The "victory" the twenty kings had bled for—Queen Lily among them—had been stolen. Simply stolen.
The thought made Cobra's scalp prickle.
An Empty Throne that no one was meant to occupy… bearing a man who had lived for eight hundred years. A contemporary of Queen Lily. Watching in silence. Guiding the world from the shadows. Turning their oath into theater while every nation bowed its head in blissful ignorance.
It sounded impossible.
And yet, the impossibility was exactly what made it so terrifying.
What had Imu—this thief of victory—used to deceive the other nineteen kings? What kind of power could make monarchs swear a vow of equality, then never notice the chain slipping around their throats?
Or…
Cobra's thoughts snapped into a new shape. His pupils tightened; his hands began to tremble.
If Queen Lily had sensed something wrong—if she'd felt the lie crouching behind the Holy Land's splendor—was that why she refused to move to Mary Geoise?
And after she left Alabasta… where did she go?
Was her disappearance connected to Imu?
Darren's voice cut cleanly through the suffocating silence.
"You're thinking Queen Lily's disappearance might be connected to Imu, aren't you?"
Cobra drew a slow breath and met Darren's gaze. A bitter smile pulled at his mouth. "It's like you can see straight through me."
Darren shrugged. "Your Majesty, you're a good king."
Then he tilted his head, almost apologetic in the way he was utterly unkind.
"But you're not a sharp politician."
Cobra's jaw tightened.
"Curiosity is a fatal weakness," Darren went on, calm as ever, "especially for people who don't have the strength or the leverage to survive it."
He tapped ash from his cigar, eyes narrowing slightly.
"I'm telling you plainly: stop digging into Queen Lily. Especially in front of the Gorosei."
Cobra stared. "Why?"
Darren looked at him as if the answer were obvious.
"Because your title doesn't matter to them."
Cobra's lips pressed into a thin line. The carriage rolled on, the world outside bright and immaculate—an obscene contrast to the truth now rotting beneath his ribs.
He forced out, "You sound awfully concerned about my safety."
Darren's mouth twitched.
"Don't mistake this for compassion," he said dryly. "I don't care whether people live or die. Everyone's entitled to choose their own end."
He leaned back, voice turning businesslike.
"But we just made a deal. If you get brave and throw yourself at the Gorosei—if you decide to die in their castle—then everything I've done here becomes pointless."
Cobra's eyes flared. "I'm not afraid to die."
Darren took a slow drag.
"Everyone's afraid," he said, exhaling smoke. "If you truly weren't, your hand wouldn't be shaking."
Cobra's fingers curled tighter around the windowsill.
"And even if you don't value your own life," Darren continued, "what about Alabasta's people?"
Cobra's gaze sharpened. Then Darren added, almost casually:
"And Princess Titi."
Cobra's expression snapped into fury. "What are you plotting, you brat?" His voice fell to a dangerous hiss. "Don't you dare lay a hand on Titi, or I'll make you regret you were born!"
Darren stared at him.
For a beat, nothing moved in the carriage but drifting smoke.
Then Darren's eyelid twitched.
"…You senile idiot," he muttered.
He rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't stick.
"Titi's barely a teenager."
Cobra bristled, then stalled—caught between rage and embarrassment.
Darren leaned forward, voice sharpening.
"Then stop doing stupid, pointless things."
His gaze held Cobra's, steady and merciless.
"You really want to leave Princess Titi alone in this world?"
Cobra went quiet.
The carriage slowed.
A gentle knock sounded from outside.
Knock, knock, knock.
Igaram's voice came in low and controlled. "Your Majesty, we're approaching Pangaea Castle."
Cobra's focus snapped back, as if he'd been yanked underwater and finally surfaced. He turned to Darren.
Darren nodded once. "Then we'll end this here for today, Your Majesty."
"Wait." Cobra remembered, urgency scraping his voice. "You still haven't told me why you came to Mary Geoise in the first place."
Darren smiled—soft, unreadable, all teeth hidden.
"The new Commander of the Knights of God is an old friend," he said. "A career peak like this deserves congratulations."
---
Footsteps climbed through the sea of clouds, and the pink feather coat flared behind him like a banner of arrogance.
This feeling…
Black-suited CP agents and Holy Land Guards in gleaming silver armor knelt along the path. Their faces shone with devotion—sincere, abject, nauseating.
Doflamingo felt something bloom in his chest, hot and righteous.
This is what he deserved.
He ascended the pristine steps of the Stairway to Heaven. With each step, the monumental statue—carved in his likeness—grew closer.
It loomed beside the stairway, half-swallowed by cloud, massive enough to make the mind tilt. Like a wall about to collapse. Like a city's weight pressing down on the world.
Doflamingo lifted his chin and stared up at his own stone face.
Behind his sunglasses, his eyes flickered. His fist clenched.
So, Father… do you see it?
Do your foolish, ignorant eyes finally understand?
Power and status. Those are the only treasures that matter.
And you threw them away.
His smile sharpened.
I told you I'd restore the Donquixote name.
I did it.
Even the five old undying geezers who once sneered at me… had to raise my statue at their own doorstep.
But this wasn't the end.
No. Not even close.
They thought they'd hidden it well, those five relics—but he'd seen it.
The contempt behind their eyes.
They treated this "Vice Commander" title like a gift. Like charity tossed to a dog that learned a trick.
How laughable.
He reached the top of the Stairway to Heaven.
"Excellency Doflamingo…"
"Excellency Doflamingo, you've arrived."
"The Gorosei are waiting in the Chamber of Authority…"
Several CP agents stepped forward, bowing low.
"I know," Doflamingo said, hands in his pockets, swagger unchanged.
He didn't wait for an escort. He pushed open the Chamber of Authority doors himself and strolled inside, chuckling under his breath.
"Well, old geezers… what's the hurry?" he drawled. "What did you drag me here to say?"
Five ancient figures waited in the lamplight—some seated, some standing—eyes fixed on him like blades.
"It concerns your duty," Saint Saturn said, voice flat and cold.
"…To annihilate the North Blue Fleet!"
To be continued...