Act XIV: Jumoi

More guided Guts and Robin to his master's home in Grove 31, Sabaody's most affluent and exclusive neighborhood. Instead of a house, they were confronted by a vast castle, a magnificent and exquisite structure. Its architecture was a stunning fusion of styles, with sections of bright white stone delicately carved with delicate patterns alternating with soaring spires topped with dark, elegantly curved roofs. Numerous balconies and large arched windows provided views of the opulent interior, while warm, reddish-brown timber-framed sections gave it a touch of rustic charm. Situated on a gentle rise with a commanding view of the surrounding, equally luxurious groves, the castle was surrounded by immaculately manicured gardens that stood in stark contrast to the wild energy of the surrounding archipelago.

More greeted them at the massive, ornate wooden doors, bowing deeply and ushering them inside with utmost courtesy. He offered to take Robin's black fur coat, but she politely refused, clutching it closer. It was too precious to entrust to a stranger.

Then, he appeared—Saint Rosward.

He was a living example of strength and discipline, standing three meters tall with a broad, powerful frame. Beneath his fitted coat, thick cords of sinew coiled, each movement revealing the controlled force of a man who had trained his body for decades. His arms, veined and sculpted, hung with the heavy stillness of restrained power, his shoulders were wide enough to block out the light, and his chest was barrel-like. Even though he was dressed with noble precision, his raw, physical dominance was evident at every turn. His curled gray hair still rose upward with meticulous care, but his face—now sharper, lined with quiet intensity—was framed by an elegant black mustache and a neatly trimmed brown beard. He looked at least twenty years younger than his true age.

He greeted Guts and Robin with a warm smile and a genuine laugh that echoed through the spacious hallway, putting them slightly at ease despite the imposing setting.

"Welcome, Devil Swordsman. Miss Robin. I have looked forward to this moment for quite some time."

"Forgive me—how rude of me not to introduce myself properly. I am Saint Rosward, of the Celestial Dragons, though I assure you, I am not quite what the stories say." He smiled, disarming and warm.

"Please, think of me as your host. He gestured kindly. "Do come in. Make yourselves at home."

Rosward led them into a grand living room—a space that radiated history and warmth rather than ostentatious wealth. Antique furniture filled the room: dark wood cabinets inlaid with mother-of-pearl, intricately patterned rugs faded with age yet still vibrant, and delicate porcelain figurines arranged carefully on velvet cushions.

More followed silently behind, keeping a respectful distance.

The three of them settled onto an incredibly comfortable, plush fur sofa facing an unlit stone fireplace. Though it was daytime and the air still carried a pleasant warmth, the hearth served as a focal point of the room.

Rosward glanced almost imperceptibly at More, a silent communication passing between them. Understanding his master's unspoken cue, More bowed respectfully to both Robin and Guts before quietly leaving the living room, closing the heavy wooden doors behind him.

Rosward then turned his full attention to Robin. Tears welled in his eyes, tracing paths down his weathered cheeks. Almost a decade ago, after his agents had first gathered information about her, Rosward had rushed to Shells Town with his guards. He had only watched her from afar, a small, fragile figure. He had felt utterly unworthy to approach, terrified of tainting her innocence with his own sinful and despicable existence.

Now, here she was. Robin. Grown, yet bearing the same ethereal presence he had witnessed in the terrifying vision of Judgment Day.

Before Rosward could utter a single word, Guts spoke, his voice low and direct. "Get straight to the point. What do you want, and why did you want to meet us?"

Saint Rosward lowered his head, his powerful hands trembling visibly. Despite his imposing, muscular frame, he appeared utterly fragile, a soul consumed by fear hidden beneath layers of iron resolve.

After a long moment, Rosward lifted his face, his gaze locking onto Guts. "Guts, more than a decade ago, I had a dream. A daydream. About Judgment Day."

Robin gasped, covering her mouth with both hands, stunned by his words. Her whisperer ability immediately confirmed the harrowing truth of Rosward's statement, sending shivers down her spine.

"A dream that felt as if it tore my entire being apart, Guts. A dream where all of humanity was judged. A dream that left me in a coma for a month." Rosward took a ragged breath, his voice strained.

Guts remained silent, his eyes fixed on the World Noble, listening intently.

"During my coma, Guts, I was taken on a journey by It—the Beast." Rosward began to recount his horrifying odyssey with the Beast into the deepest inferno, detailing the sheer terror and unimaginable suffering he had witnessed and endured within its depths.

Robin instinctively covered her ears, unable to bear the gruesome details Rosward was describing. Her body trembled uncontrollably. Yet, it was useless. Her whisperer ability resonated within her, relaying an even clearer, more vivid account of the horrors directly into her mind's eye. In that moment, Robin desperately wished she didn't possess such a terrifying gift.

"The Beast?" Guts finally questioned, his voice a low rumble.

"Yes, the Beast. A towering monster with a deer's skull for a head. Its antlers stretched high like trees, Guts, and human heads hung from every branch. Their eyes, Guts, weeping with blood." Rosward paused, trying to steady his voice, before continuing. "Its body, Guts, was covered in thick, dirty fur. Six long arms ended in hungry, drooling mouths. And... and..."

Rosward's voice trembled violently, cracking with raw fear. "From its back, Guts, spread six wings—covered not in feathers, but in blinking eyes." He then gestured wildly towards the massive Dragon Slayer sword that leaned casually against the fireplace.

"Its presence, almost similar to your sword."

Guts closed both his eyes for a brief moment, a silent signal for Rosward to continue his harrowing tale.

"Until we reached the very bottom, Guts." Rosward's breath came in ragged gasps. "It said... I belong there, Guts. It said it would wait for me when my time came, Guts." As he spoke, Rosward unconsciously enveloped himself in a powerful burst of Conqueror's Haki, not to intimidate Robin or Guts, but to brace his own shattered spirit.

Seeing Rosward fall silent, lost in his terror, Guts's voice cut through the heavy air. "Curious. What does your story have to do with Robin?"

"Perhaps we should take a short break before I continue," Rosward suggested gently, his gaze falling upon Robin's trembling form. 

Guts nodded, understanding. He rose, lifting Robin effortlessly into his lap and holding her close, a comforting embrace. Robin instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. Guts' large hand gently stroked her trembling back, a familiar gesture he had often used to calm her when she was a little girl.

With a slight, melancholy smile on his lips, Rosward observed them. He has a daughter as well.

Then he picked up a small bell from a nearby table and gently rang it. Almost at once, More and a number of maids pushed a cart filled with bottles of fine wine and delicate refreshments into the room. They moved with well-honed efficiency, setting the wine glasses and snacks on the main coffee table and filling each with the rich liquid. Once their task was complete, they offered a silent bow and excused themselves, slipping out of the room without a sound.

After a short while, Robin quickly untangled herself from Guts's lap as her tremors subsided. Her cheeks began to flush. She muttered, "I am... I am fine, Father," not realizing how immature she had just come in her anguish.

Guts merely smiled, reaching for one of the wine bottles instead of a glass, and took a long, direct swig. Robin, regaining her composure, picked up her glass and sipped it with quiet elegance.

Bottle still in hand, Guts looked at Rosward. "Ready to continue?"

Rosward set his wine glass down on the table, then picked up a cigar case, offering one to Guts. Guts simply met his gaze with a silent, unimpressed stare. Rosward nodded, understanding the unspoken refusal. He lit his own cigar, inhaling deeply, letting the rich smoke curl from his lips before he began to speak again.

"On Judgment Day, Guts," Rosward recounted, his voice now lower, tinged with a fresh tremor, "I saw him. Him, Guts... The God. And by his side, I saw Robin, and the woman with hair the color of golden rice fields..."

"Marlena," Guts cut in, his voice flat but firm, his eyes fixed on Rosward. "The God's first daughter." He then turned his head slightly, looking at Robin, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "And your Father, who sent me to protect you."

The wine glass in Robin's hand nearly slipped from her grasp, rattling against the saucer as her eyes widened in profound shock. "So the 'squid' you mentioned," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "is GOD!"

"So that's it," Rosward murmured, closing his eyes briefly, a sigh escaping him. "It makes sense. You met him directly." He opened his eyes, now filled with a desperate, pleading intensity as he looked at Guts.

Then, with a shudder, the towering Saint Rosward, one of the most powerful and feared World Nobles, who commanded over 20% of the world's economy, slowly bowed his massive head. His voice, once so clear and confident, now trembled with raw vulnerability.

"Guts... and... Holy Lady," he began, addressing Robin with a reverence that felt profoundly out of place coming from a Celestial Dragon. "Please, help me. Help me to allow me to help you." His desperation was palpable, radiating from his very being. "I have nothing to offer but myself and my vast wealth, and I know you don't need either of those things. But I beg you, please, let me help you."

Rosward did not seek help for himself; he only wished to be allowed the chance to help them, to contribute, in the hope that he might somehow, against all odds, escape the terrible, eternal fate that awaited him in the deepest circles of Inferno. He was begging for a sliver of hope, a chance at what he believed was his only path to salvation.

Robin was speechless, utterly overwhelmed. The deluge of information – a real God, a journey through Hell, Guts's connection to it all, and her own implied role – was too much to process, defying all logic and common sense. She simply stared at Guts, her gaze wide and resigned, seeking an answer in his weathered face.

Guts just sighed, a long, weary exhalation that conveyed a multitude of unspoken thoughts.

Guts finally broke the silence, his sigh a prelude to a decision. His eye met Rosward's pleading gaze. "Give us a ship." He accepted Rosward's offer, cutting straight to the pragmatic need.

But as the words left his mouth, Robin cried out, almost in alarm. "No, Father! Please don't abandon Jumoi!"

Guts turned to her, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his stern features. "Wait a minute. Jumoi? You named the ship Jumoi?" he asked, a hint of genuine wonder in his gruff voice.

Robin, despite the gravity of the situation, looked slightly abashed. "How about we modify it?" she quickly suggested, ever the pragmatist. "Our friend Gargar, a Sea King, has a little trouble towing Jumoi as it is."

Rosward's eyes, which moments ago had held tears of desperation, now widened and began to sparkle with an almost childlike glee. "Anything, Holy Lady! Anything!" he exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat despite his immense size. "You can ask for anything! A grand galleon? An army? Devil Fruits? Anything, Holy Lady!" He didn't wait for a response, immediately reaching for the small bell on the table and ringing it furiously, summoning More.

"One more thing," Guts interjected, his voice low, a predatory grin slowly spreading across his face. He watched Rosward, who was still practically vibrating with excitement. "Want to spar? You look strong. Hand to hand?"

Rosward, about to burst with relief and gratitude, froze. He suppressed the wave of pure joy threatening to overwhelm him, his gaze sharpening as he looked at Guts. The light in his eyes changed, shifting from frantic hope to a familiar, almost savage, fighting spirit. A wide, challenging grin stretched across his own face, mirroring Guts's.

"Of course!" he bellowed, the word ringing with eager anticipation.