The Empty Throne remained vacant. The great hall remained steeped in deathly silence.
And yet, the bodies of the Five Elders—still prostrated on the ground—began to tremble uncontrollably, far more violently than before.
What they had received was too little… too fragmented.
And yet, within those broken pieces lay something terrifying enough to shatter everything they believed they knew.
That being… had been injured?
Burned by some kind of "flame"?
Had even felt… fear?
Was that why the order had been given—do not descend to the lower world—followed by such prolonged silence? Had it been… recovering?
No wonder… no wonder Gern Reginald Sigmar had been able to defeat Ethanbaron V. Nasujuro. No wonder there was such wariness!
"So… that's it…" Jaygarcia Saturn was the first to slowly raise his head.
He understood now why the command had been do not descend. It was the highest form of avoidance—a directive of absolute caution.
"That 'flame'…" Shepherd Ju Peter muttered, his voice dry.
"We must understand it!" Marcus Mars clenched his teeth, a ruthless glint flashing in his eyes. "Use every resource we have—Poneglyphs, ancient records, anything left behind—"
"Everything related to 'D.'… every forbidden legend… search it all!"
"Even if we have to overturn the very foundation of the Red Line, we will uncover the origin of that 'flame'—and its weakness!"
"If Gern can wield it… then we must understand it. Control it!"
Nasujuro remained silent, one hand slowly rising to touch his unblemished neck.
So that was it.
His defeat… had not been unjust.
"Then… the lower world…" Ju Peter turned toward Saturn, seeking a final decision.
Saturn slowly rose to his feet. Having knelt for so long, he casually brushed at his knees—as though dust might be there, even if none was.
"The command was do not descend," he said evenly.
"That means we—and the God's Knights, and the highest-level forces of CP0—are forbidden from personally entering the lower world to engage Gern and his core forces in direct confrontation."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the other four.
"But that does not mean we can do nothing."
"Have the CP agencies go deeper underground. Focus all efforts on gathering intelligence—on Gern, on the 'Heavenly Calamity,' on that 'flame.'"
"Infiltration. Bribery. Division. We will use the methods we excel at—corrode his new system from within."
"Contact the nations that still remain loyal to the World Government. Especially those in the New World—countries outside Marine influence, or those who fear his independence."
"Provide them with covert support. Turn them into thorns that will bleed the Marines' strength."
"And…"
"Pirates."
"Especially… those few 'Emperors.'"
"The balance… has already been broken."
After the Five Elders departed, just beyond the door of the Hall of Authority—
Behind it lay a place that only the most trusted attendants were permitted to enter:
The "Room of Flowers."
And yet, what lay within bore no resemblance to the image outsiders might imagine—no grand throne, no divine figure calmly orchestrating the world.
Instead—
It was an unnatural garden.
A place that seemed to exist outside the laws of reality itself, where strange flowers and exotic plants bloomed eternally in impossible abundance.
At this moment, at the very center of that sea of blossoms—
Upon a couch woven from soft vines and glowing flowers—
A figure lay curled in agony.
At the center of the wound on its left shoulder blade was a clean, unmistakable slash.
And along the edges of that cut—
Countless tiny "sparks" were embedded, clinging stubbornly to the boundary between wound and flesh.
They were minuscule.
And yet, they radiated an "aura" utterly incompatible with everything in this garden—no, with the very existence of the one who lay there.
They were not hot.
And yet, they burned—unceasingly.
Each time regenerative energy surged toward the wound, those golden-crimson sparks would erode it, canceling it out, devouring it—
Emitting faint, searing hisses.
The wound could not heal.
The pain looped endlessly.
"Ghh… ah…"
A suppressed groan slipped from the figure's throat.
The voice was neither male nor female.
Its right hand clutched tightly above the wound on its left shoulder.
This… was the true reason it had not appeared since that battle on the desolate island.
The reason it had even severed its usual connection with the Five Elders.
That single strike from Gern Reginald Sigmar—
It had not merely cut through Ethanbaron V. Nasujuro's body.
Through the link formed when that being descended—
It had reached deeper.
It had injured something far more fundamental.
A deeper "essence."
This kind of damage lay beyond what the so-called "blessing of immortality" could repair.
Because what had been attacked… was not life.
It was something more fundamental—
A rule.
A concept.
"Starlight Embers"—as if they existed for the sole purpose of burning concepts like dominion, eternity, and divinity.
At the same time—
A figure standing several meters away from the couch trembled faintly.
She wore garments resembling those of an ancient court attendant. Her face was veiled behind a thin layer of white silk.
Gunko Palace was one of the very few permitted to serve this being directly.
In her hands, she held a pure silver tray. Upon it rested a crystal cup filled with a shimmering liquid, along with a silk cloth soaked in rare floral dew.
In all her years of service…
She had never once seen that being display such… human-like pain.
Or weakness.
"My lord…"
Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
But that single murmur—
Was enough.
The figure on the couch trembled violently.
Then—slowly, stiffly—it turned its head.
Through the veil, Gunko Palace met a pair of inhuman eyes—dark crimson, patterned like spiraling rings.
Eyes that had always been empty. Detached. Viewing all things as beneath notice.
But now—
They burned with something else.
Frenzy.
Pain.
Fear.
"You!"
It spoke.
The voice was hoarse. Sharp. Stripped entirely of its usual hollow detachment.
"Go tell those five old relics!"
"I… I will not appear before that man again! Never!"
The words burst out—but as soon as they were spoken, it seemed to realize how weak they sounded.
It stopped abruptly.
The chaos in its crimson eyes deepened.
It gasped heavily. With each rise and fall of its breath, the wound on its shoulder flared—the golden-crimson sparks surging violently for an instant—
Drawing another stifled groan from its throat.
"No… no!" It shook its head violently. "You… you are useless!"
That accusation was not meant for the attendant before it—but for the Five Elders.
It was filled with displaced rage.
And bitter disappointment.
In its original design, the Five Elders—and the vast system under their control—were meant to handle 99.9% of the world's problems.
The remaining 0.1%…
Only then would it cast its gaze.
Or personally erase the anomaly.
But Gern—
And that strange "Starlight Ember" power—
Had completely exceeded that threshold.
"I need something stronger…" it muttered hoarsely. "I need… a Harald…"
"No… even Harald failed to wound me back then…"
"I need… a Gern."
Gunko Palace trembled even more violently.
She could barely comprehend what she was hearing.
Harald? Gern?
Did that being… require an enemy?
"My lord…" she whispered again, helpless.
"Go!"
Whether it was her reaction—or the burning agony in its shoulder—that finally snapped the last thread of its patience—
It suddenly raised its uninjured right arm and pointed toward the entrance of the garden, the motion twisted by pain.
"Find the descendants of Davy!!"
"I…"
"I will use him!!"