Mary Geoise, Red Line
The waiting hall of Pangea Castle was a place built to humble even gods. Its ceiling soared impossibly high, an expanse of carved stone and gilded arches designed to accommodate beings that surpassed a hundred meters in height—titans of legend, ancient weapons, and monsters the world preferred to forget. For a giant like King Harald of Elbaph, it should have felt spacious, even comfortable.
Yet tonight, it felt suffocating. Harald paced the length of the hall, each heavy step echoing like distant thunder against the polished marble floor. His massive frame, clad in regal giant attire etched with the runes of Elbaph, cast a long shadow beneath the towering braziers that burned with steady, smokeless flame. The walls were lined with colossal pillars carved in the likeness of forgotten kings and winged deities, their stone eyes watching in silent judgment.
This was not Harald's first time in the Holy Land. He had stood within Pangea Castle once before—years ago—when hope had still outweighed desperation. Back then, he had come as a king seeking a future for his people. He remembered kneeling before the Five Elders, the humiliation burning hotter than any battlefield wound. A king of giants, lowering his head, offering his very freedom.
" Make me your slave", he had said then. "Brand me, chain me, use me—if it means Elbaph may stand at the table of the world."
All so the giants would no longer be feared as mindless brutes, bred only for war. All so his people could walk the seas without the shadow of hatred following them. He had been willing to sacrifice himself, his pride, even his name—if it meant a future where giant children were not born already condemned.
Now, that memory tasted bitter. This time, Harald's resolve was sharper, heavier, forged not only of duty but also of fear. Ida.
Her name echoed in his mind with every step. His wife lay on the edge of death, her life slipping away despite all the healers, all the ancient remedies of Elbaph. The strength of giants meant nothing against a curse they did not understand. And if there was any place in the world that might hold forbidden knowledge, lost sciences, or unthinkable solutions…
It was here. The World Government. Harald clenched his massive fists, the metal of his gauntlets creaking under the strain. He would bow again if he had to. He would kneel. Beg. Threaten. Offer Elbaph's allegiance in full.
Anything. A deep, resonant creak cut through the hall. Harald stopped. The massive doors leading to the corridor of the Inner Sanctum slowly swung open, their ancient hinges groaning as though protesting what was about to unfold. A cold, oppressive presence seeped into the hall, heavier than the stone itself.
The Five Elders entered. At their head walked Saint Jaygarcia Saturn. Despite their comparatively small stature, the Gorosei dominated the space effortlessly. Their footsteps were soft, yet each one felt like a verdict being written. Shadows clung unnaturally to their robes, and the air itself seemed to grow tense, as though the world was holding its breath.
Harald turned fully to face them. A king of giants and the rulers of the world—standing once more beneath the same roof, for the same reasons, and yet for stakes far greater than before. This time, Harald was not just fighting for Elbaph. He was fighting for the woman he loved. And he was prepared to pay any price.
"Please, sit." Elder Saturn gestured calmly toward the center of the hall.
There were no chairs prepared for someone of King Harald's size—no throne, no concession, no attempt at courtesy beyond the words themselves. The implication was clear. This was not a meeting between equals.
Harald noticed. And chose not to care.
Without ceremony, the King of Elbaph folded his massive frame and sat cross-legged upon the polished marble floor. The stone groaned faintly beneath his weight, hairline cracks spiderwebbing outward, yet the hall itself endured. Across from him, the Five Elders took their places upon their raised, ornate seats, their movements unhurried, practiced—men who had never needed to rush anything in their lives.
For a moment, silence ruled the hall. Then Saturn spoke.
"It seems your long-cherished dream has finally begun to bear fruit, King Harald," he said, his voice smooth, almost indulgent. "For years now, you have carried out your duties faithfully under the banner of the World Government."
Harald's fists clenched.
"Does that mean Elbaph will finally have a place among the nations of the World Government?" he blurted out, the words escaping him before Saturn had even finished. A soft chuckle echoed through the chamber.
"Impatient, are we?" Elder Nusjuro said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That is unbecoming of you, King Harald—especially with the status that will soon be bestowed upon you."
Harald frowned, confusion flashing across his features as he turned toward the elder.
"Status…?" he repeated.
Elder Nusjuro leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp.
"You are aware that the seas have entered a period of upheaval," he continued. "Unforeseen variables. Shifting powers. Because of these changes, a position among the God's Knights has recently opened." The words settled heavily in the air.
"After extensive consideration," Nusjuro went on, "it has been decided that you will be granted this honor." He paused—just long enough for the weight of it to sink in. "King Harald of Elbaph, you will be bestowed with the position of a God's Knight."
The hall seemed to fall silent. Harald sat frozen, his massive form utterly still. Of all the outcomes he had prepared himself for—demands, compromises, humiliations, even chains—this had never crossed his mind.
A God's Knight.
The true elite of the Holy Land. Executioners, arbiters, and guardians of the Celestial Dragons themselves. Even among the nobles, they were untouchable. To be named one was to stand frighteningly close to the heart of power.
"This…" Harald finally rumbled, his voice low and disbelieving. "A God's Knight…? Me?" He looked from one elder to the next, searching for any hint of mockery. "Are you certain?"
"Why?" Elder Mars asked coolly, his gaze piercing. "Are you not interested?" Mars leaned back slightly, folding his hands. "I was under the impression that you wished to serve the World Government. To be part of its structure. Was that not your desire, King Harald?"
The Elders already knew the answer. Harald exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
"No—no, that is not what I meant," he said carefully. "I am… surprised. To be granted such a prestigious position before Elbaph itself has joined the World Government—this is beyond what I expected."
He lifted his head, meeting their gazes squarely. "Does this mean," he asked, unable to keep the urgency from his voice, "that once I take this position… Elbaph will be officially recognized as a World Government nation?"
The question lingered in the air. The elders exchanged subtle glances—measured, knowing. Harald did not see it. He saw only the possibility that a lifetime of sacrifice might finally mean something. And he did not yet realize the true cost of the honor being offered.
"So tell us, King Harald," Elder Saturn said, rising smoothly from his seat as he began to walk toward the giant king, "are you willing to accept the opportunity we are prepared to bestow upon you?"
Harald did not hesitate. "Yes—yes!" he answered at once, his voice thick with barely contained emotion. "If serving until the end of my days will allow Elbaph to stand among the nations of the World Government, then I will do it gladly. Tell me—what must I do to become a God's Knight?"
His massive hands pressed into the marble floor as he leaned forward, eyes alight with fervor. To him, this was the culmination of a lifetime of sacrifice—years of bending pride, of swallowing humiliation, of standing alone so that his people might one day stand equal with the rest of the world.
Elder Saturn regarded him with a gentle, almost paternal smile. "Well," he said softly, "before that… there is someone you must meet." He turned, his cloak whispering as it brushed the stone.
"Only after meeting the Great One can the title of God's Knight be granted. And the mark you currently bear…" Saturn glanced meaningfully at Harald, "…is not worthy of one who is to stand among the God's chosen."
Without offering further explanation, Saturn began walking toward the corridor leading deeper into the inner sanctum, gesturing faintly for Harald to follow. One by one, the remaining Elders rose from their seats and fell into step behind him, their expressions unreadable.
Harald watched them go, his heart pounding like a war drum. The Great One?
Questions stirred at the edge of his mind—but excitement drowned them out. Was this the commander of the God's Knights? Some ancient hero? A living symbol of the World Government's might?
Whatever the answer, Harald believed he was about to stand before someone who could change the fate of Elbaph forever. He pushed himself up to his full height, the chamber trembling faintly beneath his movement, and followed.
As he walked, anticipation surged through him, every step filled with awe and purpose. This was the Holy Land's deepest sanctum. Few in the world had ever walked this path—and fewer still had done so not in chains.
This is it, Harald thought. For Elbaph. For Ida. For our future.
The towering doors of the throne room loomed ahead, and the King of the Giants strode forward without fear—unaware that the destiny awaiting him beyond those doors would cost him far more than he had ever imagined.
The corridor beyond the waiting hall was vast and austere, its white stone walls carved with ancient reliefs—wars without names, figures kneeling before faceless silhouettes, symbols eroded by time yet heavy with meaning. Even for Harald, whose homeland was built on myth and legend, the weight of history here felt oppressive, as though the walls themselves were listening.
The Five Elders walked ahead in a measured formation, their footsteps echoing softly. Harald followed close behind, his long strides restrained out of respect, though excitement thrummed through his chest like a second heartbeat.
"As a God's Knight," Elder Saturn began without turning, his voice calm and unhurried, "your duty will be simple in principle, yet absolute in execution." Harald leaned in slightly, attentive.
"You will serve directly under the Great One," Saturn continued. "Their will supersedes nations, laws, and kings. When that will is spoken, you act. Without hesitation. Without question." Elder Mars glanced sideways at Harald, gauging his reaction.
"You will be an enforcer of balance," Mars added. "When the world tilts too far in one direction—when forces arise that threaten the order we have cultivated for eight centuries—you will be dispatched to correct it."
"Pirates," Elder Warcury said bluntly. "Revolutionaries. Rogue kings. Even entire bloodlines, if necessary."Harald's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
"For Elbaph," he said firmly. "If this is the price, I will pay it." A faint smile touched Elder Nusjuro's lips. "A predictable answer," he murmured. "You will also serve as a symbol, King Harald. Your very presence will remind the world that even the mightiest race has bent the knee willingly."
Harald did not bristle at that. If anything, his resolve hardened. "If my kneeling allows my people to stand," he replied, "then history may judge me however it wishes."
The elders exchanged glances—brief, knowing. "You will not be a slave to us Elders, you will only answer to the Great One," Saturn said smoothly, as if anticipating the thought. "You will be a chosen blade. Granted authority, resources, and protection beyond what most can imagine."
As they walked, Harald's gaze drifted briefly to his arm, where the faint mark he bore rested beneath cloth and armor. He felt it then—a subtle pressure, like a distant hand resting upon his soul. It did not hurt. It did not threaten.
It waited.
Unbeknownst to him, the shallow covenant etched into his flesh had already bound him. Even with ancient giant blood roaring through his veins, even with a will that had shaken battlefields, defiance here—this close—would be little more than an illusion. The Elders knew it. And Harald, lost in visions of Elbaph's future, did not.
"You will be required to answer summons without delay," Saturn went on. "There will be no refusals. No negotiations. Your life, from this moment forward, will no longer belong solely to you."
Harald stopped for half a step—then continued walking. "I understand," he said quietly.
The corridor began to widen, the air growing colder and heavier. Ahead, massive doors loomed, adorned with symbols older than any kingdom Harald knew. Elder Saturn slowed and turned slightly, his expression serene.
"Serve well, King Harald," he said. "And your people will prosper beneath the World Government's shadow."
Elder Saturn stepped aside, one palm lifting in a courteous gesture toward the towering doors of the throne room. The motion was polite—measured—but it was not meant for King Harald.
It was meant for the one who waited beyond. The great doors began to open.
A deep, resonant groan rolled through the hall as ancient mechanisms awakened, stone and adamant shifting apart inch by inch. Pale light spilled through the widening gap, cold and colorless, carrying with it a pressure that made even the air feel heavier.
Before Harald could push the doors fully open, Elder Nusjuro spoke one last time, his voice smooth yet weighted with meaning.
"King Harald," he said, inclining his head slightly, "allow me to congratulate you on this… exceptional opportunity. Few outside the Celestial Dragon lineage have been granted such honor in centuries."
A thin smile followed. "The Great One has high expectations of you. We trust you will live up to them." From the other side, Elder Warcury added, his tone firm, almost reverent, "You have labored long and hard for this, King Harald. Soon, you will be remembered as the king who changed Elbaph's history forever."
Harald's chest swelled. As the doors opened wider and he stepped forward, he spoke—his voice steady, resolute, filled with conviction.
"Actually," he said, "on the day Elbaph is formally welcomed into the World Government, I intend to abdicate the throne."
The words echoed softly through the vast chamber.
"I will devote myself fully to the duties of a God's Knight," Harald continued. "In my opinion… someone younger, someone purer, deserves to guide Elbaph into this new era."
He did not notice it at first. The subtle pause. The way the Elders stopped walking. The way their gazes shifted—not toward him, but forward. Upward.
"—That," a voice said, soft and perfectly clear, cutting through the space like a blade through silk, "is for Imu to decide."
King Harald froze mid-step. The sound did not echo, yet it filled the throne room completely, resonating not in the ears but in the bones. His breath caught. Slowly—almost unwillingly—his gaze lifted toward the source. And then he saw it. At the far end of the colossal chamber rose the throne.
The Empty Throne.
A symbol known to every king and ruler in the world—a monument to the lie of equality, to the claim that no single sovereign ruled above all others. A seat no one was ever meant to occupy.
And yet— Someone sat upon it.
A small figure, utterly dwarfed by the immense throne, yet somehow making it seem as though the throne itself existed for them. Draped in shadow, their form was slender, indistinct, cloaked in darkness that bent the light around it. The air near the throne seemed warped, as if reality itself hesitated to intrude.
Despite the vast distance, Harald felt it. A gaze. Calm and absolute. Unavoidable. His heart slammed violently against his chest. This presence was nothing like the Elders. Nothing like any king, pirate, or any giant warrior Harald had ever stood before. His instincts—those honed through centuries of giant blood and countless battles—screamed at him to kneel, to bow, to submit.
The Elders had already done so. Every one of them stood lowered now, heads inclined toward the throne. Only Harald remained standing. His massive hands trembled—not with fear alone, but with awe so profound it bordered on terror.
The Empty Throne… isn't empty.
The truth struck him like a thunderbolt. This was no commander of the God's Knights. No symbolic leader. This was the axis upon which the world turned. And as Harald stood there, dwarfed not by size but by existence, he realized—far too late—that the future of Elbaph, his throne, and even his own will… no longer belonged to him.
"Why…?" King Harald staggered back a half step, the word tearing from his throat as disbelief crashed over him like a tidal wave. "Why is someone sitting on the Empty Throne…?"
His voice echoed uselessly through the vast throne room. No one answered.
The Five Elders remained kneeling, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the cold marble. Not one of them looked at Harald. Not one dared acknowledge the question. Their silence was heavier than any accusation—confirmation through omission.
Then the voice came again. "Come closer." It was soft. Calm. Absolute.
"We have been watching you for a very long time, King of the Giants," the voice continued, resonating not through the air but directly within Harald's skull. "Your time to serve me has finally come."
Harald did not remember walking. He only realized he had moved when he found himself standing at the base of the throne, mere steps away from it. His colossal form loomed over kingdoms, yet here—here he felt impossibly small. The throne towered above him, and the figure seated upon it seemed to eclipse the world itself.
"You are finally worthy," Imu said. "Raise your arm. Let me brand you with my mark—the sign of your eternal loyalty."
Harald's heart thundered. Every instinct screamed at him to resist. To demand answers. To ask what this being was, and why the world had been built atop a lie. But his body betrayed him.
Slowly—mechanically—his arm rose.
The cloth fell away, exposing the faint sigil of the shallow covenant already etched into his flesh. The moment it was revealed, the mark pulsed, glowing faintly, as though responding to its master's presence.
A black grimoire materialized in the air before the throne, its pages turning on their own, symbols older than language burning into existence. The temperature in the room plummeted as a massive ritual circle spread beneath Harald's feet, inscribed in abyssal runes that drank in the light.
Black flames erupted—cold, devouring fire—while smoke poured upward like a living thing clawing toward the ceiling.
"Accept my blessing without resistance," Imu commanded. "Prove your undying loyalty to me."
Harald wanted to scream no. He wanted to fight—to unleash his will, to reject this unseen chain tightening around his soul. But another memory surfaced.
I would become a slave if it meant saving Elbaph.
He had said it. He had meant it. And so—he let go. The moment his resistance vanished, agony unlike anything he had ever known tore through him. Power and pain flooded his body simultaneously, shattering him from the inside out. His knees slammed into the marble as the ritual circle flared violently, cracks spiderwebbing outward through the throne room floor.
"AaaaAAAAAAAHHHH—!!!"
Harald's roar shook the Holy Land itself. Conqueror's Haki exploded outward in a cataclysmic storm, black lightning ripping through the air, tearing through walls, spires, and towers beyond Pangaea Castle. The sky above Mary Geoise split with thunder as the will of a king ascended into something far greater.
His body changed. Ancient giant blood ignited, reforged by the covenant. Muscles swelled with unnatural density. His presence warped the space around him, his very existence pressing down like a divine judgment. This was no longer merely an ancient giant—this was an undying titan.
The throne room trembled under the sheer pressure of it.
Even the Five Elders recoiled, sweat beading on their brows as they struggled to remain upright beneath the overwhelming momentum pouring off Harald's kneeling form. Their centuries of composure cracked under the weight of what was being born before them.
Only Imu remained unmoved. From atop the throne, they watched with mild, distant interest—as one might observe a tool being reforged. The loss of Poseidon had been… inconvenient. But now, a replacement stood before them. Stronger. Obedient. Bound.
And through him—the might of Elbaph.
The screams finally faded. The ritual circle dimmed. The black flames hissed and receded into nothingness. Smoke dissolved into the air, leaving silence in its wake. Harald remained kneeling, trembling. He could feel it.
The power coursing through his veins was unfathomable—far beyond anything he had ever wielded. He had crossed blades with monsters. With legends. With the likes of Rocks and Roger.
But this… This made him feel divine. Like a god wearing the skin of a king. High above, upon the throne that was never meant to be occupied, Imu watched. And smiled—ever so faintly.