Grand Line, Vodka Kingdom.
As a privileged World Government Member State, the Vodka Kingdom enjoyed the protections denied to non-members—Marines and Government forces pledged to defend it in any crisis.
In the vast Throne Hall, Longsmell lounged with a gold-banded cigar between his teeth, letting half-clothed attendants knead his shoulders. Upturned handlebar mustaches framed narrow eyes beneath a gaudy, ill-fitting crown set on a balding pate. His ceremonial robes could not hide his soft, overfed body.
He had no illusions about his own merit. He was not the sort of king who would lead a nation to prosperity. His proudest achievement was delivering that monster Kaido to the World Government and, by doing so, buying Vodka a seat at the World Conference.
Yes—Vodka was Kaido's birthplace.
At ten, Kaido had already been the kingdom's strongest warrior, brimming with zeal to serve his homeland. When that fierce, demon-eyed child strode into the Throne Hall, Longsmell had not felt joy at acquiring a champion. He had felt cold dread.
There was nothing in those eyes he could control.
So he made what he considered the wisest decision of his life: he betrayed Vodka's hero, selling Kaido to the Government and the Marines for human experimentation. Vodka's standing soared from one Member State among hundreds to a core nation with the right to attend the World Conference. The country remained poor and fractious, Heavenly Tribute a yearly agony to scrape together—but no outside power dared covet its territory anymore.
"Who says I lack talent?" he thought smugly. "Knowing my limits is a talent."
His mood brightened; his trousers stirred. A jeweled hand yanked a servant girl close—
BOOM.
The world split open. The Throne Hall's wall blew inward, brick and dust hurled like shrapnel. Fire bloomed; oily black smoke clawed at the sky.
Longsmell jolted, panic slamming his pulse flat. The bulge in his trousers vanished.
"What is happening?!"
The attendants screamed and scattered. An icier fear flashed through him.
Could that madman Kaido be back for revenge?
His forehead beaded cold. Armed soldiers stormed the hall. The Guard Captain, pale and sweating, shouted, "Y-Your Majesty, we're under attack!"
"Who? Is it Kaido?" Longsmell rasped.
The captain shook his head. "No. It's… a battleship."
Relief—because it wasn't Kaido—flared and died at once.
"What are our patrols and coastal batteries for—ornamentation? How could a battleship possibly invade the capital—"
He stopped. The color left his face.
It couldn't be—
He remembered the News Coo's paper from that morning, the name printed in fat black ink. A legendary Marine.
Impossible. Why would Rogers Darren come after the World Government—and what would he want with my country?
Before he could steady his breath, a cold voice rolled in from the sky beyond the shattered wall:
"North Blue Fleet Battleship Eight, arrived over the World Government Member State, Vodka Kingdom… awaiting inspection by His Majesty King Longsmell."
The words struck like sleet. Longsmell let the soldiers guide his shaking steps out to the observation deck.
Officials, guards, thousands of soldiers already crowded the terraces, faces white as plaster. Farther off, tens of thousands of civilians filled the boulevards, eyes fixed upward.
There was no armada. Against the hard blue of the sky hovered a single, sleek metal battleship.
A young figure stood at the bow, the white of a Marine Lieutenant Commander's coat snapping in the wind.
A Lieutenant Commander—commanding a ship like that?
Confusion flickered through Longsmell. Before the thought settled, the figure straightened—and an invisible pressure crashed down from above.
Boom.
Sky and earth dimmed. A gale ripped through the ruins of the Throne Hall and the streets for a kilometer around.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Soldiers' eyes rolled white; they dropped in waves. Officials collapsed like cut wheat. Longsmell gritted his teeth and clutched the captain's arm, fighting to stay upright, pride the last brittle plank beneath his feet. Terror gnawed his belly.
A mere Lieutenant Commander—and he wields Conqueror's Haki?
The officer raised a hand.
Beep… beep… beep… beep…
An electronic countdown ticked, cold and precise. The battleship's main gun gathered a furious, blinding gold.
BOOM.
The beam scythed down. The resplendent Throne Hall disintegrated in a single breath. Fire roared, smoke pumped skyward.
Longsmell and the ring of ministers gaped up at the ship, bodies trembling. They understood: that shot had been a warning.
This was a parade. But they were not the masters of this "invincible army."
The Lieutenant Commander raised his hand again.
Flames guttered, smoke billowed—and across the terraces, through the ranks of guards and the massed faces of the city, knees buckled. One by one, men and women sank, teeth clenched, and roared as one:
"The North Blue Fleet… is invincible throughout the world!"
To be continued...