotte Linlin attempted to reach Ayr personally, her voice the raucous mockery of a pirate queen speaking into a Den Den Mushi. "Mamamama… Ayr, after all we've been through, you'd really say such heartless things to your old companion?" she teased, but the line crackled and Ayr's reply was steel rather than entreaty. "If I have to come to your nations personally, Linlin… then you'll die by my hand." He cut the line without another word.
Charlotte's grin dimmed into something sharper, but she did not lose composure. "Very well. Bring me the fruit. I'll make the first move," she murmured, already planning.
Elsewhere, in a remote corner of East Blue, a ship was being readied and orders had been given; the CP agents moved swiftly, dispatching shadowed threads across the oceans. Back in Redfield's tavern, now cleared and eerily silent after the agents had swept through, he sat again and watched the corpses of the other patrons bleed out in slow, inevitable arcs — a demonstration of the special forces' ruthlessness and a reminder that the World Government did not barter lightly.
"They really do want him gone," he muttered, and the thought steeled him.
Alone, Redfield did not imagine himself an equal to Ayr. Even with the fruit's promise, he would not call himself confident. He had no illusions about being a fool; he calculated. What the fruit offered was a chance, not a guarantee.
His men returned then, carrying a sealed chest whose surface seemed to hum with something not wholly natural. Redfield inhaled as the package was set before him; the fruit inside pulsed faintly, its aura a muted, uncanny beat that made the hairs rise on his arms. Zoan-type. Bat model. Mythical. The description tasted like a legend and smelled like risk.
"If this is real… then I accept your deal," he said, and the agents nodded, signaling the handoff.
From the shadows, more masked figures emerged and one activated a Den Den Mushi to deliver the report. "Report: Redfield has accepted the alliance. Prepare final transport to the Valley of the Gods."
Across the sea, ships answered summons: Ochoku, John, Silver Axe, and Byrnndi World each weighed anchor and cut through the water from the far corners of the world. The fifth would join them soon. Together perhaps — perhaps only perhaps — they might bring down Ayr.
Still, even with five legendary pirates aligned, an uneasy doubt crowded Redfield. He could not shake the sense that something about Ayr was more than rumor and power combined. "Ayr… you monster," he muttered into the dim of the tavern. "We'll see just how immortal you really are."
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