Chapter 348

Mary Geoise, Red Line

"Fufufufufu… I trust you elders will come to a quick decision," Doflamingo's mocking voice echoed through the transponder snail.

"After all, my mood doesn't always remain so… agreeable. Should you upset me with your actions, I may have to reconsider things."

The line went dead with a sharp click, cutting off any chance for a response.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the chamber of authority. Then—

"Shatter…!"

The ornate table disintegrated into dust, reduced to nothing beneath the explosive force of Elder Warcury's fist. Along with it, the transponder snail was obliterated, its fragments scattering across the polished marble floor.

"Doflamingo!" Warcury's voice thundered with raw fury, reverberating through the sacred chamber. Veins bulged on his forehead as his rage seethed uncontrollably.

But his outburst only deepened the frowns of his peers. This wasn't the time for losing composure—especially with him present.

Saint Figarland Garling, Commander of the God's Knights, leaned casually against his seat. His lips curled into an infuriating smirk as he watched the display with unmasked amusement.

To him, the sight of the so-called Elder Planets—those who governed the world with supreme authority—being toyed with by a man barely in his mid-twenties was nothing short of hilarious.

"Hahahaha!"

The melodic chime of his laughter filled the chamber, further igniting the elders' ire.

"Is this matter amusing to you, Saint Figarland?" Elder Saturn's voice, cold and rasping like the scrape of steel, cut through the laughter like a blade.

Garling's mirth subsided, though the mocking light in his eyes remained. "What I find amusing," he replied with a dangerous chuckle, "is that all of you are so flustered. Let's not forget—it was your egos that let this matter spiral into chaos. Had you acted decisively back then, we wouldn't be here."

Saturn's scarred visage tightened, the reminder of his punishment by Imu-sama a stinging wound that Garling clearly intended to exploit.

"Careful with your words, Saint Figarland," Saturn warned icily. His staff struck the marble floor, the sharp sound echoing ominously. "I wouldn't test my patience."

But before Garling could respond, Elder Nusjuro leaned forward, his voice dripping with derision.

"A mistake? Perhaps you should be giving that advice to your daughter. If not for her incompetence, we wouldn't even be discussing Doflamingo today. Your spawn let the prey slip through her fingers."

The words were a calculated barb, aimed directly at Garling's pride. He stiffened, his eyes narrowing into slits of molten fury.

"You dare—"

Nusjuro pressed on, cutting him off. "And let's not forget—Rosinante still breathes. As long as he lives, we can't deal with Doflamingo casually. All of this is a consequence of your family's failures, Saint Figarland."

The chamber grew tense, crackling with the threat of violence. Figarland's knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on his sword's hilt. His lips curled into a snarl, not just from the insult to his reputation but from the bitter truth it contained.

Before the situation could erupt, Saturn's staff slammed down with a force that rippled through the chamber, silencing them all.

"Enough!" Saturn's voice boomed, commanding absolute authority. His piercing gaze swept over the room. "This is not the time for petty squabbles. The matter at hand is whether we will entertain Doflamingo's demands."

Elder Mars's face twisted in disbelief. "Entertain? Entertain?! Elder Saturn, you cannot be serious! That bastard is asking for a hostage from the Celestial Dragons! It's an insult—no, a declaration of war against our authority!"

Saturn's gaze remained unyielding. "And yet… do any of you have an alternative?"

Mars's outrage faltered. The chamber fell silent, the weight of Saturn's words settling over them.

"You don't understand the gravity of what we're dealing with," Saturn continued, his voice cold and sharp.

"What happens if we fail to secure Doflamingo's attendance at the Reverie? Have you considered the repercussions? Do you think Imu-sama's command can be ignored?"

His words carried an unspoken threat, one that chilled even the proudest in the room.

The elders exchanged uneasy glances, while Figarland reclined back in his chair, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he watched them squirm.

"The bastard wants to play games," Saturn growled, his eyes narrowing. "Then we'll play—but by our rules. Make no mistake, Doflamingo may believe he holds the power now. But when this is over, he'll understand what it means to cross us."

"So, I take it you've decided to agree to his demands?" Figarland Garling asked, his tone calm but laced with a quiet intensity. One brow arched ever so slightly, betraying his keen interest. If he had his way, he would have used this situation to his advantage—another lever to shake the foundation of the Elders' authority.

Yet, the command had come directly from Imu-sama. Even Garling, with all his ambition, dared not undermine plans so intricately tied to Imu-sama's will.

Elder Saturn's lips curled into a thin smile, the faint amusement in his expression betraying a glimmer of appreciation for the game they were forced to play.

"We should already consider ourselves fortunate that Donquixote didn't demand one of us as his hostage. He knows precisely how far he can push the line without crossing it." Saturn leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

"The decision now depends on how valuable a piece we're willing to sacrifice. It must be someone important enough to appease that boy's pride, but not so important as to cripple us. Sending a weakling would be an insult."

The room fell silent, the weight of Saturn's words rippling through the chamber. Each Elder understood the stakes. Doflamingo was no mere upstart; he was a dragon, a creature of pride and power, embodying the very ideals the Celestial Dragons had long proclaimed as their birthright. Anything less than a worthy offering would not only fail but enrage him.

"How about one of the God's Knights?" Elder Nusjuro suggested, his voice deliberate as he turned his gaze to Figarland. "Surely, the Supreme Commander would have no objections. After all, this is a mission directly under Imu-sama's will."

Figarland's golden eyes narrowed for a moment before his expression smoothed back into one of practiced indifference.

"I have no objections to sending one of them, provided the command comes from Imu-sama directly," he said, his tone a sneer wrapped in silk.

"It is our duty to serve Imu-sama's will. However…" he let his words trail off, his voice dipped in cold mockery. "The Elders wouldn't dare approach Imu-sama for such a trivial matter, would they? Not after squandering two God's Knights already, one of whom wielded a mythical Zoan devil fruit."

The jab was sharp and deliberate, a subtle reminder of their failures, and it elicited a flicker of irritation in Elder Mars's stoic expression.

"Then how about we send Figarland Agana as the hostage?" Elder Ju Peter suggested cautiously, his voice probing for reactions. He watched Figarland's face like a predator, waiting for any sign of discomfort.

"She carries the pedigree as the Supreme Commander's daughter, and she's a prospective God's Knight. We wouldn't need Imu-sama's approval—only her father's. As a Marine Admiral, her status and power would undoubtedly meet Doflamingo's expectations of sincerity."

The room grew tense, the unspoken truth hanging heavily in the air. They all knew the fate of the hostage: a life of torment under Doflamingo's whims, with no guarantee he'd honor the agreement. Ju Peter's suggestion wasn't made in good faith—it was a deliberate attempt to provoke Figarland, to test the limits of his composure and tarnish his pride.

But Garling did not react as they expected.

"Former prospect," Garling said, his voice cool and detached, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"She is no longer fit to serve directly under Imu-sama. Elder Ju Peter's suggestion carries merit. At least this way, she can be of some use. If it is her fate to perish at Doflamingo's hands, she has only her own weakness to blame."

The calculated coldness of his words sent a ripple of unease through the chamber. Even the seasoned Elders, hardened by centuries of scheming and manipulation, found themselves momentarily unsettled by his callousness.

"You truly are ruthless, Figarland," Saturn remarked with a low chuckle, his amusement tinged with a wary edge.

"Even to your own blood. A single failure, and you discard your prized asset without hesitation. You remind me of why Imu-sama favored you back at God Valley—you are the kind of beast willing to devour your own offspring to achieve your ambitions. To think, the greatest genius among the Celestial Dragons in a century, reduced to nothing more than a sacrificial pawn."

Garling met Saturn's gaze, unflinching. "A broken spear is no weapon, Saint Saturn," he said, his voice as cold as the abyss.

"Agana was to be my blade—my tool to carve out new heights for the Celestial Dragons. But she failed. She allowed weakness to taint her. Sentiment. Hesitation. What use is she to me, to Imu-sama, or to anyone in this world? Tools are meant to serve their purpose. If they cannot… then they are discarded."

His words hung in the air like a suffocating shroud, a chilling testament to his ambition.

Even Saturn, who prided himself on his own ruthlessness, couldn't help but feel an undercurrent of unease. Garling wasn't just a man of power; he was a force of will, devoid of sentimentality, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve his goals. And that, Saturn realized, was what made him truly dangerous.

The room grew quiet as the Elders absorbed the implications of his statement. Garling leaned back in his chair, his calm demeanor unshaken, as if discarding his own daughter was no more significant than brushing away an inconvenience.

"We have our answer, then," Garling said, breaking the silence. "Agana will go with you. Let her fate be a lesson—to her and to all—about the price of weakness."

*****

Elsar Kingdom, New World

The vast expanse surrounding the icy mountain range had transformed into a death field, a cursed expanse that shredded to oblivion anyone foolish enough to step into it. The residual energy from the titanic clash of two ancient forces crackled and surged, tearing the very fabric of the land apart.

It was as if two primordial gods, embodiments of chaos and destruction, were waging war for dominion over the earth.

A purple mist enveloped the kingdom, seeping into every corner like a living thing. To the untrained eye, it seemed harmless, perhaps even beautiful, like twilight lingering after sunset. But for those who wielded Haki, its sinister nature was undeniable.

The mist pulsed with life-draining malevolence, an insatiable predator that fed on vitality itself. For the ordinary masses, the mist was death incarnate, draining their life force to fuel the gluttonous power of Patrick Redfield. Those without sufficient Haki proficiency were little more than batteries to his dark will.

Down by the shore, the people were reaching their breaking point. Hemmed in by two terrors—the invading pirates and the cruelty of their own kingdom's army—something extraordinary began to unfold.

It started with a single voice, trembling with fear but rising with courage. Then another. And another. Soon, thousands of voices joined in a desperate roar.

Fear transformed into rage, and that rage into defiance. But their fury wasn't directed at the pirates who had come to conquer them. No, their weapons turned against the kingdom's army, the very soldiers meant to protect them.

The change had been sparked by Issho. His calculated strikes, sparing innocents while dismantling the kingdom's forces, showed the people there was another way. That they had a choice. And now, faced with the brutal atrocities of the soldiers, the people chose—to fight for their survival.

A kingdom captain stood tall, commanding his squad to prepare another volley. He barked orders to fire into the panicked mob, his voice cold and unyielding. Behind him, a mountain of corpses lay scattered—more than a hundred thousand innocents, cut down by their protectors.

Before the captain could raise his hand to give the order, a desperate woman broke through the crowd. Clutching a battered spear, her infant tied securely to her back, she thrust the weapon with all her strength. Luck, or perhaps fate, guided the spear's tip. It pierced through the narrow gap in the captain's visor, impaling his skull.

The weight of the captain's body dragged the woman to the ground, her hands still gripping the spear. Rage filled the soldiers as they watched their leader fall. Without hesitation, more than a hundred rifles turned toward her, ready to fire.

The air rang with the sharp crack of gunfire, a deadly hailstorm descending upon the woman and her child.

But just as the bullets were about to strike, the air shimmered with a faint purple glow. A barrier materialized, halting the projectiles in mid-flight. Then, as if touched by divine retribution, the bullets ricocheted backward, tearing through the ranks of the kingdom's soldiers.

Issho strode forward, his sword sheath tapping steadily against the earth as the panicked crowd parted before him. The weight of his gravity kept the woman safely pinned to the ground, shielding her from the chaos. Reaching her, he extended a hand, his voice calm but resolute.

"Get up," he urged. "Take your child and go. Tell the others: as long as you do not raise your weapons against the Donquixote family, you will have your freedom. I cannot promise you much, but I can promise this—you will not endure such cruelty under their rule."

As the woman stumbled away, Issho turned his attention skyward. A massive beam of ice descended from above, threatening to obliterate the Donquixote fleet. With a single, fluid motion, he unsheathed his blade, slicing through the frozen assault. Shards of ice rained down harmlessly into the sea.

Above him, the mythical Ice Phoenix soared, its wings spreading glacial devastation with every beat. Issho frowned. The phoenix's wide-range attacks endangered too many innocents. He held back, unwilling to unleash his full power while the battlefield remained so crowded.

Farther inland, the Supreme Commander of the Kingdom stood frozen, his towering frame paralyzed by what he saw before him. His Haki-infused greatsword—crafted to slay giants—had been caught in the bare hands of a boy.

The child, no taller than his knee, gripped the blade effortlessly, as though holding a twig. For the first time, the commander doubted his own strength. Was he truly of giant's blood? Or was this boy inhuman?

Lucci sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Tch. This is your best? The great commander of the kingdom? Pathetic. I was hoping for a challenge." He clenched his fist, shattering the massive sword into splinters.

"I suppose you'll make decent practice for Smoker, but your toy here is just overkill."

Before the commander could recover, Lucci vanished in a blur.

"Rokushiki Ogi: Rokuogan….!"

A deafening shockwave erupted, bypassing the commander's tower shield and obliterating his Kairoseki-infused armor. The attack's force sent the massive man hurtling across the battlefield, carving a deep ravine in his wake.

Lucci's eyes narrowed as he turned skyward. His Observation Haki tingled with the presence of another formidable enemy—the one trying to overwhelm their fleet from above. But Issho was already countering every move.

"Not my fight," Lucci muttered, disappointment flashing across his face. He glanced at the pathetic remnants of the battlefield around him. "Nothing but weaklings here."

Lucci paused, his head tilting as a message from Master Rosinante reached his mind. A wicked grin spread across his face, unnerving even the few remaining soldiers around him. He flared his Observation Haki, scanning the battlefield until he found his target.

Smoker was in his element, cutting through the kingdom's soldiers like weeds. Lucci appeared beside him in a blink, unleashing a massive Rankyaku that cleaved through a hundred enemies in a single strike.

"Sky Slicer!"

Lucci's voice boomed like a thunderclap as his Rankyaku tore through the battlefield. The arc of slicing air ripped apart everything in its path—soldiers, armor, and the very ground beneath them. The severed bodies of the kingdom's army collapsed in gruesome unison, a grim testament to the devastating attack.

From the carnage, Smoker emerged, his face twisted in a frown as his smoke-lance impaled yet another group of soldiers trying to flank him. His voice rang out over the chaos.

"You asshole, Lucci! There are plenty of people to fight! Why the hell are you stealing my kills?"

Lucci, unfazed by Smoker's outburst, casually sent another soldier flying with a flick of his wrist. His response was as cold as the battlefield around them.

"Oi! I'm talking to you…" Smoker growled again, seeing that Lucci didn't care, glaring at him.

"What's your problem, Lucci? There's an entire battlefield here, and you're stealing my prey?"

Lucci smirked, the expression sending a shiver of unease down Smoker's spine. "You've always wanted to see my Devil Fruit, haven't you? Now's your chance. But I'll need your help."

"So stop whining, Smoker. If you don't want to know what kind of devil fruit I wield, then fine..."

"Help?" Smoker snarled, vaporizing a rifle pointed at him. "You drop in uninvited, steal my targets, and now you want my help? And since when did you start speaking so much in a single breath…? The highest I have counted is just thirteen words."

Smoker frowned, skewering another soldier with a lance of smoke. "What kind of help?"

Lucci ignored the jab, stepping close enough to shake Smoker's shoulder with urgency. "Can you cover the entire battlefield in smoke? I need the visibility reduced to near zero."

Smoker blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "What? If you're thinking about blinding the enemy, forget it. Observation Haki will cut through my smoke like a knife through butter."

"I don't care about their Haki," Lucci shot back, his tone calm but his grin growing increasingly sinister. "I just want to make sure the kingdom's spies can't get a clear description—or a photograph—of my Zoan form."

Smoker groaned, his expression souring as Lucci's words sank in. "There it is... That creepy smile of yours. I swear, Lucci, I love you like a brother, but when you grin like that, I get the overwhelming urge to punch your face."

Lucci's grin only widened. "Stop blabbering. Can you do it or not? If you can't, I'll just ask Diamante-san to help with his Soot Soot Fruit." He turned as if ready to walk away, already scanning the battlefield for the other officer.

"Who the hell said I couldn't do it?!" Smoker snapped, his pride stung. "Fine! I'll do it! Just cover my back while I work. The battlefield's too big for me to do this instantly—it'll take a few minutes."

"Good. Make sure you cover the skies too. No cameras, no descriptions," Lucci said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

Smoker muttered under his breath, throwing his arms out to begin channeling his powers. "No cameras, no descriptions, blah blah blah. Why does this feel like babysitting a maniac?"

Lucci smirked, standing close enough to effortlessly intercept the wave of soldiers attempting to charge at them. "Because it is babysitting a maniac. Now get to work."

Farther away, aboard the flagship, Diamante raised both arms, releasing torrents of soot into the air. The order had come directly from young master Rosinante, and Diamante didn't waste time questioning it. A dark, oily haze poured forth, mingling with Smoker's smoke to create an oppressive, suffocating cloud that smothered the battlefield.

The kingdom's soldiers began to panic. Visibility dropped to almost nothing. The skies, already darkened by raging thunderstorms, now became an abyss. Even the mythical Phoenix, circling above in his massive ice-imbued form, struggled to dispel the smoke and soot.

Every gust of blizzard it unleashed seemed to have no effect. The blackened haze moved as though alive, swirling back into place as soon as it was pushed away.

On the ground, Smoker's brow furrowed with concentration as he pushed his powers to their limits. Tendrils of smoke snaked through the chaos, wrapping around soldiers and twisting their movements into disarray.

"Oi, Smoker," Lucci called casually, shattering a soldier's shield with a single punch. "Hurry up, will you? You're not exactly the fastest worker."

Smoker glared at him without breaking focus. "You wanna do it yourself, Lucci? Be my guest. Otherwise, shut your trap."

"Hmm," Lucci mused, his tone dripping with mock thoughtfulness. "Maybe I should've asked Diamante-san from the start. He seems far more... efficient."

Smoker's temper flared, his voice rising as the smoke thickened around them. "Efficient?! You've got some nerve! Unlike your fancy little punches and kicks, what I'm doing takes skill."

"Oh yes, 'skill,'" Lucci said, grinning. "Skillfully slow."

"You know what, Lucci?" Smoker snapped, the faintest smirk creeping into his own expression.

"After I'm done with this smoke, I'm gonna punch you so hard, you'll be coughing it out for days."

"Promises, promises," Lucci retorted, fending off another squad of soldiers with a deadly Rankyaku.

High above, Theron, in his ice phoenix form, screeched, his piercing cry shaking the very air. The Ice Phoenix flapped its colossal wings, summoning frozen winds that froze whole patches of the battlefield. But no matter how hard he tried, the combination of soot and smoke overwhelmed his efforts. The dark haze clung to him like a second skin, reducing his visibility and cutting off his precision.

Below, the kingdom's soldiers were descending into madness. Unable to see their allies or enemies, they turned on one another. Every shadow became a threat, every movement a potential attack. Their panicked screams echoed through the smothering darkness.

Lucci tilted his head, listening to the chaos with mild amusement. "I think they're starting to get it."

"Get what?" Smoker grumbled, his smoke now billowing so thickly that even he could barely see Lucci standing a few feet away.

Lucci's grin turned sharp, almost predatory. "That it's not the smoke they should be afraid of. It's what's waiting for them inside it."

As the battlefield transformed into a realm of utter confusion and terror, Smoker stepped back, his work complete. The soot-and-smoke concoction blanketed everything—the ground, the air, and even the sky. He crossed his arms, glaring at Lucci.

"Done. You better make this worth it, Lucci. If not, I'm taking it out of your hide."

Lucci rolled his neck, flexing his fingers. "Don't worry, Smoker. You'll get a show worth watching... assuming you can see through all this smoke."

With that, Lucci's body began to shift, his silhouette growing monstrous in the haze. Smoker raised an eyebrow, his curiosity briefly overriding his irritation.

"This better not be some circus act," Smoker muttered, readying his weapon just in case.

From the darkness, Lucci's voice came, low and menacing. "Oh, it's no act. This is the real thing."

The battlefield shuddered as a new force entered the fray, a monster born of the destruction and chaos.