The central square was engulfed in a chaotic mix of gunpowder smoke and raging winds.
Whitebeard stood tall at the forefront, his massive frame like an unshakable mountain. His glaive was deeply embedded in the ground, the bloodstains on its blade glinting dark red in the firelight. His salt-and-pepper beard fluttered wildly in the wind.
Bahr could see it clearly—this former ruler of the seas was no longer at his peak. The IV tube around his neck swayed faintly with each labored breath, every exhale heavy with exhaustion.
Yet, he stood there like an impenetrable wall, shielding his allies from the full might of the Marines.
Whitebeard had made the same choice as in Bahr's memories: to hold back the Navy single-handedly, carving a path of retreat for his "sons."
He had indeed grown old. Time and injuries had worn down his body.
But for a legend like him, dying of old age in a sickbed would be nothing but disgrace. Only like this—standing at the frontlines, using his last ounce of strength to pave the way for the next generation, letting the roar of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit serve as his funeral bell—could be the most heroic end.
"What a stubborn old man," Bahr muttered under his breath, a flicker of complexity passing through his eyes.
He had no personal ties to Whitebeard, yet even he had to admit that such indomitable spirit put most people on these seas to shame.
"Hey, 'Blasphemer' Bahr."
A voice laced with lazy arrogance suddenly rang out.
Bahr looked up to see a man leisurely approaching from atop a nearby broken wall.
His gait was impossible to ignore—exaggeratedly swaying side to side, hips swinging with each step like a preening peacock desperate for attention.
The man was unusually tall, his bronze skin gleaming under the sunlight. His unbuttoned pink feathered coat revealed six well-defined abs, almost blinding in their display.
A pair of sunglasses rested on his nose, reflecting the battlefield's flames. His cropped pants exposed sturdy ankles but oddly emphasized his slender legs. With every step, he deliberately thrust his hips forward, as if the entire world's gaze should be fixed on him.
Even more striking was his golden, gelled-up hair, styled in an audacious upward spike. Paired with the mocking smirk on his lips, he was the very definition of flamboyance.
"Doflamingo," Bahr uttered coldly, his gaze scrutinizing.
Doflamingo stopped in his tracks, his lips stretching into an exaggerated grin. His eerie, arrogant laughter—"Fufufufufu"—echoed through the smoke-filled air.
He pointed upward with a theatrical flourish, his tone playful yet laced with undeniable ambition:
"'Blasphemer' Bahr, don't you think this fake sky is an eyesore? Those high-and-mighty bastards… they should've been dragged down and trampled underfoot long ago."
Bahr understood immediately. The "bastards" Doflamingo referred to were none other than the Celestial Dragons.
He knew the man's past—once a lofty Celestial Dragon himself, until his father took him away from the Holy Land, forcing him to endure a life of hardship and humiliation.
Later, Doflamingo carried his father's head, hoping to rejoin the ranks of the Celestial Dragons, only to be coldly rejected. From then on, he harbored an undying hatred for them.
"Fufufu, you should understand what I mean." Doflamingo's laughter grew louder. "Let's join forces, drag those rotten parasites from their thrones, and make this world tremble. How about it?"
"Join forces?" Bahr's lips curled into an undisguised sneer, his tone indifferent. "What makes you think you're worthy of proposing an alliance to me?"
The smile on Doflamingo's face froze instantly, a flash of malice glinting behind his glasses.
But after a moment's thought, he laughed again, the sound now laced with a darker edge. "Fufufu, true enough. Someone bold enough to strike at the Celestial Dragons does have the right to be arrogant."
He took a step forward, licking his lips. "But don't be naive. Those parasites in the Holy Land aren't as simple as you think."
The indifference on Bahr's face faded slightly.
Of course he knew. The Celestial Dragons had ruled the world for eight hundred years—they weren't pushovers.
Setting aside the World Government, the God's Knights harbored many formidable fighters, the Five Elders were no ordinary figures, and then there was that enigmatic figure only spoken of in rumors—Imu.
A monster who had lived for eight hundred years. Just the thought sent chills down one's spine.
Eight hundred years. Even a pig, with that much time to accumulate strength and knowledge, could pack a punch that would leave anyone reeling.
Seeing Bahr remain silent, Doflamingo grew more intrigued. "Why did you publicly insult the Celestial Dragons? Wasn't it to establish your authority in the wake of the war? To gather those dissatisfied with the World Government and expand your influence... Fufufu, who do you think you're fooling with such obvious ambitions?"
Bahr's eyelid twitched, a sense of absurdity washing over him. His so-called "plans" amounted to nothing more than traveling and fishing—hardly the stuff of grand ambition.
These scheming types always projected their own machinations onto others, twisting everything into a conspiracy.
"You're overthinking it," Bahr said dismissively. "I have no interest in expanding any influence, and even less patience to play your world-upsetting games."
"Fufufu..." Doflamingo chuckled as if hearing a joke. "If you're not a player, you're a pawn. Do you really think you can stay neutral?"
That struck a nerve.
Sometimes, escaping wasn't an option. Without sufficient strength, one often found themselves at the mercy of circumstances.
Doflamingo, sensing his hesitation, grinned triumphantly. "Join me. I won't disappoint you."
Bahr's gaze swept over the man's flamboyant pink coat, and he fell silent.
He had already burned all bridges with the Celestial Dragons. And Doflamingo, this smiling tiger—though long discarded by them—had somehow convinced the Five Elders to stage his "resignation" from the Seven Warlords of the Sea. That alone spoke volumes about his connections within the World Government.
Not to mention the "National Treasure" secret he held—a veritable Sword of Damocles hanging over the Celestial Dragons' heads.
On these seas, the old adage held true: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Sometimes, alliances weren't about equal strength. Having enough leverage was sufficient. Teaming up with Doflamingo might not be such a bad idea after all.
At least through his intricate network of connections, he could catch the scent of the World Government's schemes in advance.
"I'll think about it," he replied nonchalantly, not giving an immediate answer.
Doflamingo raised an eyebrow, clearly displeased with this response.
He let out a "Fufufu" laugh, casually waving a tightly rolled slip of paper between his index and middle fingers. "Good. I look forward to your answer."
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the paper spinning toward Bahr, landing precisely in the other's palm with a controlled gust of wind.
"That's my private Den Den Mushi number," he said, tilting his head with his trademark arrogant smirk. "Call me when you've made up your mind. Don't keep me waiting too long, 'Blasphemer'—Bahr."
With that, he turned and waved, his flamboyant pink feathered coat billowing dramatically in the wind. Striding away with his signature swagger, he disappeared behind the broken wall, his very silhouette radiating an unapproachable arrogance.
Bahr glanced down at the thin slip of paper in his hand, barely giving it a second thought before flicking it away. The note vanished into thin air, stored away in his Space.
No harm in keeping it—just in case.
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