The scattered ashes seemed to be drawn together by some mysterious force.
Slowly, they gathered and fused, gradually condensing into the unique, solemn emblem of the Eternal Divine Kingdom, giving off a strange yet sacred glow.
"You think that merely by gathering the strength of the Four Emperors, you can hope to oppose the vast and unshakable World Government?"
Saint Nusjuro's voice was low and magnetic, every word like judgment delivered from the depths of hell, echoing through the empty space.
At that moment, the Shodai Kitetsu in his hand suddenly slid from its sheath on its own with a sharp scrape of metal.
This cursed blade, tempered by eight hundred years and forged by the finest craftsmen, seemed to have awakened its long-sleeping soul. It released a painful, shrill hum.
The sound was like countless vengeful spirits wailing at once, enough to make the skin crawl.
As the blade pointed forward, the once-solid structure before him shook violently, and then collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Countless lampshades and fragments fell like rain, but before they could drop into the deep sea below, an invisible yet overwhelmingly powerful force seized them in midair and crushed them into fine powder.
They scattered into the air, as if they had never existed at all.
...
Marine Headquarters.
The towering building stood like an indestructible fortress, carrying countless missions and honors upon its shoulders.
Its heavy oak doors, like guardians of history, usually stood there in solemn silence.
But now, they were shoved open with brutal force, the panels slamming hard into the walls with a deafening bang, like a heavy warning bell struck by fate itself.
Inside the spacious yet oppressive conference room, the projection screen gave off a cold blue light like the eyes of a ghost, casting merciless reflections across the ashen faces of more than a dozen battle-hardened officers.
The smell of gunpowder still lingered in the air.
It was the cruel scent left behind by war, mixed with fear compressed to the limit, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Every officer looked unusually grave. Their brows were locked tight, their eyes filled with deep worry and helplessness.
"They're sending us to die!"
Vice Admiral Doberman could no longer suppress the fury in his heart. Like an enraged lion, his roar exploded through the conference room like thunder.
His scar-covered face twisted hideously from extreme anger, every scar seeming to speak of the hardship and glory of battles past.
His fist, filled with all his rage, slammed onto the table.
The force made the liquid in a nearby coffee cup shake violently, splashing drops across the surface like a reflection of the emotions surging inside him.
Everyone's gaze was drawn to the projection screen, where horrifying footage continued to play on loop.
In the image, Kaido's massive figure stood like a towering mountain, radiating unmatched power.
In his hand was the dreaded kanabo Hassaikai, wrapped in eerie black-red lightning that flickered with the light of death.
Then he unleashed an astonishingly powerful Thunder Bagua.
In an instant, the entire G-114 Branch was flattened as though it had been made of paper.
Amid the tragic footage of flying debris and rising dust, the Marines' final resistance could still be faintly seen.
They fired their cannons with everything they had, trying to stop that destructive force.
But sadly, their efforts were far too small and powerless.
The dense cannon fire struck Kaido's blue dragon scales without leaving even the faintest mark, only adding a layer of futility to the tragedy.
"And according to the new order—"
Doberman's voice had grown terribly hoarse, as if it were being forced out from deep in his throat.
His trembling finger, filled with grief and despair, slowly pointed toward the glaring red text scrolling beneath the screen.
Engagement with any of the Four Emperors is mandatory.
Any violation will be treated as treason.
Those words were like a cold, sharp dagger stabbing straight into everyone's heart.
"We don't even have the right to retreat!"
His voice echoed through the silent conference room, filled with helplessness and sorrow.
In a corner of the room, even the light seemed reluctant to approach.
Several veteran Vice Admirals who had personally taken part in terrifying pirate suppression wars stood there in silence.
Their weathered faces were carved with traces left by years and battle.
Now, almost in unison, they reached out and gently touched the old wounds on their bodies, scars that constantly reminded them of pain from the past.
Every scar seemed to tell of the brutality and danger of the battlefield back then, proof of both their glory and their suffering.
"Shut up!"
A furious shout suddenly shattered the suffocating atmosphere.
Momonga rose from his seat like an enraged lion.
His movement was swift and forceful, stirring a faint current in the air.
The sharp blade at his waist slid three inches from its sheath in an instant, and the cold edge reflected a chilling arc beneath the bright lights.
That arc was like the scythe of death, cutting through the already tense air of the conference room and making everyone shiver.
This Vice Admiral, always known for his iron-blooded methods, had his eyes wide open, terrifying anger burning inside them.
It was as though that flame would devour everything before him.
Gritting his teeth, he spoke word by word.
"This is a trial of justice! In the Marines' dictionary, the words 'fear of battle' do not exist!"
His voice was loud and firm, echoing through the conference room as if trying to drive away the fear and doubt in everyone's hearts.
However, when he slowly turned to face the others, the soldiers in the front row involuntarily sucked in a breath.
Their pupils contracted sharply, their gazes locking onto Momonga's back.
On the snow-white cloak of justice, a visible sweat stain was slowly spreading.
The stain was like a shadow in the darkness, gradually eating into the white that symbolized justice and light.
The light from the projection screen happened to fall across his tense jawline, clearly revealing beads of sweat sliding down his thick neck and into the collar of his uniform.
For a time, the entire conference room fell into a deathly silence.
Only the humming of the projector continued to echo alone in the quiet space, like the ticking of fate's countdown.
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