The moment Kong spoke, the air in the room seemed to lock in place. Even the dust felt like it had stopped drifting. A cold, oppressive weight bled outward, pressing down on everyone present.
Beside him, Borsalino's smile deepened, carrying a faintly sinister edge. The five pairs of aged eyes weren't fixed on him, yet he could still feel the pressure they brought—the crushing weight of an eight-hundred-year regime that had never once been shaken. A single glance from that authority was enough to make even a Vice Admiral's hands tremble.
"Do you believe I deliberately let Darren escape, Your Excellencies?" Kong asked, his voice steady, his expression darkening as his eyes narrowed. "Is that what you suspect of me?"
Saint Saturn's raspy voice slid through the tension. "Isn't that the truth, Kong?"
"Your earlier remark," Saturn continued, "you warned that brat Darren that his body was nearing its limit. If you hadn't alerted him, with our combined power—"
"Excellencies," Kong cut in, "are you planning to exhaust Darren by exploiting your 'undying bodies,' then launch a final coordinated strike to subdue him?"
He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "I find it hard to believe someone as cunning and resourceful as he is would make such a foolish mistake."
Saint Saturn shook his head. "It's a gamble, admittedly. But we hold an overwhelming advantage."
"Overwhelming?" Kong's laugh sharpened, disbelief turning into anger. "Is that so? Open your eyes and look around, Saint Saturn, Excellency. This is Mary Geoise—the pinnacle of world power."
"And it's practically in ruins."
"Isn't that proof enough?"
His gaze hardened. "And most importantly—what if Darren does dare to gamble?"
"What price will we pay then? Hundreds of CP agents dead? Countless Holy Land Guards butchered?"
Kong's breath grew heavier as the words spilled out, anger rising with each sentence. "Forgive my bluntness, Excellency, but given what Rogers Darren has already shown, if I hadn't forced him to retreat with that warning, he would have assassinated Saint Garling right under our noses!"
He was still bristling when he realized—
The Gorosei weren't arguing back.
They were silent.
And smiling.
Coldly.
They looked at him with the kind of quiet amusement that didn't need words. The disdain in their eyes was effortless. The arrogance was absolute.
Kong understood at once.
As long as Rogers Darren could be eliminated, anyone could be sacrificed.
Including the newly appointed Commander of the Knights of God.
Including Figarland Garling.
No wonder Garling had spoken to them earlier with such open resentment.
Any man who realized he'd been made into bait would burn with the same fury.
But—
"So," Kong said, the edge of his anger settling into something brittle, almost weary, "are you holding me accountable now, Your Excellencies?"
He gave a wry smile, gaze unwavering. "If you order it, I can submit my resignation to the Government immediately."
For the first time, the Gorosei paused—genuinely caught off guard.
Borsalino's eyes flashed with quiet amusement behind his sunglasses.
Saint Saturn's expression stiffened, his gaze flickering for the briefest moment.
Kong… resigning?
The five exchanged a look—so quick it was almost nothing—yet it carried the sense of countless words passing between them without a sound.
Silence fell again.
"…We have no intention of holding you accountable, Kong," Saint Warcury finally said, slow and deliberate.
"You accounted for details we overlooked. Saint Garling is of paramount importance to the Government and the Holy Land. As the newly appointed Commander of the Knights of God, nothing must be allowed to go wrong."
They're backing down.
The realization landed cleanly.
Borsalino's lips curled into a faint smirk.
"We have always trusted your loyalty and your competence," Saint Peter added, golden hair catching the light. "If Garling had been assassinated by Rogers Darren during his inauguration, it would have dealt a devastating blow to the Government's prestige and authority."
Kong let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Then he said, quietly but firmly, "Your Excellencies… do you truly still believe the World Government commands real authority out there, on the Sea?"
He glanced sideways, toward the distant ring of CP agents and Holy Land Guards.
"Do you see them?"
"Even your most loyal subordinates don't look at you with the same reverence they once did."
The thought tightened Kong's mouth. Yet there was no satisfaction in it. No pride.
Only a thin, aching sense of loss.
And slowly, the truth settled into him.
Maybe this had been Darren's goal from the start.
He knew he couldn't kill the Gorosei. He knew direct attacks would be pointless—futile—yet he had still forced confrontation again and again, relentlessly, brazenly, in front of everyone.
His strikes may have failed.
But his actions hadn't.
Just as his Dragon Claw could tear through anything, what he was doing now was meant to tear through something else—something far more fragile than flesh.
He was trying to pierce the hearts of men.
To shatter, through sheer force and defiance, the image of supreme authority the World Government had cultivated for eight centuries.
What did the Gorosei matter?
What did the World Government's "Warrior Gods" matter?
What did the Commander of the Knights of God—the so-called "Strongest Celestial Dragon"—matter?
What about the World Government itself?
What about the Holy Land of Mary Geoise?
Kong could almost see it: Darren's sharp Dragon Claw ripping a gaping wound into the Government's eight-hundred-year façade.
And time would do the rest.
As long as Darren remained alive on the Sea, the Government's image would keep eroding. Its authority would keep bleeding out, drop by drop, until the world no longer feared its name.
And if the day came when the world stopped trembling before the Government and the Celestial Dragons…
What would the world become then?
The longer Kong thought, the colder his back turned.
As Fleet Admiral—and as a man who had lived long enough to see what most refused to face—he understood better than anyone what kind of creatures the Celestial Dragons truly were.
Trash.
Pigs dressed in silk.
He knew how much rot festered beneath the shining surface of this so-called divine regime.
And yet—even so—viewing the world as a whole, the World Government's existence, the Member State system, had undeniably reduced the outbreak of large-scale wars.
To a certain extent, the Government's supreme authority suppressed the ambitions of the great powers, holding them down, forcing a fragile "peace" onto the world.
But now, with Darren's ambition rising like a tide…
How long could that "peace" possibly last?
To be continued...