Red Line, Holy Land of Mary Geoise.
The World Government's Chamber of Deliberation.
Dread clotted the air, so dense it felt ready to bead and drip from the ceiling.
A CP0 agent in a white robe knelt on one knee, head bowed, scarcely breathing. Interlaced killing intent rippled through the chamber like riptides, hot with strangled rage.
On the vast white wall, the world-shaking broadcast had just ended. The image still hung there: the arrogant, handsome face of the former Marine Vice Admiral.
"So you are saying… ten member nations in the North Blue—including Germa 66—have submitted formal requests to 'withdraw their member-state status'?"
After a long, punishing silence, Saint Saturn raised his head at last. Hands resting on his ancient cane, he stared down impassively, bloodshot veins crawling through his age-clouded eyes.
"L-Lord Saturn, these aren't applications…"
Sensing the danger in his tone, the CP0 man swallowed hard, cursing his rotten luck. If he hadn't lost that rock–paper–scissors match, this errand would never have fallen to him.
He clenched his teeth and forced it out. "Their term for the political document is… a notice."
"A notice?" Saturn echoed, genuinely wrong-footed. He murmured the word again, eyes unfocusing, as if a strange, alien feeling had brushed him for the first time.
The other Gorosei went still, momentarily stunned.
For centuries, from a height no one could challenge, they had surveyed the world without equal. No individual, faction, or nation had ever dared to "notify" them.
Not once in eight hundred years.
And now?
A mere ten member nations—weak, bottom-tier countries that bled themselves dry just to meet the minimum Heavenly Tribute—found the gall to "notify" them?
"You mean to tell me… those countries of crawling insects have chosen to address us as if we were their inferiors?"
Saturn's voice held no feeling at all, as if he had long since discarded the capacity.
"N-no, that's not it—"
Cold sweat poured beneath the agent's mask. His hands shook as he tried to explain. "They must have been threatened—by Rogers Darren and the North Blue Fleet. Forced into this… This humble servant believes those nations remain loyal—truly loyal—to the World Government."
"I see…"
Saturn's voice turned soft, almost musing. "So the insects of those nations fear Rogers Darren more than they fear us."
"Th-this humble servant does not know!"
Terror broke him. He slammed his forehead against the cold marble, words tumbling into pleas. "How could a weak, insignificant insect like Rogers Darren compare to Your Excellencies—"
Swish.
A black spider leg punched through his chest and burst from his back in a wash of blood.
Boom.
A shockwave rolled out—a roar made of Haki—powdering his mask to dust. Suspended on the impaling limb, the CP0 agent writhed as Saint Saturn, in his Gyuki form, fixed him with a dead, winter stare.
"And yet," Saturn said flatly, "they clearly fear Darren more."
The man fought to move, but the Gyuki's Evil Eye held him stiff as stone. Blood bubbled from his mouth and nose. His strangled noises meant nothing.
"Answer me."
Red light flared and narrowed in Saturn's eyes.
Bang.
The agent's head burst like a melon, red and white spattering across the floor—speckling even Saturn's sinister face.
The headless body twitched, slid off the spider leg, and slumped to the marble.
"How amusing…"
Saturn gazed down at the corpse and let out a breathless laugh.
"Heh… heh… For eight hundred years, no one has ever driven us this far."
The others said nothing. Their fists clenched white, expressions carved from rage they barely leashed.
From the day they chose to "crush" that Marine brat, disaster had followed disaster.
And now, that broadcast had shoved them to the edge.
"It's time," Saint Warcury rasped.
The others started.
The Warrior God of Justice, famed for his strategy, spoke with severe calm. "The situation is beyond our projections. Painful as it is to admit—at present, we have no means to deal with Rogers Darren."
Saint Mars frowned. "What about a direct strike on the North Blue?"
"Now that the secret sea route is open, with the God's Knights escorting the supply convoys, we can maintain minimal provisioning for the Holy Land."
"If we move quickly enough—"
"No," Warcury said, shaking his head.
"None of us can leave. The Holy Land is the Government's foundation. We cannot permit Darren to find a single seam, no matter the cost."
"Do not forget—the North Blue Fleet isn't the only force that can slip past G-1's defenses and the Marine blockade to reach the Holy Land directly."
A flicker of apprehension showed in the others' eyes.
The North Blue Fleet, led by "Thunder" Momonga and the Rumble–Rumble Fruit;
The Freedom Fighters, Dragon with the Wind–Wind Fruit, and that Buccaneer brat with the Paw–Paw Fruit;
And opportunists like Kaido and Big Mom, always eager to stir chaos…
None could be discounted.
Once, they had acted apart—each a separate threat, none fatal to the World Government.
Now, the map had changed.
That damned brat had dragged Dragon onto his war chariot.
And Kaido and Big Mom were tangled in the web as well.
"If we sally to the North Blue on a whim," Warcury went on, "leaving Mary Geoise exposed, those jackals will pounce."
"So sending the God's Knights to lead the Holy Land Guard, or ordering the Marines north, won't work either," Saint Nusjuro said coldly.
Warcury nodded, eyes glinting with calculation.
"That brat showed his fleet to the world for exactly this."
"The North Blue Fleet itself is not overwhelming—fifteen warships, even with the latest military technology, are still only a fleet."
"The true danger is its deterrence."
"You never know when it will strike. That uncertainty is the fleet's greatest strength."
He exhaled slowly.
"He is exceptional. He understands this perfectly—hence the broadcast."
"He's not merely intimidating us…"
"He's intimidating the entire world."
To be continued...