"I suppose… proving the authenticity of this matter would ease your doubts." The voice of the King of Coralune cut through the chamber—calm, composed, and laced with quiet authority.
"For what I am asking of you…" he continued, his gaze sweeping across the gathered monarchs, "is nothing less than the surrender of everything you are." A faint pause. "Your past… your present… and your future."
The weight of those words settled heavily upon the table. Because every man in that room understood—this was not ambition anymore. This was a gamble with annihilation. And yet… none of them looked away. A faint smile tugged at the Coralune King's lips. Measured. Knowing.
Slowly, he reached beside his chair and placed a sealed wooden box upon the table. The sound of it touching the stone surface echoed unnaturally loud in the silence that followed. Then—with deliberate care—he pushed it forward. The box slid across the cold black stone, stopping at the very center of the oval table.
All eyes fell upon it. Unassuming. Plain. And yet— It seemed to carry a weight far greater than its size.
"There is one among us here today…" the Coralune King said, his voice lowering slightly, "who has had the rare privilege of standing in the presence of the Five Elders." At once, the tension in the room sharpened. "More than a decade ago… during the Reverie."
His gaze shifted. And with it, so did everyone else's. Seven pairs of eyes turned toward a single figure seated among them. An elderly king. Time had etched itself into his features—lined skin, silvered hair, a posture that spoke of both age and enduring authority. But his eyes… they were sharp. Alert.
And now—locked onto the box. Waiting. Watching. Anticipating.
"You…my friend," the Coralune King said softly, "will determine whether what lies within… is truth." The old king did not respond. But the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed the storm within. The Coralune King leaned back slightly, folding his hands.
"As for this…" he gestured lightly toward the box, "it is something preserved within my family for generations." A faint flicker of pride crossed his expression. "Nearly two centuries ago, one of my ancestors was granted an audience with the Elders during the Reverie." A rare honor. One that few could claim across centuries. "He was… a man of considerable vanity," the King added with a faint, almost amused exhale. "But also a prodigy." His gaze sharpened. "An artist of extraordinary talent."
The room remained silent. Listening. "He possessed a gift," he continued. "The ability to capture the likeness of any individual he had seen—perfectly… after a single glance." A ripple of interest passed through the gathered monarchs. "Meeting the Gorosei…" the Coralune King said, his voice dipping slightly, "was, to him, the greatest moment of his life."
A brief pause. "And so… upon his return…" He tapped the wooden box lightly. "…he immortalized that moment." The implication settled slowly. Deeply. "Within this box," the King said, his tone now steady, unwavering, "is a painting." Another pause. "A painting that captures the exact likeness of the Five Elders… as they were two hundred years ago." The silence that followed was suffocating.
Because now they understood. If what he claimed was true…then there was only one way this could end. The Coralune King's gaze shifted once more to the elderly monarch. "All that remains," he said quietly, "is for our esteemed colleague to look upon it…" His voice lowered to a near whisper. "…and tell us whether the men he saw a decade ago…" A heartbeat passed. "…are the same men who stood before my ancestor two centuries ago."
The lantern flames flickered violently. Shadows danced across the walls like restless spirits.
Because the answer would not just confirm a rumor. It would shatter the world they knew. And decide… Whether they would rise as kings of a new era— Or be buried as traitors to the old.
For a long moment, no one moved. The sealed wooden box sat at the center of the table like a silent judge, its presence suffocating the air within the chamber. Then the elderly king stirred.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Every movement carried the weight of the moment as he extended his aged hands toward the box. His fingers, though marked by time, did not tremble—not from weakness… but from anticipation. From something far more dangerous. He slid the lid open. A soft click echoed through the chamber.
And within, resting upon a bed of faded velvet, lay a painting. He lifted it carefully, almost reverently, as though handling a sacred relic. And in many ways…it was. The canvas was old—undeniably so. The edges bore the faint marks of time, the frame slightly worn… yet the painting itself remained pristine. Preserved with such care that not a single detail had been lost.
An heirloom. A legacy. A frozen moment from two centuries past. The old king drew it closer, bringing it into the dim lantern light. And then—he looked. Truly looked. The room fell into absolute silence. Not a breath. Not a whisper.
Seven monarchs watched with unwavering intensity, their gazes fixed upon the old man as though their very fates rested upon his reaction. Because they did. His eyes moved across the canvas. Slowly. Methodically. One face. Then another.
Each stroke of the artist's hand… each line, each shadow… each expression captured with uncanny precision. His brows furrowed. His breathing slowed. He leaned in closer. As if doubting his own sight. Seconds passed. Then more.
The silence stretched—becoming unbearable. And then—it happened. His pupils shrank. His expression froze. Shock. Raw. Unfiltered. The painting slipped from his grasp. It struck the stone table with a dull, careless sound—sliding slightly across its surface. But the old king did not move to retrieve it. Did not even glance at it. Because in that moment, its value had become meaningless. Compared to the truth it carried.
"It's… true…" His voice came out hoarse. Barely above a whisper. Yet it echoed louder than a roar. His body trembled—not with frailty…but with something far more volatile. "…It's really true…" He shot up from his seat.
The sudden movement startling in its intensity. For a man of his age—frail, worn by decades of rule—the burst of energy was unnatural. As if something had ignited within him. His hands clenched. His breath quickened. His eyes burned. Ambition. Pure. Unrestrained.
"Them…" he said, his voice rising, shaking with disbelief and exhilaration, "those faces… those men…" He pointed toward the fallen painting, though he no longer needed to see it. "I stood before them ten years ago!" His gaze swept across the others, wild now.
"I spoke to them… knelt before them…" A pause. "And they have not changed." The words struck like thunder. "Not a single day…" Silence shattered. Chairs scraped. Several monarchs rose to their feet almost instinctively, their composure cracking as they reached for the painting. One seized it, his hands far less careful than before, dragging it closer into the light.
His eyes scanned the faces. Once. Twice. A third time. His breathing hitched. "…Impossible…" he muttered. But there was no denial in his voice. Only realization. Another leaned over his shoulder, then another, the remaining rulers abandoning all pretense of restraint as they crowded around the table.
Each one looked. Each one embedding the face of the undying Gorosei into their memory; after all, other than the old monarch present, none of the others have met the Gorosei. The truth lay bare for all of them to see. Past against present.
And each one came to the same conclusion. The men in the painting…were undying. Not blessed with above-average human lifespans but rather were true immortals living in the flesh, ruling over this world from the seat of the very pinnacle of power. There was no denying the fact anymore; the news printed in the World Times was all true.
The same-aged faces have been ruling over the world for who knows how long, maybe since the very inception of the World Government. It wasn't the same office being handed down through generations within the Tenryubito; rather, it was the select few who had access to the secret of immortality.
"…So you are absolutely sure they haven't aged…" one whispered, his voice hollow. "…Not even a day…?" another added, his tone trembling between awe and dread. A third let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh—short, broken.
"So it's real…" he murmured. "…Immortality…" The word spread through the room like fire catching dry timber. Immortality. Not a myth. Not a legend. Not a rumor crafted to destabilize power. But truth. Proven. Confirmed. The World Government did not merely rule the world.
It hoarded eternity itself. And the Gorosei were living proof. The chamber, once cloaked in caution, now pulsed with something far more dangerous. Eyes gleamed in the dim light. Breathing grew heavier. Hearts pounded—not with fear… But with hunger.
Because now there was no doubt. No hesitation. No restraint. Only one undeniable truth remained: The gods of this world…were truly capable of grabbing immortality. And what they possessed—they wanted it too.
"We should act…!" The voice shattered the fragile silence that had settled after the revelation.
One of the monarchs who had risen to his feet, his composure completely gone. Gone was the regal restraint, the measured authority of a king. What stood in its place was something feral.
"We should act while we are still ahead!" he continued, his voice rising, almost frantic. "We don't know who else can confirm this truth, but it's only a matter of time!" His hands trembled, not with fear but with hunger.
"The one who moves first…" he said, his lips curling into something unhinged, "…will claim the advantage." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber. "Yes… yes!" another monarch leaned forward, eyes gleaming with dangerous excitement. "With our eight nations combined, we can field millions." He struck the table lightly, his voice gaining momentum.
"Our armies alone rival the greatest powers on the seas. And with our influence, we can sway others. There are countless rulers out there who would leap at this opportunity!" His grin widened. "We won't stand alone for long."
A third chimed in, his tone darker, more calculated. "If we strike swiftly… decisively… we could force the World Government onto the defensive." The air grew thicker. Heavier. Because what had begun as whispers of ambition was rapidly becoming something far more reckless.
"We must seize this moment," another added, his voice almost breathless. "Before they can suppress the truth… before they can prepare—"
"ENOUGH!" The roar exploded through the chamber like a thunderclap. A massive palm slammed down upon the stone table— CRACK.
The black surface fractured beneath the force, jagged lines spreading outward like veins. Silence followed. Instant. Absolute. For the first time since the meeting had begun, the King of Coralune moved. And when he did, the atmosphere changed. Completely.
The faint, calculated smile that had lingered on his face until now… was gone. Erased. In its place was something cold. Something merciless. His eyes swept across the gathered monarchs. And where there had once been amusement… there was now only disdain.
"Do you take the World Government for a joke?" he asked quietly. The softness of his voice made it far more terrifying than a shout. No one answered. Because no one dared.
"So what if we can field millions?" he continued, his tone cutting, each word precise. "Do you truly believe numbers alone mean anything in this world?" He leaned forward slightly, the shadows deepening across his face.
"All it takes…" A pause. "…is a single Marine Admiral." The words landed like a blade. "Just one," he repeated, his voice colder now. "One man descending upon your kingdom…" His gaze sharpened. "…and everything you've built—your armies, your fleets, your legacy—will be erased." A faint scoff escaped him. "Or have your memories grown so short?"
He straightened slightly, his presence pressing down upon the room like an unseen weight. "Let me remind you." His voice dropped lower. Heavier. "The Marines do not merely fight wars…they end them, and if you look into their long history, you will know how many countries they have buried under the command of the World Government."
Another pause. "And if an Admiral is not enough…" His eyes darkened further. "…a Buster Call will suffice." The mere mention of it sent a ripple through the gathered kings. They all knew what that meant. Total annihilation. No survivors. No remnants. Nothing left but ash and silence.
"Tell me," the Coralune King said, his gaze sweeping across them once more, daring them to answer, "which one of you is confident enough to stand against an Admiral?" No one spoke. Because the answer— was none.
"Which one of you," he pressed, his voice sharper now, "believes your armies can withstand that kind of force?" Still nothing. The earlier frenzy…The reckless ambition… It began to falter. Crack. "…And make no mistake," he continued, his tone turning ice-cold, "the Marines may parade themselves as warriors of justice…" A faint, bitter edge crept into his words. "But in truth?"
"They are nothing more than the World Government's hounds." Loyal. Relentless. Unquestioning. "And if you have forgotten," he added, his gaze narrowing, "the current era does not have one Admiral…" A pause. "Nor two." His voice dropped into something almost ominous. "There are four."
The weight of that statement crushed whatever remained of their earlier bravado. "Four monsters," he said, "each capable of bringing a nation to its knees." He let the silence stretch. Let the truth sink in. "Even if we played every hidden card we possess…" he continued, quieter now, but no less dangerous, "…we would be crushed." His fingers tapped lightly against the cracked stone table. "Like insects."
The word lingered. Ugly. Final. Before anyone could even begin. The room, once burning with ambition, now stood on the edge of something else—fear. Not of the unknown. But of a reality they had nearly been foolish enough to ignore. And at the center of it all, the King of Coralune stood unmoved. Because unlike the others…He had not been swept away by greed.
He had already seen the board. And he knew—this was not a game that could be won by reckless moves. Only by patience. And something far more dangerous than armies.
For a long moment after the Coralune King's outburst— no one spoke. The earlier frenzy had been crushed beneath the weight of reality, leaving behind a tense, suffocating quiet. The monarchs, who moments ago had been on the verge of reckless war, now sat in uneasy contemplation, their ambitions tempered—if only slightly—by fear.
It was the elderly king who finally broke the silence. He exhaled slowly, the fire in his eyes dimming just enough for reason to take hold.
"…Then tell us," he said, his voice steady once more, though the weight of what he had witnessed still lingered beneath it. "What do you propose?" His gaze lifted, sharp and probing.
"I refuse to believe that those gathered here were chosen at random." A faint pause. "Nor do I believe you summoned us here for our armies alone." His fingers tapped lightly against the cracked stone table. "Because you have already made it abundantly clear…"
His tone hardened slightly. "…that a direct confrontation with the World Government would be nothing short of suicide." The others listened closely now. Gone was the chaos. What remained— was calculation. All eyes returned to the man at the head of the table.
And slowly… The King of Coralune smiled again. That same measured, unsettling smile from before. As if the brief eruption of anger had never happened.
"As expected…" he murmured softly. "You regain your composure quickly." He leaned back into his seat, folding his hands with quiet elegance. "Tell me," he continued, almost amused, "who ever said we would fight the World Government head-on?"
A faint chuckle escaped him. "No…" His eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. "That would be stupidity." A pause. "Simply Suicide." His voice lowered, colder now. "And I have no intention of dying." A subtle shift rippled through the room. Because now they were listening. Truly listening.
"I intend…" the Coralune King said, his tone almost contemplative, "…to live forever." The words lingered. Heavy. Final.
"So then," another monarch spoke, calmer now as he sank back into his chair, his earlier frenzy replaced by cautious curiosity, "what exactly do we do?"
The Coralune King's gaze sharpened. "First…" He raised a single finger. "…we prepare." Simple. But absolute. "We may not clash with them today," he continued, "nor tomorrow." His eyes moved across the table, ensuring every man understood.
"But that day will come." A faint pause. "Whether in a few years… or a decade from now." The inevitability of it settled into the room. "And when it does…" His voice hardened. "…we must be ready." He leaned forward slightly. "Strengthen your nations. Expand your armies. Consolidate your power."
Each word struck with purpose. "Turn your kingdoms into fortresses that cannot be easily broken." Because when the time came— survival would not be guaranteed. "We wait," he said quietly. "For the right moment."
The room fell silent again. But this time— It was not empty. It was thinking. Calculating.
"So what of now?" another monarch pressed, his tone cautious but insistent. "We sit upon a revelation that could shake the world… are we to simply ignore it until that 'right moment' arrives?" A faint glint passed through the Coralune King's eyes.
"…Ignore it?" He repeated the words softly. Then shook his head. "No." The answer came firm. "We do not ignore it." He leaned back, his expression darkening just slightly. "We exploit it." A ripple passed through the gathered rulers. "But carefully," he added. "Very carefully." His gaze sharpened once more.
"We cannot face them head-on…" A pause. "But that does not mean we cannot strike…"
His voice dropped. "…from the shadows."
The implication was clear. Destabilize. Agitate. Provoke. All without revealing their hand. "We will take our swings," he continued, "but we will do so in a way that ensures the World Government never traces those strikes back to us."
A dangerous game. One of deception.
"And let us not forget," he added, his tone turning serious once more, "we cannot do this alone." Silence. Then— "We will need allies." The word carried weight. Not just any allies. Powerful ones. "Not kingdoms," he clarified.
His eyes darkened. "Something more." A faint tension crept into the room. Because they all understood what he meant. "For this war…" he said slowly, "will not be decided by armies alone." He leaned forward, his voice lowering into something far more dangerous.
"We need forces capable of standing against the very peak of the World Government's power." A pause. "Individuals…who can challenge Admirals." The words sent a chill through the chamber.
Because such beings were rare. Monsters. Legends. And yet—necessary.
"If we are to reach the heavens…" the Coralune King murmured, his gaze gleaming with ambition, "…then we must first gather those capable of tearing down the gods.