Zephyr took the prosthetic arm from Momonga, his eyes flickering with barely contained delight.
For a monster who stood at the very summit of the sea, losing an arm was hardly a fatal blow. To a soldier, scars were never just pain—they were proof.
And yet, even Zephyr had to admit the loss had bothered him. Not because his overall strength had sunk, but because close-quarters combat had become awkward. He was less fluid, less comfortable in the press of battle, always compensating without thinking.
The irony was that after he'd finally defied the World Government—after he'd forced himself to face the grief and fear he'd buried for years—his Haki had grown sharper than before.
It felt as if his old life had been bound by invisible restraints, shackles he'd never noticed until they snapped. Now something inside him surged like a burst dam, power that had been pent up for far too long finally spilling free.
Add the Float-Float Fruit on top of that, and Zephyr had to acknowledge the truth: even with one arm gone, he wasn't weaker. If anything, he'd become more dangerous.
And now the Crusher would close the remaining gap—erasing the inconvenience, restoring what the missing limb had taken from his technique.
With it, he could climb higher still.
A feverish anticipation kindled in Zephyr's eyes, a bright hunger for the days ahead.
"Darren provided the blueprints," Momonga said, pride edging into his voice as he watched Zephyr's reaction. "He had me contact Germa 66 for the research and manufacture. Every function's been tested. No tampering. Completely clean."
Zephyr's grin broke wide.
"This gift… this old man will cherish it!" he boomed, laughing as he accepted the arm without a shred of hesitation.
Zephyr had principles, but he wasn't rigid. And with Darren and Momonga, there was no need for hollow modesty. Still, warmth spread through his chest—quiet, heavy, and strangely moving.
The arm's design—its balance, its shape, its purpose—was tailored to him. That alone told him how much thought they'd poured into it.
Momonga smiled and nodded. "We're glad you like it, Zephyr-sensei."
"Right, right!" Tokikake suddenly leaned in, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "I heard the Commander of the Knights of God is dead. Did Darren really take him out?"
The deck seemed to hush. Everyone instinctively held their breath, waiting for Momonga's answer.
Momonga sighed, the exasperation barely hidden. "Who else could it have been?"
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the group. Eyes widened. Faces went rigid.
Tokikake's jaw nearly hit the deck.
Even with Zephyr's earlier remark planting the idea in his head, hearing it confirmed still felt unreal.
The Commander of the Knights of God.
The most terrifying, most enigmatic figure among the Celestial Dragons.
Zephyr shook his head, half rueful, half proud. "That brat Darren has really come into his own."
He'd always known Darren was a genius. A monster. He'd never doubted it for a second.
He just hadn't expected Darren to be capable of killing the Commander in a one-on-one fight.
Zephyr had crossed paths with Saint Michael once, back when he was still an admiral. He still remembered the silver-haired Celestial Dragon's presence—danger distilled into something cold and absolute.
"He sure made it easy for himself," Momonga said, rubbing his temples with a long sigh. "Left me an entire mountain of headaches."
"Oh?" Zephyr's interest sharpened at once.
He'd always been curious about the North Blue Fleet.
Years ago, the Golden Lion's flying armada had driven Marine Headquarters to the edge of insanity. And now the North Blue Fleet's bombardment of the Holy Land, Mary Geoise, had reminded the world what a flying fleet truly meant.
Now that Zephyr could make battleships float, it wasn't hard to see what lay ahead. With enough development, he might one day lift islands the way the Golden Lion once did.
In other words, he already possessed the foundations of a new flying fleet.
But building a fleet was never simple. Even with Zephyr's strength, he'd never done it.
If he could learn from the North Blue Fleet—how they operated, what they'd learned, what mistakes they'd avoided—it would save him time he didn't have and effort he couldn't waste.
"To fill the vacancy left by the Commander of the Knights of God," Momonga said, turning serious, "the World Government has been working nonstop to prepare an inauguration ceremony."
"Representatives from all the Member States will attend in the Holy Land, Mary Geoise. That's forcing major movements among the Government's fleets."
"The Marines have also deployed escort warships for the delegations. The sea's been unusually lively these past few days."
"Directly, it doesn't affect the North Blue much—we've already withdrawn from the Member State system. But any mobilization on that scale means we stay vigilant. No exceptions."
There was more Momonga knew. Dragon's forces planned to light fires in three Member States on the day of the inauguration.
But he stopped there.
Those were operational secrets, and even if Zephyr-sensei wasn't truly an outsider, Momonga couldn't speak of it lightly.
"…An inauguration ceremony," Zephyr murmured, brow tightening. "This new Commander seems ambitious."
Momonga nodded. "He is. Saint Figarland Garling—the 'King' of the God Valley hunting event twelve years ago. Darren says he's an even more dangerous enemy than Saint Michael."
Zephyr's eyes dimmed as memory surfaced. "His Conqueror's Haki… it's vicious. Stronger than Sengoku's by a wide margin."
Stronger than Admiral Sengoku? Momonga's mouth twitched, as if reminded of something he'd rather forget.
"Then who's the Vice Commander?" Zephyr asked suddenly.
Momonga's expression twisted into something deeply unpleasant. He stayed silent for a long moment, then forced out the name like it tasted foul.
"Donquixote Doflamingo."
Zephyr stared. "Doflamingo? The Government is willing to reinstate that depraved pirate brat?!"
Momonga only shrugged, thinking to himself, That 'depraved pirate brat' happens to be the godson of your most treasured student.
To be continued...