Leaving the office of the First Branch, Rosen's expression remained calm, but his mind was already working. Transportation—how to move, how fast, how decisively—was the next problem to solve.
A warship?
Too slow. By the time he reached his destination, Tesoro would have reinforced his defenses or vanished altogether.
Douglas Bullet's B-2 bomber? Built from the Fusion-Fruit, formidable in design, but flawed.
That craft was born of a Devil Fruit, dependent on its user's will and its own peculiar "fuel." Unless the devil's offspring followed to sustain it, it could not be relied upon.
Germa's vessels? Vinsmoke Judge's technology was indeed faster than Sengoku's self-propelled warship, but it remained a matter of days before it could reach Golden Island. In operations where the margin of success was decided by hours—or less—days were unacceptable.
Rosen's brows drew together. "If only there were a Teleportation Fruit… or the Door-Door Fruit."
He made a mental note to instruct Doflamingo: keep eyes open, seize either fruit if it surfaced. But such luxuries were for the future. The present required immediate, absolute mobility.
His answer was the same as always.
"Domineering."
A calm thought turned into a surge. His Armament Haki, bottomless and violent, erupted from within like a flood breaching a dam. It climbed into the sky as a column of violet light, piercing the heavens and vanishing into the sea of clouds.
Bathed in that light, Rosen's body lifted into the air. His form dissolved upward into the brilliance, drawn higher and higher until the world below shrank to a distant shore.
A single flash.
The beam twisted, expanded. Out of it stepped a figure so vast it seemed to belong not to the earth but to some higher plane.
Two hundred meters of steel-like Haki, armored and complete. A giant warrior, a Susanoo in its perfect form, a god of battle clothed in Armament.
From its forehead, a diamond-shaped crystal gleamed—Rosen within, seated at its core. The wings folded behind the giant opened with a thunderous beat, each feather like a blade of violet fire.
Below, at the naval base, the training marines faltered. Shadows fell over their parade ground, the sun swallowed whole by a pair of wings stretching wider than the heavens themselves.
"What is that—!?" one voice broke.
"Complete Susanoo…" another whispered, breathless.
The wings flared. A gale ripped across the base, whipping banners from their poles. With the force of a storm, Susanoo launched skyward. Not lumbering, not heavy, but swift and precise—like a hawk piercing the clouds.
In an instant, it was gone. North Sea's sky swallowed the mountain-sized figure, and silence returned to the branch.
But the silence was not peace.
Inside one of the barracks, Douglas Bullet sat on a windowsill, watching the final streak of violet vanish into the distance. His fists tightened.
Susanoo again.
He remembered Impel Down. At that time, Rosen's Susanoo had been formidable, yes, but only partial—its fourth form. Even then, it was enough to awe.
But when Infinite Hell's gates fell and Bullet first stood before Rosen in the flesh, the man had unleashed something greater. Susanoo in full form, mountain-sized, a perfect construct of Armament.
Now it had grown still larger, rising from 180 meters to well over 200.
And Rosen used it not merely for war. He used it as transport.
Bullet's jaw clenched. It was more than arrogance; it was declaration.
A man so absolute in his Haki reserves, so immovable in his foundation, that consuming such power for something as simple as travel meant nothing to him.
"The man I swore to surpass…" Bullet muttered. His tone was not despairing, but it was edged with recognition. Recognition of the gulf that still yawned before him.
…
Golden Island.
Once nameless, forgotten, just another rock in the North Sea's endless chain. But with Gild Tesoro's arrival, the land had transformed.
Now it gleamed.
Golden mist shimmered over beaches and rivers. Trees sparkled under thin layers of ore. Even the soil glinted under sunlight. The entire island was gilded, as though money itself had claimed sovereignty.
Yet among the shine lay bones.
White skeletons half-buried in dunes. Rusted pirate banners impaled into gold-veined earth. Every shimmer of wealth was accompanied by a whisper of death.
Tesoro had not been idle.
Pirates, drawn by the scent of gold, had landed again and again. And one by one, they had remained forever—corpses feeding the island's cruel treasury.
And now, a day earlier, another visitor had arrived.
Not Rosen. Not the Navy.
But Donquixote Doflamingo.
At first, Tesoro prepared to bury him like all the rest. Golden tendrils surged, fists rising from the ground itself. Yet when his attack clashed, it was not with another faceless pirate.
The sky had erupted.
Threads of orange against fists of gold, each blow rattling the island. Doflamingo's strings carved the air, colliding with Tesoro's golden strikes in storms of sparks.
A stalemate. Then a break.
Tesoro struck, and Doflamingo was hurled back, boots tearing into the ground, earth splitting in his wake.
The Heavenly Yaksha's grin remained, but the gleam behind his glasses was sharp, not careless.
"Fuffuffuffu… Not bad."
"You've grown into that fruit well." His voice carried laughter, but also grudging recognition. "I underestimated you."
Tesoro straightened, golden light pulsing over his arm. "What's mine is mine. You couldn't keep it, Doflamingo. That proves one thing—that I am the rightful master of the Golden Fruit."
Arrogance radiated from him. Beneath it, ambition burned.
He had stayed low, yes. Hidden on this island, cultivating his power, biding his time. But he was not blind to the world beyond.
He knew Doflamingo's reach. He knew his reputation. The "King of the North Sea."
And yet—here he stood, unable to break him.
That, to Tesoro, was proof enough. Gold was supreme.
And soon, with gold, even the Celestial Dragons would kneel.
He sneered. His eyes fell to Doflamingo's collar.
"That chain on your neck—it suits you." His lips curled. "Shall I forge one in gold? At least then, your servitude would shine."
The air grew cold.
For a moment, blood vessels throbbed along Doflamingo's temple. But just as quickly, they faded. He laughed once, low.
"Pathetic. You think you're the hunter, but you don't even know the board you're standing on."
His strings retracted. He did not press forward.
Tesoro's brow furrowed. His attack had struck true. He had expected Doflamingo to break, to lash out. Instead, the warlord turned away.
"You'll see," Doflamingo said, voice dropping into a promise. His head tilted toward the sky. "Soon."
Tesoro followed his gaze.
And froze.
Light dimmed. The island darkened.
A shadow, vast and stretching, fell across Golden Island. At first he thought it was cloud.
Then his breath caught.
Not cloud. Wings.
Violet wings, so large they swallowed the sun, so immense they seemed like a second sky bearing down.
His pupils contracted to pinpoints.
The hunter had arrived.