Chapter 35: The Eve of Carnage
Mary Geoise was a city built on silence.
The streets were clean, the gardens manicured, the slaves who worked the estates trained to move without sound. But in the upper districts, behind walls that shut out the world, a different kind of noise had taken hold. Servants rushed through marble corridors, their arms loaded with gilded trunks and silk‑lined crates. Voices echoed—not in fear, but in excitement.
The triennial hunt was approaching.
Saint Top leaned back in his chair, watching his servants pack. His son, Marcos, a boy of ten with oiled hair and a permanent pout, tugged at his sleeve.
"Father, did you remember my pistol?"
"Of course, my dear." Top gestured to a small case on the table. "Sea Stone and ivory. The finest workmanship. You'll have the best shot on the island."
Marcos grabbed the case, opening it to admire the gleaming weapon. His eyes shone. "This time I'll get the fastest one. I'll mount it over my bed."
Top laughed and ruffled his son's hair. "That's the spirit."
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The fleet that left the Red Line was unlike any ordinary naval convoy.
Dozens of Marine warships formed a protective ring around a core of gilded vessels—floating palaces draped in silk and gold leaf. At their masts flew the World Government's symbol, but everyone knew who truly commanded these waters.
Aboard the largest of the ornate ships, the Celestial Dragons gathered. Their bubble helmets caught the sunlight, sealing them away from the "common" air they refused to breathe. They laughed, drank, pointed at the sea below as if it were a diorama built for their amusement.
At the fleet's head sailed the God's Knights, their cloaks stark white against the blue. Their leader, a man with a crescent of silver hair, stood at the prow, his face unreadable. Behind him, CP agents moved through the shadows of the ships, silent and watchful.
The fleet crossed the Calm Belt with ease, its passage unchallenged. No sea king would dare approach such a concentration of power.
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God Valley rose from the sea like a jewel.
Its forests were dense, its waterfalls clear, its towns peaceful. Farmers worked the fields. Children played in the streets. They had no navy, no army to speak of—only the quiet prosperity of a nation that had never known war.
When the fleet appeared on the horizon, they gathered at the docks, curious. Some waved, thinking it a diplomatic mission from a distant ally.
They did not understand what was coming.
The God's Knights descended first. They moved with practiced efficiency, fanning out through the towns, the fields, the forests. There was no warning, no declaration. Only blades drawn, guns raised.
The slaughter was swift.
Soldiers who tried to resist were cut down before they could form a line. Families who tried to flee were cornered in their homes. The streets that had been filled with life ran red within the hour.
On the flagship, Saint Top lifted a glass of wine to his son. "A fine warm‑up, wouldn't you say?"
Marcos nodded eagerly, his small pistol already in hand. "When can I go down, Father?"
"Soon. Let them clear the stage first."
The massacre continued. By the time the sun reached its zenith, God Valley was silent. Its towns were rubble. Its fields were ash. The only sounds were the crackle of flames and the weeping of those who had been herded into pens for later use.
The Celestial Dragons descended in their bubble cable cars, their feet touching ground that was still wet with blood. They did not look at the bodies. They walked over them as one might step over cobblestones.
Slaves were brought ashore to set up tents, to lay out tables of food and wine. The "competition" would begin at dawn, but the celebration began now.
Saint Top handed his son a freshly loaded pistol. "Go, my boy. Practice on the stragglers. Make your shots count."
Marcos ran into the forest, laughing.
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From a ridge miles away, a telescope tracked the boy's progress.
Shiki lowered the glass, his grin sharp. "The gods are having their party." He turned to the shadowed figure behind him. "Rocks, you sure about this? The Marines will come. Garp, Sengoku—they won't ignore a direct attack on the Celestial Dragons."
From the darkness, a voice answered, low and certain. "That's the point."
Shiki's smile widened. He raised his hand, and the fleet behind him began to move.
On the island below, the Celestial Dragons drank and laughed, unaware that the hunters were about to become the hunted.
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End of Chapter 35