Chapter 67: Undercurrents in the Chaos
Hancock's sudden, seething fury was a vortex in the maelstrom of battle. The casual mention of 'Celestial Dragons' and 'Marine headquarters' had struck a nerve buried deep beneath layers of narcissism and royal arrogance. Her Conqueror's Haki, usually a tool of domination, flickered around her like unstable lightning, a sign of deep emotional turmoil.
Levi watched her reaction, his expression unchanged. He had not, in fact, seen the mark. His Reiatsu Perception was not a visual scanner; it read spiritual composition, not physical brands. But her soul had a specific scar—a deep, lingering terror and hatred tied to a specific kind of authority. Connecting that to the known history of the Celestial Dragons and their slaves was an easy deduction. Her explosive reaction now was all the confirmation he needed.
"What I 'got' is irrelevant," Levi said, his voice cutting through her spiritual agitation. "What matters is what the world would get if certain information became public. The proud Empress, a former slave of the very system she's forced to cooperate with. Your island's protected status, your Shichibukai title… it all hinges on that secret staying buried, doesn't it?"
He took a step closer, and the chaotic sounds of the battle around them seemed to fade, enclosed in a bubble of their tense standoff. "You think you're paddling through this war? You're not. You're treading water in a shark-infested ocean. One misstep, one show of clear disobedience, and the World Government has all the leverage they need to make your worst nightmare a public spectacle. Or worse, to retake what they once owned."
Hancock's face paled beneath its perfect complexion. The fear was raw, primal. It wasn't fear of Levi, not directly, but fear of the cage his words represented. The cage she had escaped, only to find herself in a larger, more gilded one.
"Why are you telling me this?" she hissed, her hands curling into fists, the sweetheart substance forgotten.
"Because I dislike waste," Levi replied calmly. "Your power, your position, your hatred for the Celestial Dragons… it's a resource. Currently, it's a resource being squandered on performative defiance and narcissistic posturing. You could be more."
"You want to use me?" she spat, the words laced with venom.
"Everyone is used," Levi stated, a cold pragmatism in his eyes. "The World Government uses you as a political tool and a leash on the Calm Belt. Your people use you as a protector and a symbol. The question is, who will you allow to use you, and for what purpose? A purpose that benefits only distant tyrants, or one that might, eventually, lead to burning the very chains you fear?"
He wasn't offering freedom. He was offering a different master, one who acknowledged the chain and suggested it could be wielded as a weapon instead of just endured. It was a dark, manipulative pitch, but for someone in Hancock's position, it was also a recognition of her trapped reality.
"I serve no one!" she declared, but the defiance rang hollow, even to her own ears.
"You already do. The difference is, I'm telling you the price upfront." Levi's gaze shifted over her shoulder, toward the colossal figure of Little Oars Jr. who was wreaking havoc near the bay entrance. "For now, the price is doing your job. Actually doing it. That giant is a problem. Deal with him. Prove your 'usefulness' isn't just a political fiction. We'll talk about future transactions later."
He didn't wait for her answer. He simply turned and began walking away, his path once again cutting through the battle with preternatural ease, pirates and Marines alike unconsciously giving him a wide berth.
Hancock stood frozen for a long moment, trembling with a cocktail of rage, fear, and a terrifying, unwelcome spark of… possibility. Levi's words were a poison, but they were also a mirror, showing her the futility of her current act. With a snarl that held more despair than anger, she whirled around, her focus sharpening on the distant giant.
"Mero Mero…"
Meanwhile, Levi continued his "supervision," a walking paradox of calm in the heart of violence. His mind, however, was cataloging.
He saw Aokiji, now fully engaged, flash-freezing entire groups of pirates with casual gestures, his face impassive. Controlled power. Detached. A man waiting for a cause worth his full commitment.
He saw Kizaru, a blur of light and devastating laser shots, trading blows with Marco in a dazzling aerial duel. Efficient, lazy brilliance. Motivated by convenience, not ideology.
He saw Akainu, a volcano given human form, marching implacably forward. His magma fists incinerated pirates who charged him, but his eyes were fixed on a larger goal—carving a path through the division commanders toward Whitebeard himself. Unwavering, brutal focus. A weapon that believes in its own righteousness.
And he saw Whitebeard. The epicenter. Even from a distance, the Emperor's spiritual presence was a sunspot—immensely powerful, but flickering, straining at the edges. He fought with economy, letting his sons handle the lesser threats, conserving his earth-shattering power for the decisive moments. But Levi's enhanced perception could see the tiny fractures in his soul, the toll of age and sickness being held back by sheer, monumental will.
He's a dam holding back a lake, Levi thought. When he breaks, the flood will be catastrophic. My role is to channel that flood, to ensure it washes away only what I choose.
His Reiatsu Perception tickled at the edge of his awareness. A familiar, raging spiritual signature was moving erratically on the far left flank—Monkey D. Luffy. He'd escaped Impel Down, and true to form, had plunged headfirst into the war. He was a chaos agent, a variable. But for Levi's purposes, a useful one. Luffy's very presence would draw attention, create diversions.
A thunderous crash drew his attention back to the center. Little Oars Jr., having swatted aside another squad of giants, was now being engaged by a coordinated assault of Pacifistas and Vice Admirals. And joining the fray, moving with lethal, petrifying grace, was Boa Hancock. Her attacks were no longer half-hearted. They were precise, brutal. She was following through, turning her frustration and fear into focused violence against the giant.
Good, Levi noted. The first adjustment.
He stopped walking, having reached a vantage point on a slightly raised section of fractured plaza. From here, he had a clear view of the execution platform, the Admiral's positions, and the main thrust of the Whitebeard Pirates' advance.
Sengoku's voice boomed from above, giving orders, adjusting formations. Garp remained a statue of anguish beside Ace. The clock was ticking down.
Levi closed his eyes for a moment, not to rest, but to feel. He felt the ebb and flow of thousands of battling souls. He felt the simmering tension among the Warlords. He felt the cold, watching gaze of the Five Elders through the Den Den Mushi lenses. And he felt the subtle, spiritual threads he had begun weaving in Impel Down—a network of potential control, lying dormant.
The war was a symphony of destruction. He had no intention of being just another instrument. He was the composer, listening, waiting for the precise moment to introduce the motif that would redefine the entire piece.
He opened his eyes. The finale was approaching. And he was ready to conduct.
(End of Chapter)
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