Inside the Hall of Power in Mary Geoise, the extravagance was enough to leave anyone speechless.
A massive crystal chandelier hung high from the domed ceiling like a brilliant star.
Countless clear prisms refracted dazzling golden light, spilling down like fine threads of gold and landing precisely on the marble floor inlaid with a detailed world map.
Every slab of marble seemed to carry the weight of the world. Its texture was distinct and rich, shimmering with a mysterious luster beneath the light.
At that moment, the Five Elders sat upright around a magnificent round table, their postures straight, their expressions cold and focused.
In the center, an advanced Visual Transponder Snail was operating efficiently, projecting a real-time feed of the emergency meeting taking place at Marine Headquarters.
Every movement and every word in the image was presented before them without the slightest omission.
"Hmph. It seems Sengoku has finally seen the light."
Saint Marcus Mars, the Warrior God of the Environment, raised his head slightly and took an elegant sip of the fragrant black tea in his hand.
"He has finally stopped indulging in that laughable idea of saving people."
As he moved, the delicate teacup touched its matching saucer with a crisp, pleasant sound that carried a faint chill.
His narrow eyes slowly narrowed into slits, his gaze sharp as a hawk's as he stared at the image of Sengoku announcing the Kill Order with that resolute, unshakable expression. It was as if he could see through everything.
"Hmph! They are nothing but insects."
Beside him, Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, the Warrior God of Science and Defense, appeared especially calm and composed.
He slowly raised a hand, his long fingers gently stroking his snow-white beard.
His fingertips brushed through the thick, soft hair, producing a faint rustling sound that was particularly clear in the oppressive silence of the hall, like silent power stirring beneath the surface.
"This should have been done long ago… The Marines' hesitation before this dragged on far too long."
Saint Saturn sighed softly. His voice was deep and heavy, carrying a trace of dissatisfaction and reflection.
He nodded slightly, his eyes revealing approval toward the current decision.
"Now, the Seraphim research has already made a major breakthrough. At the current pace, mass production will be possible before long. Once that succeeds, whether it is those arrogant pirates or the powerful combat forces relied upon by the so-called Seven Warlords of the Sea, they will all be as insignificant as ants before us."
At that point, a sharp gleam flashed in his eyes, filled with certainty toward future victory.
"And we must also settle the debt from the last time Whitebeard and Big Mom made us bleed."
Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro, the Warrior God of Finance, sat nearby, toying with a pure-gold World Government emblem in his hand.
The emblem was exquisitely crafted, its pattern lifelike and dignified, displaying the supreme authority of the World Government.
When he heard the topic of revenge, he suddenly pressed the emblem heavily against the table, producing a dull thud, as though declaring his resolve.
"Rest assured. The blood we shed will not have flowed in vain. Those who dared offend us will certainly pay a painful price for it!"
Saint Nusjuro's eyes were firm and cold, his tone decisive.
After a moment of silence, he slowly spoke again.
"Twenty years. Ever since that world-shaking Ohara Incident, the Marines have become more and more disobedient, more and more difficult to control."
His brows furrowed tightly. Recalling the many past incidents that had displeased him, his heart filled with worry and resentment.
Saint Topman Warcury, the Warrior God of Justice, sat quietly with a thick stack of documents spread out before him.
Those files recorded all manner of "derelictions of duty" committed by the Marines over the past ten years. Every word, every figure, was like a sharp blade stabbing into his heart.
He lightly adjusted his glasses, shifted his gaze away from the documents, and looked at the others.
"If not for the enormous threat brought by the Eternal Divine Kingdom this time, with that stubborn old man Sengoku's personality, he would likely have continued clinging to his so-called 'moderate justice.'"
His words carried undisguised contempt and criticism toward Sengoku's methods.
Saint Shepherd Ju Peter, the Warrior God of Agriculture, had remained silent all this time, merely watching the projection screen intently.
Only when the image suddenly switched to the striking slogan of "Absolute Justice" that Akainu had left behind before his death did he seem to be triggered by something. He finally spoke.
"Akainu's style may have been rather extreme, but at the very least, he understood deeply what true order means."
In the deep shadowed corner of the hall, the Commander-in-Chief of CP0 stood respectfully with his head lowered.
His body was straight as a pine, motionless like a statue.
Yet beneath his mask, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, revealing an almost imperceptible smile.
As the head of the intelligence organization that answered directly to the Five Elders, he understood everything here better than anyone.
No one knew better than him that this Kill Order should have been implemented long ago.
Now, as long as someone displeased him, he could casually brand that person a pirate, then issue an order to kill them without question.
...
The New World.
The boundless sea stretched out like an enormous sheet of blue silk, now dyed freely by the sinking sun.
Blood-red light spilled down, covering the entire ocean in a dazzling yet faintly murderous atmosphere.
Twelve magnificent Marine warships sailed across the waves with imposing might.
They were like a pack of steel beasts, mercilessly cutting through the sea.
The warships had formed a sharp wedge formation and advanced at full speed with overwhelming momentum.
Their indestructible steel bows slammed fiercely into the surging waves. Every impact seemed to declare their unstoppable determination to the sea.
The splashing water broke into countless white bubbles, dragging a long, continuous trail beside the ships like a white ribbon, especially striking against the blood-colored sea.
Within that grand formation, the flagship Blade of Justice stood out like a brilliant star, leading the entire fleet.
On its deck, Vice Admiral Momonga stood tall and upright.
The white Vice Admiral's coat draped over his shoulders snapped loudly in the fierce wind, like a fluttering battle flag, displaying his authority and courage.
His expression was solemn and cold as he slowly stretched out his hand and gripped his ancestral blade.
With that movement, the sword gradually slid free from its scabbard.
Beneath the afterglow of the setting sun, the blade flashed with a bone-chilling cold light. It was piercing and murderous, so sharp that no one dared look directly at it.
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