Grand Line, somewhere at sea.
Baltigo.
Snow drifted softly from the clouds. Suddenly, shrill, distorted screams tore through the still air, growing louder by the second—
And then—
Figures plummeted from the sky like cannonballs, smashing into the snowy mountains one after another.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Four explosive impacts shook the island, avalanches spilling down the slopes in blinding waves.
"Damn it, Kuma! I told you to control your strength!"
Dragon's head popped out of a snowbank, a perfect paw-shaped dent imprinted on his forehead. He spat snow and cursed, his voice echoing over the frozen peaks.
A moment later, several other heads emerged from the drifts, eyes dazed and hair dusted white.
"My apologies," Bartholomew Kuma said, brushing snow off his head with a sheepish smile. "At this range, it's… difficult to control the Paw-Paw Fruit's power precisely."
Dragon glared at him, then sighed and flopped onto the ground, his limbs splayed in defeat.
"Who would've thought…" he muttered, voice low and grim. "The Gorosei—the supposed highest authority of the world—would have immortal bodies."
Anyone who'd witnessed that battle could feel it: the sheer despair of facing monsters that couldn't die.
"Well, at least we're still breathing," Ivankov said, shaking snow from his wig.
Dragon turned, remembering something. "Hey, Darren… you're still alive, right?"
Darren was half-buried in the snow, his body streaked with dried blood, breath rough but steady.
He pulled a bloodstained cigar from his coat, lit it with trembling fingers, and exhaled through clenched teeth. "Not dying yet."
He steadied his breathing, forcing strength back into his limbs while his sharp eyes swept across their surroundings.
White stretched endlessly in every direction. The island was frozen through, a perpetual winter wasteland much like Felsek.
No signs of life. No ships. Just an expanse of snow, sea, and jagged rock.
But even through the storm, Darren could make out the silhouettes of reefs hiding beneath the churning surf—a deathtrap for any ship unfamiliar with the waters.
This place was a fortress. Naturally defensible, nearly unconquerable. And the mountains offered cover enough to move unseen.
"Impressive," Darren murmured, taking a slow drag from his cigar. The acrid smoke stung his throat, but it steadied his thoughts. "So this is your Freedom Fighters' headquarters?"
At once, Dragon puffed out his chest, pride shining in his eyes. "Hahahaha! That's right!"
"I searched the entire Grand Line for this place. Baltigo—an uncharted Winter Island cloaked in snowstorms and hidden by deadly currents. No one finds it unless I want them to."
He spread his arms wide, his laughter echoing through the frozen air. "This island will become the heart of a revolution—a fortress for freedom that will shake the world!"
Darren stroked his chin, nodding slowly. "A good choice of location," he said evenly. "But you're lacking resources."
Dragon froze mid-laugh.
Kuma chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. Ivankov nodded in exaggerated agreement.
"At a glance," Darren continued, "you have no ports, no shipyards, no factories, no battleships, no training grounds… You're missing everything that makes an army."
He exhaled a thin trail of smoke. "At this rate, it'll take you five to ten years to become a threat to the World Government."
Dragon's face turned bright red. "Building an army isn't that simple! Especially one strong enough to—" He cut himself off, remembering the terrifying spectacle of the Flying Fleet.
Compared to Darren's aerial armada, his Freedom Fighters were… a handful of tents in the snow. The memory of those floating battleships pounding Mary Geoise still burned behind his eyes.
Darren's voice broke the silence. "Kuma, Ivankov. Heal me."
"H-hey! What about me?" Dragon barked, stepping forward indignantly. "I'm the one who's half-dead here!"
Darren glanced at him lazily. "I'll invest three billion berries into your Freedom Fighters' infrastructure."
Dragon froze.
A heartbeat later—"Kuma! Ivankov! What are you standing around for? Heal Darren-san immediately!"
Kuma: "..."
Ivankov: "..."
Darren took another puff, voice calm. "The North Blue Fleet will also provide technical and organizational support for your forces—training, structure, command systems."
Dragon's jaw went slack. Then his eyes turned wild.
"Damn it, what are you two waiting for? Use your powers now!" he shouted. "Kuma, extract all of Darren-san's fatigue—give it to me! I'll take it all! Every drop!"
"And you, Ivankov! Don't hold back—use every syringe! Darren-san's body can handle it! What's that? You can't? That's your problem!"
Darren: "..."
Kuma: "..."
Ivankov: "..."
A minute later, Darren was gone.
Blood stained the snow in splashes of scarlet. Kuma and Ivankov stood pale and shaking, too exhausted to speak.
They edged forward, looking at the lone figure still standing amid the blood.
"Leader," Kuma asked cautiously, "are you… alright?"
Dragon stood rigid, arms crossed, blood dripping from a dozen wounds.
"D-did it… go through?" he asked weakly.
Kuma hesitated, then nodded.
Dragon inhaled, trying to look composed. "N-nothing happened."
Kuma and Ivankov exchanged glances, eyes shining with admiration.
"You've truly endured so much, Leader," Kuma said sincerely, patting him on the shoulder.
The instant his hand touched him, Dragon's entire body spasmed like he'd been struck by lightning.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
His scream of agony echoed across the frozen island of Baltigo.
To be continued...