Chapter 79 – Whispers of the Celestial Dragon
Night draped itself over Cleaica, lanterns flickering faintly on the docks where the Silver Fang lay anchored in shadow. The crew gathered on deck, the salty breeze heavy with tension after the day's revelations.
Leo sat stiffly with his guitar across his knees. He strummed a hesitant note, not the bold chords of a street performer, but something softer. Tentative. Like he wasn't sure he belonged.
Surv yawned dramatically, sparks flickering in her hair. "What's with the funeral strings, new guy? Play something that doesn't make me want to nap."
Rio smacked her shoulder. "Don't scare him off already."
Leo muttered, "I didn't come to be entertainment."
Arthur leaned casually against the rail, silver eyes glinting in the lantern light. "You came to be part of a crew. On this ship, music isn't just sound — it's spirit. Go on. Play us something real."
For a long moment, Leo's fingers froze. Then, slowly, he shifted into a melody that carried like waves over water. It wasn't polished. It was raw, jagged, like a heart still bleeding.
The crew fell silent.
Rus leaned back, gnawing on a hunk of bread, but his usual grin softened. Hiroshi's hand tightened subtly on his sword. Even Surv stopped sparking.
The song ended with a low, shuddering chord.
Leo ducked his head. "…That's what rebellion sounds like. Ugly. But alive."
Arthur's lips curved faintly. "Good. That's the sound we'll need."
---
Later, in the cabin lit by oil lamps, Clover rolled open an old scroll across the table. His gnarled fingers traced lines of text.
"Cleaica was not always like this," he said, voice steady, scholarly. "Two centuries ago, it stood proud against the World Government. For fifty years, its kings refused to pay tribute."
Lisa leaned forward, curious. "What changed?"
"Crushed rebellions. Assassinations. And finally…" Clover's eyes hardened behind his glasses. "…the arrival of a Celestial Dragon. They demanded Cleaica kneel. When the king resisted, they burned half the capital to ash. Since then, every ruler has bowed."
Leo's fists clenched. "They killed our spirit, made us slaves."
Arthur's gaze lingered on the scroll, though his mind seemed elsewhere. "The Celestial Dragons… parasites fattened on blood. They've ruled in shadows for too long."
Hiroshi's voice cut in, sharp. "Talking about killing gods, Arthur? That's the kind of dream that gets men executed."
Arthur didn't answer at once. He closed the scroll carefully, then said quietly: "Every god falls when men stop kneeling."
The room grew heavy with silence. Even Surv had no quip.
---
The next day, the streets swelled with unnatural cheer. Banners hung from every balcony, drums beat in the squares, and vendors sold meat skewers and candied fruit as if it were a festival.
But the smiles were strained, brittle. Soldiers lined every corner, rifles gleaming.
Leo muttered under his breath as they walked disguised among the crowd. "This isn't celebration. It's theater. They're forced to cheer, or they're beaten."
And then the horns blared.
A massive golden carriage rolled into the plaza, drawn by white bulls adorned with chains of pearls. Marines surrounded it in perfect formation. Nobles bowed low, trembling.
The Celestial Dragon stepped out.
A bloated man in a bubble-helmet, draped in furs despite the heat, a jeweled pistol at his hip. He carried himself with a waddling arrogance, lips curling in disgust at the very air.
The crowd dropped to their knees. Children were yanked down by terrified parents. No one dared breathe.
Arthur's crew remained standing in the back, cloaks drawn.
Leo whispered hoarsely, "That bastard… that's the one who ordered my father's death."
Arthur's hand twitched, not toward his sword, but in a quiet gesture of restraint. "Not yet."
On the balcony above, the king grovelled, bowing so low his forehead bled against the stone.
"Most noble saint of the heavens! Cleaica offers its tribute — gold, slaves, and loyalty eternal!"
The Celestial Dragon puffed his chest, voice muffled through the glass helmet. "Acceptable. And I remind you: any who harbor pirates or rebels shall be gifted to me as hounds. Their women… as pets."
The square went deathly still.
Arthur's crew felt it , the sharp intake of fear from thousands of throats.
Surv's knuckles sparked furiously. "I'm gonna fry that"
Arthur's voice cut through, calm but sharp as steel. "Hold it. Their time will come. But our strike must count."
Leo's nails dug into his palms until they bled. He trembled with the urge to rush forward, to swing his axe, to tear the monster apart.
Arthur's hand rested briefly on his shoulder. Not stopping him, but grounding him.
Leo glanced up and in those silver eyes, he saw not hesitation, but patience. A predator waiting for the perfect moment.
---
That night, whispers raced through the city.
Children missing from villages. Families herded into barracks. CP9 agents seen in alleys.
Rio returned from scouting, grim. "They're stockpiling hostages. Dozens of kids. They want the citizens paralyzed with fear."
Lisa slammed her notebook shut. "Classic psychological warfare. Break morale before resistance can spark."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Then we'll break them first."
He stood, gathering the crew with a quiet authority that silenced even Surv's electricity.
"Tomorrow, we strike the palace. But understand this — once we move, there's no turning back. The Navy will respond. An Admiral may descend."
The crew exchanged looks. Some grinned, some scowled, but none wavered.
Leo rose slowly, his guitar in one hand, axe strapped to his back. His voice shook — not from fear, but from a lifetime of waiting.
"I've played songs of rebellion for years, hoping someone would hear. You heard. Now I'll play louder, with steel if I must."
Arthur's lips curved faintly. "Good. Because tomorrow, Cleaica learns a new song."
---
Far out at sea, where the horizon bled into darkness, a single Marine warship sliced through the waves. Its sails bore the insignia of Justice, fluttering against the midnight wind.
On the deck, Vice Admiral Borsalino — known to the world as Kizaru — lounged against the railing, his lanky frame bent in a posture too relaxed for someone of his rank. His bubble-lensed sunglasses glimmered faintly in the moonlight.
He tapped his sandal idly against the planks. Tonk… tonk… Each tap released faint sparks of golden light, scattering like fireflies before winking out.
"My, my… such noisy little rookies," he murmured, his drawl lazy, almost mocking. "Silver hair that blinds, ancient blueprints… and now, toppling kingdoms? What a troublesome little star you are, Sergio D. Arthur."
He raised his hand slowly. Light gathered on his fingertip, condensing into a single, blinding point. Without warning, he flicked it.
A beam of light shot across the sea. For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then—
BOOOOM!
An island on the horizon erupted. The night sky blazed white, waves roaring as a fishing village vanished in a storm of radiance. The warship rocked violently, sailors scrambling to keep balance, though none dared voice protest.
Kizaru tilted his head, expression unchanged, as if swatting a fly.
"Oh dear," he muttered, scratching his chin. "Guess my aim was a little off… how careless of me."
He straightened, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as the reflection of flames danced across his glasses.
"The higher-ups want me to test this pirate captain… but really, I'm more curious. Can this boy truly cut light? Or will he burn up like the rest?"
His body shimmered, form breaking into a prism of golden beams. For an instant, it looked as if the man himself had dissolved into starlight. Then he reappeared at the warship's bow, still strolling lazily, as if nothing had changed.
Behind him, the distant island smoldered an accidental casualty of his boredom.
The sailors whispered nervously among themselves. One dared to ask, voice shaking, "V-Vice Admiral, sir… do you think this Arthur is really worth your time?"
Kizaru chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. "Worth my time? Hmmm… let's just say…" He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then grinned. "…it's been a while since I've seen someone interesting enough to shine."
The night swallowed his words. Only the glow of his body, pulsing faintly with contained devastation, lit the deck.
And across the sea, the kingdom of Cleaica slept in false celebration , unaware that a storm of light and death was already on its way.