The Holy Land of Mary Geoise pulsed with life. Blue and white dominated the city—dazzling white walls, azure-tiled roofs, the scent of flowers floating on the breeze.
Fountains glittered at intersections. Flowerbeds, ornate streetlamps, and manicured hedges lined the avenues. Shops crowded shoulder to shoulder, their windows bursting with luxury—fine cigars, rare wines, delicate pastries, extravagant silks and jewels. Every display gleamed with obscene wealth.
Celestial Dragons strolled through the streets, bubble helmets gleaming, silk robes sweeping the marble walkways. Attendants flanked them, slaves chained behind—beautiful women, trembling youths, all crawling on the ground like beasts, eyes hollow.
The Celestial Dragons barked orders, cracking whips for sport, their victims' screams echoing through the spotless streets. None of the citizens looked twice. Shopkeepers continued arranging displays, faces serene.
When Darren entered Mary Geoise, he immediately felt the weight of concealed gazes watching him.
He ignored them, feigning curiosity as his eyes wandered over the splendor surrounding him. To the hidden watchers, he looked like a man dazzled by the holy city's majesty.
In truth, his Observation Haki was already spreading.
An invisible wave rippled out from him—low, steady, magnetic.
In a breath, the entire Holy Land lay within his awareness.
Unlike ordinary Observation Haki, Darren's merged with the Magnet-Magnet Fruit's magnetic field sensing. It didn't just catch life forces; it mapped everything—the metallic hum of armor, the current through streetlamps, even the pulse of hidden machinery beneath the earth.
Within moments, countless points of light blinked into his mind. A three-dimensional model of Mary Geoise rose in his thoughts like a shimmering hologram. Streets, plazas, fountains, rooftops—all rendered in perfect precision.
Then came the people: shopkeepers, nervous citizens, arrogant nobles, CP agents lurking in shadows—each flickering as colored dots in the map's shifting constellation.
"This is… interesting," Darren murmured, a thin smirk tugging at his lips. "So the Holy Land's power comes from slaves driving machines underground? How primitive."
His perception swept to the edges of the city—the sprawling warehouses, the glittering mansions of the so-called "Land of the Gods."
He fixed their positions firmly in memory, then slowly exhaled.
He still didn't know what the Gorosei intended to demand, but he harbored no illusions about their moral limits. Those five decrepit relics hadn't ruled for eight centuries through virtue.
No matter how carefully he'd built his network across the North Blue, Marine Headquarters, and the Shichibukai system, Darren knew he couldn't escape their notice forever. The World Government was too vast, too deeply rooted, its reach absolute. The Five Elders were no puppets.
He didn't know what trump cards those ancient monsters held. His glimpses of the future had limits.
But he would be ready.
If they wanted to play with fire, he'd make sure they burned for it.
And the information he'd gathered here today—about the heart of the Holy Land itself—might one day tip the scales.
Few ever set foot in Mary Geoise. Even Marine Admirals required explicit permission from the Government to walk these streets.
Feeling the shadows trailing him draw closer, Darren knew his time was short.
"So…"
His eyes narrowed. His Haki expanded once more, this time toward the towering Pangaea Castle in the distance.
If his earlier survey had been an appetizer, this was the feast.
Pangaea Castle—the heart of world power, home to the Gorosei… and perhaps even Imu, the unseen master of the Empty Throne.
But as his Observation Haki brushed the castle walls, something went wrong. His pupils constricted. His awareness simply—vanished.
Like a pebble swallowed by the ocean, his perception dissolved into nothing.
It was as if a void lay within that fortress—a black hole that devoured all.
"So… not that simple, is it?"
He frowned.
"Snooping into others' secrets with your Haki isn't a very good habit, Vice Admiral Darren."
The voice came from behind him—smooth, amused.
Darren stiffened, muscles coiling.
Someone had appeared directly behind him. Silently. Even with his Haki active.
"Relax. I mean no harm." The tone was light, teasing. "We may view most of the sea as ants… but you, Vice Admiral Darren, are different. You've earned a measure of respect."
"Is that so?" Darren muttered, his smirk returning as he turned slowly.
The sight that met him stopped him cold.
That face… strangely familiar.
The man looked no older than his early thirties, dressed in a regal crimson coat. His features were sharp, every line composed; though not tall, authority radiated from him like heat. A Western sword rested at his hip, his left hand idly touching its hilt.
But it was his hair that caught the eye—fiery red, styled into an upward crescent that framed his face like a blood-colored halo.
If not for the hair, he could have passed for a younger version of Red-Haired Shanks himself.
The street was empty. Every bystander had vanished, leaving only the man with the crimson crescent standing there, leaning casually against a white wall, smiling.
"A pleasure to meet you, Vice Admiral Darren," he said, stepping forward and offering a gloved hand.
"I am Figarland Garling, Vice Commander of the Knights of God…"
To be continued...