Dragon stood at the highest point of the captured city wall, his cloak billowing in the evening wind.
He gazed calmly at the ocean of humanity below him.
Karasu, Swore, and other key members of the rebel army stood behind him, their eyes fixed on his back.
Monkey D. Dragon was a mystery to them.
In the past days, he hadn't carried himself like a radiant hero or a noble savior.
He had blended into the grimy crowd of miners, eating their food, sleeping on their floors, looking no different from them.
He wore simple clothes, his eyes were bloodshot from recent sleepless nights spent planning, and fatigue was etched into the lines of his face.
Yet, it was this very man who had single-handedly organized their rage into a weapon.
He appeared ordinary, but his actions were anything but.
"Long live the revolution!" a single voice shouted from the crowd below.
Then another. And another. "LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!"
The sound rose until it shook the entire island, a wave of pure, unadulterated joy.
Dragon and the cadres behind him raised their hands, joining in the brief celebration.
A rare smile touched Dragon's lips.
But the revelry did not last long.
Before the uprising began, Dragon had already laid out the entire plan.
Capturing Coal-Iron City was just the first step.
"Let's move out, Leader," Karasu stepped forward, quietly reminding Dragon. "The night is young."
Dragon nodded, his expression turning serious again.
He strode down the city wall, heading toward the causeway that connected the industrial island to the capital island of the Eryoku Kingdom.
A force of several thousand elite soldiers, armed with Donquixote rifles, followed his figure with resolute determination.
...
In a hidden corner of the city, a sharp-looking, short-haired woman with a cigarette dangling from her lips was making a phone call.
"Hello, Raleigh-sama," Bell-mère whispered into the Den Den Mushi. "They have captured the Coal and Iron City. It was... fast."
"Understood," Raleigh's calm voice replied. "Where are they heading next?"
"Their leader has incredibly sharp senses. I didn't dare get too close," Bell-mère admitted. "But I overheard the squad leaders discussing—they're heading toward the capital. To the palace."
"Good," Raleigh said. "Stay safe, Bell-mère. Keep blending in. Also... the CP organization members should be stationed at the capital branch. Guide the rebels to them. Let's clean house."
One thing that had always troubled Raleigh was how to develop his forces in the North Blue under the nose of the World Government.
The World Government wasn't stupid.
They had ruled for 800 years.
If it were just one or two people, they could hide.
But Raleigh wanted to build an empire within the Navy. That required resources, and resources attracted CP agents.
However, Raleigh knew that the CP organization was currently overstretched.
If he could wipe out the local CP branch here, using the rebellion as cover, the North Blue would be a blind spot for Mary Geoise for a long time.
"Received!" Bell-mère smirked. She harbored a deep, personal dislike for the CP organization.
Having witnessed their methods in the East Blue, she held extreme contempt for them.
"I'll make sure they find them."
...
Eryoku Kingdom, Royal Capital.
The opulent hall of the Royal Palace was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasted meats and the fragrance of fine wine.
This was the King's grand banquet.
Every evening, all ministers would set aside their "work" and gather here to eat, drink, and ignore the world.
The King of Eryoku, Croft Edward III, was an extremely obese man who sat slumped on his throne.
He possessed no talent for governing, but by nature, he wasn't cruel. He didn't enjoy oppressing others; he just didn't care enough to stop it.
His sole passion was fine food.
He smiled cheerfully, grease on his chin, as he watched groups of women dancing below.
BANG!
The double doors flew open.
"Your Majesty! Terrible news!" A tall figure entered, his armor clanking, his expression grave and urgent.
Raymond Grover, Captain of the Palace Royal Guard and the King's childhood friend, marched in.
He ignored the panicked nobles and approached the throne directly.
"The workers of Coal-Iron City have risen up," Grover announced, his voice tight.
"A rebel army of over one hundred thousand has captured the city and is advancing toward the capital at alarming speed. The bridge is already overrun."
"What?" Edward III blinked, a chicken leg halfway to his mouth. "Rebels?"
"Your Majesty, we must leave. Now," Grover urged. "The regular guard forces have surrendered. Although our Royal Guard is superior, we're outnumbered fifty to one."
"I've contacted the Marines," Grover continued quickly. "Due to Byrnndi World's attack on their fleet, most naval forces are deployed elsewhere. Their power is unprecedentedly weak. However, they said they can provide us sanctuary if we reach their base at the port."
Edward III dropped the chicken leg.
"Why... why are they rebelling?" he asked, genuinely confused. "I feed them! I let them work!"
Grover's lips twitched.
He said nothing. His friend and King meant no harm, but his ignorance was a crime in itself.
The kingdom was run by World Government officials; the King was just a mascot.
"It's nothing, sire. They've just been deceived by evil influences," Grover lied gently. "Come."
He grabbed Edward III's wrist and hauled the heavy man from his seat.
Over a dozen elite Royal Guards flooded the chamber, surrounding the King.
"To the port! A ship is waiting!" Grover barked.
Several portly nobles squeezed through the crowd, sweating profusely.
"Lord Grover! What about us? What about our arrangements?"
Grover glanced at them with cold disdain.
"My apologies, esteemed lords. The Royal Guard exists solely to protect His Majesty. If you wish to survive... run to the port yourselves. Try not to trip."
He turned to leave, but a young boy in oversized armor ran up to him.
"Father! I want to fight by your side too!"
Grover froze.
He looked at his son, Gale, who was looking at him with heroic determination.
"Didn't I order you to escort His Majesty to the Marine base?" Grover roared, his face twisting with fear and anger.
As a commander, Grover was ready to die. But as a father, he needed his son on that boat.
"But Father—!"
SLAP!
Grover struck his son across the face.
"Fool! From this moment, I am your Commanding Officer, not your father! Your mission is to ensure His Majesty's safety! Execute your orders, soldier!!"
Gale, tears in his eyes, saluted and ran to the King's side.
From the palace gates, Grover looked down at the sea.
A fleet of small ships and rafts, lit by thousands of torches, was crossing the narrow strait between the islands.
It looked like a river of fire.
"There is no winning this," Grover whispered.
Just then, a man in a black suit appeared in the chamber.
He looked out of place among the gilded nobility.
"Grover," the man snapped. "What's going on? Where is His Majesty?"
It was Carol Barlow, the leader of the CP.
"He's gone," Grover said, not hiding his disgust. "To the Marine base. I sent him ahead."
"Foolish!" Barlow sneered. "Do you really think your Royal Guard can protect him? Leave this task to our CP organization. We need that ship."
"Barlow, have some shame," Grover growled. "You just want to flee. There are plenty of ships at the port. If you're so elite, go commandeer one yourself."
Barlow opened his mouth to argue, but the air in the room suddenly shifted.
The chaotic noise of the fleeing nobles died down.
It was as if an invisible hand had muted the world.
A tall figure stood in the main doorway.
He wore a dark green cloak. Behind him, rows of grim-faced soldiers with rifles stood ready.
"None of you," Dragon said, his voice calm but filling the hall, "are going anywhere."
Grover stared at the man.
He had no idea who this was, but his instincts screamed danger.
Barlow, however, regained his composure. He looked at Dragon with a professional, assessing gaze.
"So," Barlow said, stepping forward. "You're the leader of this rabble."
He scanned his memory of wanted posters.
Nothing.
'Either he's a nobody, or he's very new,' Barlow thought. 'I can take him. If I capture the leader, the rebellion collapses, and I save my career.'
"In that case," Barlow said, cracking his knuckles, "if I take care of you, the rest will scatter."
He vanished.
"Soru!"
Barlow moved with blinding speed, appearing instantly behind Dragon.
He saw Dragon's back turned, completely defenseless.
"You've fallen for it! Hahaha!" Barlow laughed cruelly. "Zoan Type: Gray Wolf Fruit — Devour!"
Mid-lunge, Barlow transformed.
His body swelled, fur sprouted, and his head morphed into that of a massive gray wolf with jaws capable of crushing bone.
'Die!' He opened his maw to bite Dragon's head off.
SHINK.
The imagined scene of carnage did not unfold.
Barlow's jaws never snapped shut.
Instead, he gasped, his eyes bulging.
A sharp katana blade was sticking out of his chest. It had pierced his heart from behind.
Blood dripped from the blade tip onto the polished marble floor.
Plip-plop.
Behind Barlow, Swore stood casually, holding the hilt of the sword he had just thrust forward.
"Boss," Swore sighed, looking at Dragon's unmoving back with a helpless expression. "Why is it that every time someone tries to ambush you, they always appear from behind? And they never check if there's anyone behind them? It's getting repetitive."
Dragon didn't know either.
Anyway, whenever someone had the speed advantage, they would inevitably circle behind him to launch an attack.
Swore only needed to watch for disappearing figures in the area and then thrust his katana at any spot within half a meter behind Dragon.
There was a ninety percent chance he would stab whoever was trying to ambush him.
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