Dora dragged in a slow breath. The storm within her did not vanish—it compressed. Condensed into something far more volatile.
"Where is Hajruddin?" she asked again, her voice rough but steadier now. "I understand Loki is imprisoned… but Hajruddin should be here."
Her fingers brushed gently over Ida's knuckles as she spoke, as though anchoring herself to the warmth that still remained. Jarul stepped closer, the weight of his years evident in the lines of his face.
"He has gone to sea," the old warrior said. "To Saint's Island. He is searching for a cure."
Dora's head snapped up. "Saint's Island?" she repeated.
A sanctuary of healing in the heart of the New World—an island that would never turn away those in need of medical aid despite race or species. It was regarded as neutral ground by all factions alike: Marines, pirates, bounty hunters, even the underworld. No blood was to be spilled upon its shores.
A remote and sacred land of physicians, scholars, and forbidden remedies—where ancient knowledge and advanced science were guarded like priceless treasure. If Hajruddin had gone there, it meant he was desperate. It meant he refused to accept this ending. A faint flicker of gratitude stirred within Dora's fury. At least one of them was still fighting.
"And the king?" Dora pressed, the word heavy with restrained accusation. "Why isn't he here?"
Her eyes darkened. "Why is Harald not standing at her side at a time like this?"
The room felt colder somehow. Jarul hesitated. That alone was answer enough to make Dora's jaw tighten. The old giant exhaled slowly, as though the air itself resisted what he was about to say.
"Since his return from the Holy Land," Jarul began carefully, "Harald has… changed."
Dora stilled.
"He has not left Aurust Castle," Jarul continued. "Not once. He returned more than a week ago and has remained behind closed doors ever since. " The crackle of distant thunder rolled across the sea outside. "He has not visited Ida, not once." Jarul finished quietly.
The words felt wrong simply existing in the air. Dora stared at him. "You're lying," she said immediately, but there was no conviction in it. "Harald loves her more than anything in this world."
Everyone in Elbaf knew it. King Harald—the iron-willed monarch, the warrior who had split entire islands in his youth—had softened only for Ida. He had defended her tavern when the noble tribes sought to shut it down. He had laughed louder than anyone within these walls. He had loved her.
"With all his heart," Dora whispered. Jarul nodded grimly.
"Yes." Silence. "But the Harald who returned…" Jarul's gaze shifted briefly toward the distant outline of Aurust Castle visible through the tavern's narrow window. "He is not the same."
Dora's eyes narrowed. "In what way?" "He speaks less," Jarul said. "He avoids counsel. He avoids the tribes. He avoids Ida." Each word struck harder than the last.
"It is as though…" Jarul hesitated again, searching for something that would not sound like treason. "As though something was left behind in the Holy Land. Or something returned with him."
The implication hung heavy. Dora's pulse quickened. Mary Geoise. The Holy Land. The place where giants were not welcomed as equals—but as tools.
"What happened there?" she demanded. "We do not know," Jarul admitted. "He will not speak of it."
Dora's gaze drifted back to Ida's frail form. Harald had not come. Not even once. Even knowing she might not survive the week. Her fists clenched again—but this time the anger was different. Less wild. More focused.
"If he loved her," Dora said quietly, "he would be here." Jarul did not argue. That silence was louder than any confession. The sea winds outside howled suddenly, rattling the tavern shutters. Dora rose slowly to her full height, the ceiling beams casting long shadows across her face.
"If something has changed him," she said, her voice steady now in a way that sent a chill through the room, "then I will find out what."
Lightning flickered faintly beneath her skin—no longer erratic, no longer explosive. Controlled.
Intentional.
"I will not allow Ida to leave this world believing he abandoned her." Her hand returned to Ida's, gentler this time. "And if someone in that Holy Land dared to touch the mind of Elbaf's king…"
****
Deep within the heart of Aurust Castle, beneath vaulted ceilings carved from ancient stone and banners that bore the sigil of Elbaf's royal line, the throne room had been transformed. The great hall—once a place of counsel, feasting, and the roar of unified warriors—was now something else entirely.
At its center, engraved into the colossal marble floor, lay a massive ritual circle. It had taken a week. A week of tireless carving. A week of isolation.
A week in which King Harald had not stepped beyond the chamber doors even once.
The circle sprawled outward in intricate geometric layers—concentric rings of runes, sigils etched in gold dust and powdered seastone, lines so precise they hummed faintly with latent power. At its core, an abyssal sigil yawned like an open pupil staring upward at the throne itself.
The air inside the chamber felt wrong. Heavy. Distorted. "Let no one enter unless I command it. Is that understood?"
King Harald's voice echoed coldly through the vast hall. Gone was the warmth that once resonated like thunder across Elbaf's cliffs. This voice was measured. Detached. His four personal guards—giants who had fought beside him for decades—hesitated only a fraction before bowing deeply.
"Yes, Your Majesty." They withdrew. The massive doors shut with a resonant boom, sealing the chamber in suffocating silence. Harald stood alone. For a moment, he stared at the completed ritual circle.
Then— "Finally…" A slow, sinister smile stretched across his face. It did not belong there. He stepped forward, heavy boots echoing against stone as he approached the abyssal center. The sigils glowed faintly in response. And then— Pain. It struck without warning. A violent spike through his skull, as though a molten blade had been driven between his eyes.
Harald staggered. The chamber seemed to tilt. His vision fractured—splitting into overlapping layers of reality. He saw the throne room— And something else. A vast darkness. A presence seated upon an unseen throne. A single, suffocating will pressing down upon him.
His hands flew to his head as he roared, the sound cracking against the stone walls. It felt as though something inside him had tightened its grip. A second consciousness. Cold. Ancient. Unyielding.
Not a whisper— A command. Serve.
Harald's knees buckled as he slammed into one of the massive pillars lining the hall. Stone cracked beneath the force of the impact. For a brief, flickering moment— Clarity returned. His breathing came ragged.
"No…" he muttered, gripping his skull as if he could physically tear the presence free. "No… this isn't me…" His reflection shimmered faintly in the polished floor. But it was wrong. His eyes—once fierce yet kind—now flickered between their natural hue and something darker. Something sovereign.
"I am Harald… King of Elbaf…"
But the words felt distant. As if spoken by someone else. The power he had received in the Holy Land—the gift from Imu—had not been a blessing. It had been a leash. Strength beyond imagination now coursed through his veins. His senses had sharpened. His presence alone could make lesser warriors kneel instinctively.
But with that strength came shackles. Invisible chains wrapped around his will. The more he resisted, the tighter they pulled. He staggered forward, collapsing to one knee at the edge of the ritual circle. The runes pulsed faintly. A voice—soft, distant, yet absolute—echoed in the depths of his mind.
You were chosen. His teeth ground together.
"No…"
Sweat beaded along his brow. Memories flickered through his thoughts. Ida's laughter. The warmth of her tavern. The way she scolded him when he drank too much. The way she smiled at him when no one else could see. Pain twisted through his chest. But the second presence surged. It drowned those memories in something colder.
Weakness.
The word reverberated like a verdict. Harald's breathing steadied unnaturally. The pain began to fade. Not because he had overcome it— But because he was letting go. His posture straightened slowly. The confusion in his eyes dimmed. In its place— Something vast. Something superior.
A god complex bloomed insidiously within him, swelling with each passing second. The throne room no longer felt large—it felt small. The castle insignificant. Elbaf itself little more than a stepping stone. He looked down at his own hands.
Power radiated from them. This was destiny. Was it not? The benevolent giant king who once valued honor and unity began to dissolve beneath that thought. Ida. The name surfaced faintly.
But it carried no weight. She was dying.
And yet—the ritual was more important. The will of Imu-sama was paramount. Everything else… secondary. His expression smoothed into cold composure as he stepped fully into the abyssal circle. The runes flared brighter. The shadows along the walls stretched unnaturally, converging toward him like kneeling subjects.
"Yes…" Harald murmured softly, though it was unclear who truly spoke. The last flicker of resistance within him dimmed. "I understand."
Deep within his mind, chains tightened. And somewhere far beyond Elbaf— A distant presence smiled.
Once Harald's expression settled into that cold, godlike composure, the ritual circle responded. The dormant sigils flared to life. Black light—thick and oily like liquid shadow—poured through the engraved lines, racing outward in jagged patterns. The air itself seemed to recoil as abyssal flames erupted from the center of the circle, roaring upward in a spiraling column.
The fire was not red. It was void-black, edged in violet and deep indigo, swallowing light rather than casting it. The inferno surged so high it nearly licked the vaulted ceiling—so high that even the tallest giants of Elbaf would never have reached its peak with an outstretched spear.
The throne room trembled. Ancient banners snapped violently in the rising heat. Stone groaned.
And from within the abyssal fire—shapes moved. A silhouette stepped forward. Then another. Then another. Then a fourth. One by one, four figures emerged from the black flames as if walking through a curtain between worlds.
The first to step fully onto Elbaf's stone floor was Gunko—known among the Holy Land as Manmayer Gunko. Her expression was calm and unreadable, her presence carrying an unnerving stillness that made the massive chamber feel smaller. Behind her came Shepherd Sommers, tall and sharp-eyed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted his gloves and surveyed the throne room with idle curiosity.
The third figure strode out with a loose, almost theatrical gait—Rimoshifu Killingham. He inhaled deeply as if tasting the air itself.
"Ooooh… so this is Elbaf, is it?" Killingham drawled, glancing up at the towering pillars and rune-carved walls. "Doesn't quite compare to the palace in the Holy Land… but it has a certain rustic charm, I suppose."
His boots clicked against the marble as he paced forward, eyes gleaming with faint amusement. Last to emerge was Satchels Maffey, silent and composed, her gaze already calculating exits, vantage points, and weaknesses within the vast chamber. Where Killingham spoke lightly, Maffey radiated quiet efficiency. As the fourth God's Knight stepped free, the abyssal flames shrank.
They did not extinguish—they folded inward, compressing into the ritual circle before vanishing entirely, leaving faint scorch marks etched permanently into the marble. Silence returned. Heavy.
Reverent. Shepherd Sommers tilted his head as he looked up at King Harald standing within the circle.
"So you're the one the Great One newly accepted into our fold?" he said, voice smooth but edged with appraisal. "You certainly look the part. Powerful. Intimidating." His smile widened faintly. "A little terrifying, even."
He had been away on assignment when Harald was anointed in the Holy Land. This was their first meeting. Gunko stepped forward slightly, offering a small, measured nod.
"You have done impressive work, Knight Harald," she said evenly. "The Great One is pleased with your diligence."
Her words were soft. But they carried the weight of absolute authority. Harald did not bow. He inclined his head only slightly. The black light within his eyes flickered faintly.
"It is my honor to serve," he replied, his voice steady—too steady. Inside, somewhere buried deep beneath layers of imposed obedience, something struggled. But it was distant. Muted.
"Now that I have completed the prerequisite Imu-sama assigned me… and established an abyssal circle here on Elbaf," Harald said evenly, his voice stripped of royal warmth, "may I be informed of my first task?"
There was no kingly majesty in his tone. No thunder. No pride. Only cold divinity. Even before the four God's Knights, Harald did not bow his head. The deference of a monarch had been replaced by something far more unsettling—an almost sacred disdain. With the abyssal circle now active beneath his feet, the connection between him and the Great One was absolute.
Iron-clad. Unbreakable. The sigils pulsed faintly, like a second heartbeat beneath the marble floor. And deep within Harald's mind— Something shifted. The throne room fell silent. Gunko's gaze sharpened. Sommers' smirk faded. Killingham stopped pacing. Maffey's hand drifted ever so slightly toward her blade. They felt it too. The air thickened. Time itself seemed to hesitate.
Then— A voice. Not spoken aloud. Not heard through ears. But carved directly into Harald's consciousness. Ancient. Immense. Sovereign.
"Harald, king of giants…"
The name reverberated like a decree echoing across eternity. The presence of Imu descended upon his mind in full. Unlike before—unlike the distant guidance or subtle pressure— This was direct attention. Focused. Intentional. Personal. The abyssal circle flared beneath Harald's boots as black veins of light crawled outward from its center.
"Your first task is simple…" The voice carried no emotion. No anger. No warmth. Only inevitability. "Forge the giants into an army…" Images flooded Harald's mind. Legions of Elbaf warriors clad in black-and-gold armor. Warships bearing the World Government's insignia crashing through the seas of the New World. Islands burning. Pirate strongholds shattered. Revolutionaries crushed beneath colossal feet.
"Sweep the New World with their might…Let the giants do what they are meant to do, to pillage and conquer…" The pressure intensified. "Destroy all who oppose the World Government…"
For a fraction of a second— Something broke. Deep beneath the layers of imposed divinity…
A heartbeat. Not the cold, rhythmic pulse of the abyss— But something defiant. Warm. Furious.
Harald's vision flickered as his conquerors haki flared out in resistance against the control. The black sheen in his eyes cracked like fractured glass.
And suddenly— He gasped. The godlike composure shattered. The oppressive aura receded. His shoulders trembled as if a mountain had been lifted—and then forced back down.
"No…" he whispered.
The other God's Knights stiffened. The abyssal circle flared violently. Inside his mind— Harald stood alone in a vast dark sea. Before him loomed a towering silhouette upon an unseen throne. Immeasurable. Unreachable.
"You misunderstand," Harald's true voice rang out—not cold, not divine, but resolute. "That was never the purpose." The silhouette did not move.
"You sought our support… you swore that you would even be willing to serve as a slave for us…" Imu's voice thundered within his head.
"Yes," Harald replied, his jaw tightening. "To bring Elbaf into the world. To end centuries of isolation. To guide my people away from endless war. Not to push them again into a war where they would once again embark on an endless slaughter…! "
"It is not for thee to decide the future of Elbaf and its giants." The words did not echo. They detonated. Within the abyssal expanse of Harald's mind, the presence of Imu expanded until it eclipsed all form, all horizon, all sense of scale. The dark sea became a storm, waves of pressure crashing endlessly against Harald's struggling consciousness.
"Thou didst swear to serve us for all eternity…" Each syllable struck like a divine hammer.
"And remember this, O King of Giants—" The darkness parted just enough to reveal fragments of history. Burning cities beneath colossal shadows. Ancient battlefields soaked in blood.
Giants roaring as warships splintered beneath their axes. The long memory of the world. "The transgressions of thy race are not so easily absolved by mere gesture." The chains tightened around Harald's spirit, glowing with abyssal sigils.
"Only by proving thy undying loyalty… will the giants truly be permitted to exist within My world." The final words carried a weight that bent reality itself. My world. Not the world. Not the World Government's world. Theirs. Harald's true self thrashed against the bindings.
"You speak of sins," he forced out, his voice ragged yet defiant, "but it was the world that sought our strength when it suited them. It was the world that branded us monsters when it feared us."
For a fraction of a heartbeat, the storm hesitated. Harald seized it.
"Elbaf has shed enough blood. I sought alliance to secure our place—not to resurrect an age of slaughter!" The abyss roared. Imu's will descended fully. This was no longer distant influence. No longer subtle domination. This was correction at its most absolute. The Depth Covenant ignited.
Across the throne room in Aurust Castle, the ritual circle blazed violently. Black lightning arced between the engraved sigils. The stone cracked further beneath Harald's feet. The four God's Knights remained still. They knew better than to interfere when the Great One exerted direct will.
Memories surged through him— Giants laughing with human merchants at shared tables. Young warriors choosing crafts over combat. Children learning diplomacy alongside battle.
"I swore," Harald continued his defiance, his voice gaining strength, "that the giants would no longer be used as weapons for others' ambitions."
The pressure in the void increased. The darkness deepened.
"They are weapons…." The words were not loud. But they were absolute. Harald's fists clenched.
"They are my people." Harald roared as his Haoshoku peaked, for a fleeting, miraculous moment the chains loosened. The god complex dissolved completely. He stood not as a Knight. Not as a servant. But as King of Elbaf.
"They will not march across the New World in wanton slaughter," he declared. "That is not the path I envisioned. I will not condemn them to become executioners for a throne they have never seen."
Silence. Then— The Depth Covenant answered. The abyss beneath his feet erupted with blinding black light. In the throne room, Harald's body convulsed. The God's Knights did not intervene. They understood. This was correction. Inside his mind, the dark sea rose violently, swallowing Harald up to his chest. Chains materialized from the void—vast, spectral, etched with the same sigils as the ritual circle.
They wrapped around his arms. His torso. His throat. Imu's presence expanded until it filled everything. There was no throne anymore. No shape. Only Divine will.
"You misunderstand your position…." The pressure became unbearable. The Depth Covenant was not merely loyalty. It was integration. A grafting of sovereign will into the soul itself.
And Harald— Harald was too important. Elbaf was too valuable. Imu would not allow instability in such a pivotal piece. Harald screamed—not in pain alone, but in defiance.
"I will not betray them!" The chains tightened. The sigils burned into his skin. Memories of Ida.
Of Elbaf's fields. Of his lifelong dream of peace— Were dragged before him like fragile parchment.
"Peace is permitted…" The voice pressed down harder. "After submission…. After there are no more enemies to kill…"
The dark sea surged over his head. Harald's resistance began to splinter. His thoughts slowed.
His will buckled. The more he fought, the deeper the chains embedded. He realized then—
This was not persuasion. It was erasure. And Imu was watching him directly. Every thought. Every flicker of rebellion. Suppressed the moment it formed. His importance demanded absolute control.
Slowly—painfully—Harald's scream faded. The chains fused into his mind and soul. His heartbeat synchronized once more with the abyssal circle. In the throne room, the black light dimmed. Harald straightened. The warmth in his eyes vanished. The god complex returned—but now colder. Sharp. Sterile. The last whisper of his true self sank into suffocating darkness.
"You will create the army of giants and lead them…" Imu's voice concluded. "And you will sweep the New World clean."
Harald bowed his head slightly. "Yes… Great One."