Saint Warcury lifted his teacup slowly, the pale steam coiling upward like drifting spirits as his cold, obsidian eyes fixed on the man before him.
The room's quiet tension thickened, each breath steeped in the faint aroma of green tea and the suffocating weight of suppressed fury.
Steel Bone Kong met that gaze in silence.
He had expected arrogance from the Gorosei—but not this kind of arrogance. This was the arrogance of gods convinced they could not bleed.
And yet the truth was undeniable.
Yes, Your Excellencies… you have lost.
All five of you descended upon the North Blue together—and failed. That "brat," Rogers Darren, not only escaped your grasp, but butchered hundreds of Celestial Dragons and stole the Float-Float Fruit, the sacred prize of your so-called Hunting Competition.
The Holy Land itself lies in ashes, the "gods" you swore were untouchable reduced to charred corpses beneath his fleet's bombardment.
And I warned you.
Rogers Darren is no Zephyr. He's carved from wilder stone—born to defy, not to kneel. Crush him too hard, and he'll crush back twice as fiercely.
But you—blinded by your own divinity—marched to your doom.
A total, undeniable defeat.
Kong's jaw tightened. For a heartbeat, he wanted nothing more than to speak the words burning in his chest, to hurl every truth he'd swallowed over the years straight into their faces.
But he knew better.
He had served too long, cleaned too many of their messes, to forget what kind of monsters sat before him.
He forced his voice low and even.
"Your Excellencies, that's not what I meant," he began carefully. "But if this war continues unchecked, the Marines will fracture. Without the Marines to hold the world together, chaos will devour everything."
He raised his gaze, steady and firm.
"Kaido, Whitebeard, Big Mom—those three monsters in the New World are already circling like wolves. And Gol D. Roger… he's on the verge of reaching the Final Island."
"If we continue wasting our strength against Rogers Darren, we'll lose far more than this war."
He had expected logic to move them.
But the moment the words left his mouth, Saint Saturn's lip curled into a sneer.
"Pointless casualties? Are you implying that the hundreds of Celestial Dragons slaughtered by Rogers Darren—the nobles burned alive in the Holy Land—were meaningless deaths?"
The old man's gnarled hand clenched his cane. His eyes burned a deep, hellish red.
The air froze.
Kong's skull throbbed with pressure as if invisible claws were crushing his brain. His blood vessels screamed; crimson bled into his vision.
Evil Eye.
He gritted his teeth. "My subordinate only means that if this continues, Marine strength will collapse entirely!"
He staggered a step forward, voice rising. "And I warned you! I warned you all before this began—but you ignored me!"
The Gorosei's faces darkened in unison.
Killing intent poured from them like poison, flooding the chamber.
"Watch your tone, Kong!" one hissed. "Do not forget where you stand!"
"And why," another added coldly, "should we justify anything to you?"
"The Marines are nothing but the World Government's facade!"
"So what if their strength declines? Humans are insects—kill one, and ten more crawl out. Marines are the same."
"These minor setbacks mean nothing. They're less than a ripple in the World Government's eight-hundred-year history."
Each word dripped with disdain.
Kong's expression twisted darker with every syllable. His chest heaved, his massive hands curling into fists that could crush steel.
They sipped their tea without fear, lips curved in thin, amused smiles.
"Even you," one of them said softly, "cannot comprehend the depth of the World Government's eight-hundred-year legacy—"
"Eight-hundred-year legacy my ass!"
The roar exploded from Kong like thunder, shaking the chamber.
The Gorosei froze, teacups halfway to their lips. For once, they looked genuinely stunned.
This man—this loyal dog of decades—had just barked at the gods.
Before they could respond, Kong's fury finally broke loose.
"The Celestial Dragon Holy Land was almost breached! If I hadn't personally guarded Pangaea Castle, this entire chamber would be rubble!"
"The Holy Land outside is still in chaos! Your precious 'gods' are screaming and weeping in the streets!"
"Seventy percent of the armories—gone! Half the granaries—burned to ash! Hospitals overflowing! Riots and looting in the lower districts!"
"Five minutes ago, I was begging allied nations and trade caravans to send emergency food and medicine to your so-called sacred land!"
"And Morgans—yes, that Morgans—has already started printing tomorrow's headlines! Every secret you tried to bury will be in the hands of the world by morning!"
He slammed a massive fist against his chest, voice trembling with the force of his rage.
"So if you still have any hidden trump card, use it now! Stop sitting here, sipping tea, and boasting about your damn legacy!"
By the time he finished, his breath came in ragged bursts. But his body felt light—alive.
Like downing an ice-cold beer under a scorching sun, the rush of release sent a shiver of grim satisfaction through him.
For the first time in years, Steel Bone Kong felt free.
To be continued...