"What?"
"Master, are you kidding?"
"Dover, this can't be true."
"That thing isn't just decoration… it's a weapon?"
...
Aside from Trebol, who managed to stay composed, all of the Donquixote Family cadres were left dumbfounded by Doflamingo's words.
"Your master is absolutely right."
Just as Donquixote Doflamingo was about to explain, a deep voice interrupted the group. The Donquixote family turned toward the sound.
A towering figure, like a mountain in motion, approached from across the dock—Drought Jack, one of Kaido's three All-Stars.
"What's placed there... is indeed a weapon," Jack said coldly.
"It is the weapon of my True Lord."
"The Three-Pointed Double-Edged Sword."
As he uttered True Lord, even Doflamingo's crew could sense the pride, reverence, and absolute loyalty in his tone.
"Fufufufufu!"
"That's a weapon that tasted the blood of two admirals and two of the Five Emperors!" Doflamingo grinned, trying to mask his shock.
"That thing's far more precious than any famed blade. And Ragnar just left it here?"
"It's not the weapon that's powerful," Jack sneered.
"It's Lord Yang himself."
"It wasn't the sword that drew blood from emperors—it was him."
"If he wanted, he could summon ten more like it."
Jack knew this truth well—from Kaido's heir Jin, who had seen Ragnar in action during the Five Emperors Civil War.
The massive sword was merely a construct of Ragnar's mysterious Devil Fruit power—terrifying in both size and essence.
"What's more," Jack smirked, scanning the group, "who could steal it? Who'd even dare?"
The Donquixote cadres fell silent.
Jack was right.
A weapon over 300 meters tall, weighing thousands of tons—who on the Grand Line could even lift it, let alone wield it?
"Alright, Joker." Jack turned. "We should go."
"The True Lord has agreed to see you. Don't make him wait."
At Onigashima's pier, the once-feared Heavenly Yaksha was now standing obediently, not daring to act out of turn.
"Fufufufufu..."
"Jack, how embarrassing!"
"To think someone could humble you like this..."
Doflamingo took a deep breath. Though his signature smirk returned, his eyes sharpened—he noticed the thick bandages wrapping Jack's limbs.
"Who was it?"
Jack responded casually as they walked.
"Whitebeard Pirates."
"Seventh Division Captain."
"Raquel."
Doflamingo's steps faltered briefly.
"The Seventh Division captain?" he repeated, shaken.
"If he wasn't already injured, I doubt I could've taken him," Jack added without shame.
Despite his injuries, his voice brimmed with pride.
After all, he had defeated a direct subordinate of Whitebeard—an achievement worth boasting about.
"You went to Fishman Island?"
Doflamingo's calm exterior returned, but within him, a storm raged.
Fishman Island.
Of course, he had sent many subordinates to capture fishermen and mermaids, but that was all.
In fact, ever since Whitebeard publicly declared Fishman Island as his territory, neither the Seven Warlords of the Sea, the former Four Emperors, nor even the top brass of the Navy or World Government dared to set foot there again.
Because setting foot on Fishman Island was tantamount to declaring war on the strongest man in the world.
Even Ragnar—who had recently fought Whitebeard and even captured the First Division Commander, Marco, alive—couldn't help but inhale sharply when he learned the Beasts Pirates had launched a large-scale assault on Whitebeard's territory.
"Joker, you'd best not ask questions you shouldn't,"
Drought Jack suddenly stopped and slowly turned around:
"Since you've indeed provided Kaido-sama with considerable help over the years, I'll give you a word of advice."
"When you meet the True Lord later, you'd better put away your arrogance and keep your mouth shut."
"If you displease him, not even Kaido-sama's intervention will be enough to save you."
Jack glared down at Donquixote Doflamingo from his towering height.
Though the Heavenly Yaksha was no short man by any means,
before the Drought, he looked no more than an undergrown child.
"…I understand."
Doflamingo's body stiffened, and his usual unyielding swagger came to an abrupt halt.
But the arrogance he had accumulated over a lifetime—engraved in every step—made even his attempt at normal walking look like the exaggerated act of a clown.
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