"The North Blue Fleet… unmatched in the world!"
The Throne Hall was now scorched earth—flames licking at shattered stone, coils of black smoke clawing into the sky.
Longsmell had never imagined Vodka would bend the knee like this.
Their kingdom's strength wasn't on par with the great military powers, but within the Alliance of Member States they sat comfortably in the upper middle. Patrol craft swept the coasts, shore batteries guarded the ports, tens of thousands of troops stood ready—enough to repel most mid-to-large pirate crews.
Yet today, one flying battleship ignored every defense, hung over the royal capital like a judgment, and leveled its guns at the city below.
He hadn't fallen to a palace coup, nor to Kaido's revenge, nor to the brutal knife-fights of New World crews.
He fell to a single ship.
Yes—one ship, enough to cow a nation.
Nor was Vodka alone. Across the seas, Member States with loud voices at the World Conference woke to the same thunder. Kings jolted upright to the sound of cannon, nobles and ministers looked up from their pleasures to face the same sight:
A metal leviathan hovering over the capital, bristling with guns.
Only one sat above each city, but one was enough to flatten any royal seat. Even if a crown had courage to weather the barrage while waiting for World Government or Marine reinforcements, none dared gamble.
Because none knew where the next beam would fall.
---
Red Line. World Government Headquarters, Pangaea Castle. Chamber of Deliberation.
"The North Blue Fleet… is currently overlooking our Member States!"
The voice over the Military Den Den Mushi froze the room. The Gorosei's smiles died at once. Even Steel Bone Kong stiffened.
Overlooking Member States?
That brat Darren… could he—
Realization broke across him. Despite standing opposed, Kong couldn't help the silent nod of respect.
A brilliant move.
Unable to defend the North Blue against the Government's massed armada, Darren had simply refused the field—then struck at the World Government's Member States instead.
Two aims at once: political pressure, and a hand around their economic and logistical throat.
A scorched-earth exchange—damage for damage.
He had read the Gorosei cleanly, turned a desperate board on its head.
You fight your battle, and I'll fight mine.
Kong's gaze slid to the five elders, their faces ashen and tight. A suppressed flicker of satisfaction tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Then the neat row of Military Den Den Mushi along the table flared white. Images splashed across the gray walls—live feeds from capital after capital. Distinct skylines, royal palaces of every stripe… and above ten cities, the same silhouette: a streamlined metal warship hanging low in the sun, a beast of war casting a continent-sized shadow.
Ten crystals on the wall. Ten silent slaps. The elders' cheeks burned with humiliation. Kong's occasional sideways glances—almost, but not quite, a smirk—poured salt in the wound.
"The Vodka Kingdom, Taqin, Moluluo, Xixianuo, Besterland, South Fire, Jambalaya, Foundation, Cameron…" a trembling voice rattled through the line. "Ten high-ranking Member States of the World Conference. Their capitals are all under pressure from the North Blue Fleet."
A beat. Then, smaller still:
"…Under that military pressure, all ten nations have declared a temporary suspension of communications with the Government."
Saint Saturn bared his teeth around the words. "Why aren't they resisting? It's one ship over each capital—not the entire fleet!"
The messenger hesitated. "Reporting, Saint Saturn, Excellency: given the Member States' limited capabilities, their cannon cannot reach the flying altitude of those battleships."
Thud.
Saturn slammed his cane against the floor. "What altitude is that supposed to be? Where do these countries spend their military budgets?!"
Silence.
"Answer me!"
"Most tax revenue goes to the Heavenly Tribute," the voice forced out. "What remains is… minimal, and further thinned by layers of… royal, noble, and mercantile—"
"Enough," Saint Warcury cut in.
He rose slowly, eyes like ice on the glowing screens. "Only ten ships. The North Blue Fleet numbers fifteen. Where are the other five?"
The line held its breath—then, cautiously:
"They have yet to be located, Excellency."
Warcury's eyes narrowed. A curl of contempt touched his mouth. "Amusing. Does Rogers Darren truly think he can contest foundations with us? That such cheap theatrics will force our submission?"
"Even if we temporarily lose Heavenly Tribute from those ten nations, our secret supply routes alone are more than sufficient to—"
Purupuru. Purupuru.
Another line cut in, auto-connecting.
"R-reporting, Your Excellencies of the Gorosei!" the new voice blurted, breathless with terror. "On the five secret supply routes—eight cargo ships bound for the Holy Land—have all been sunk!"
Bloodshot veins sprang in five pairs of eyes.
"What?!"
To be continued...