At that moment, inside the grand assembly hall, the vaulted ceiling stretched high above, sunlight filtering through stained-glass windows and casting shifting colors across faces from every corner of the world—each one different in form, race, and expression.
The atmosphere was solemn.
Only one voice carried clearly through every inch of the hall—resonating with the unique, far-reaching propagation of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit.
"From this day forward," Gern Reginald Sigmar declared, his voice echoing like a decree carved into the world itself, "within all territories under Marine order, no race, no individual—regardless of origin—shall be bought or sold as a slave!"
His figure stood tall upon the elevated platform, straight as an iron pillar, the Admiral's cloak draped behind him like a banner of authority.
"The slave markets—those festering pits that trample life and dignity—must be completely abolished. Rooted out. Erased."
His gaze swept across the front rows.
There, seated in ornate garments, were the former World Government–affiliated kings and noble representatives—men who, beyond their fear and worship of the Celestial Dragons, were themselves among the largest consumers of slaves. Symbols of luxury. Tools of labor. Objects for indulgence.
"The Marines hereby issue formal notice," Gern continued, his tone absolute, leaving no room for interpretation. "The abolition of slavery and the slave trade is a foundational pillar of the new order."
"I expect all of you to comply. Immediately. Clean your houses."
He paused.
A cold, deliberate silence followed—more terrifying than any threat.
"Should anyone resist…"
He did not finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
The sharp edge in his gaze—and that chilling pause—sent a shiver through the nobles. Cold sweat formed on their backs. They understood now.
This wasn't rhetoric.
The Marines were serious.
Deadly serious.
Then, Gern's eyes shifted.
Toward the back of the hall—where a far greater number of representatives stood. Non-human races, their emotions visibly surging:
Fish-Men. Merfolk. Mink Tribe. Long-Arm Tribe. Long-Leg Tribe. Tontattas…
"To all races who have suffered oppression… who have lived under the threat of capture and enslavement…"
Gern's voice rose, carrying both power and weight.
"I, as Fleet Admiral, give you this solemn guarantee—"
"If any of your kin are found being trafficked, imprisoned, or enslaved—report it immediately to the nearest Marine base!"
"The Marines will respond without delay. We will rescue them. And we will punish every single perpetrator involved."
"No matter who they are. No matter their background."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Emotion erupted.
Tears welled in countless eyes. Applause thundered. Some even cried out in joy.
For the first time in centuries, they had heard a promise—from the top—that was this clear, this forceful… this real.
Gern raised his hand slightly, calming the swelling tide of emotion.
Then he dropped something even heavier.
"To ensure the long-term safety and fundamental rights of all races…"
"The Marines now formally announce—open recruitment to all races."
A ripple of shock passed through the hall.
"Fish-Men, Merfolk, Mink Tribe—or any other race—so long as you recognize Marine justice, and are willing to fight to protect your people and uphold order…"
"You may apply to join the Marines."
"You will receive equal待遇—equal training, equal opportunities for promotion, equal honor."
"The gates of the Marines are open to all who seek justice and dignity!"
This time, the hall nearly exploded.
Aside from a handful of nobles in the front whose expressions had darkened considerably, the overwhelming majority of the assembly was swept into a tide of excitement, hope, and fervor.
Every declaration from Gern struck like a hammer—shattering cracks in the old order, while forging the foundation of something new.
And yet…
Amid this roaring tide of passion, one corner stood utterly out of place.
At the very back of the hall, on a small, solitary stool—
Sat one of the Four Emperors.
Marshall D. Teach.
The man known to the world as Blackbeard.
Unlike the other kings and representatives, he had no grand seat—only a plainly added, almost deliberately humiliating stool, barely enough to support him.
Blackbeard glanced down at it, his face openly sour, irritation undisguised.
Then he tilted his head slightly, speaking in a low voice to the man standing half a step behind him.
"Oi, Lafitte," he muttered, eyes narrowing toward the platform. "What's this bastard Gern really playing at?"
"All this—abolishing slavery, recruiting other races… what's he after?"
"He really trying to play savior?"
Lafitte bowed slightly, the brim of his top hat casting a shadow over most of his face.
"Captain," he said softly, "on the surface, this 'World Conference' is nothing more than the Fleet Admiral raising the banner of justice—abolishing slavery, protecting the races, winning hearts…"
He paused.
Then, more quietly—more sharply—
"But in truth, it's a multi-layered strategy. A chain of interlocking moves."
Blackbeard's brow twitched. He gestured for him to continue.
"First—conflict diversion and fragmentation."
"The Celestial Dragons are the root of slavery. The core contradiction."
"But Gern is not attacking them directly—yet."
"Instead, he publicly targets the 'nobles of allied nations'—the secondary buyers of slaves."
"That shifts public anger."
"From these visible perpetrators… to the distant, untouchable Celestial Dragons atop the Red Line."
"The implication is simple: the entire slave system exists because of their privilege."
"We—meaning the Marines—are merely cleaning up the consequences."
Blackbeard's eyes narrowed further.
"So he throws the nobles a bone?"
"Exactly," Lafitte replied. "He avoids immediate reckoning. Even 'helps' them shed the stain of slave ownership—at least on the surface."
"They'll feel… gratitude. Or at least restraint. They won't rebel immediately."
"Feed the 'big fish' first…"
At that moment, another voice joined in.
"…Then feed the 'small fish'."
It was Samuel Kronos.
The "Plague Doctor" stepped forward slightly, his tone calm, analytical.
"The recruitment of non-human races—that's the most brilliant move of all."
"In the past, these races were easy prey. No protection. No backing."
"But once they become Marines…"
"They gain legal status. Organized protection."
"Attacking them becomes the same as attacking the Marines."
"The risk skyrockets."
"Slave hunters will think twice—or more likely, stop entirely."
He adjusted his glasses slightly.
"This cuts off the slave supply at its root."
"And at the same time…"
A glint flickered in his eyes.
"The Marines gain a massive influx of naturally powerful recruits."
"Races with superior physical capabilities. Unique combat traits."
"Soldiers who will be deeply loyal—to the man who gave them dignity, status, and protection."
He paused briefly.
"…You've already experienced the power of the Sulong form yourself, Captain."
"...Tch." Blackbeard clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed at the mention of Trafalgar Law slipping through his grasp.
Samuel continued, unfazed.
"Furthermore, this transforms the image of the Marines entirely."
"No longer just protectors of humans…"
"But guardians of all races."
"That elevates their moral legitimacy—massively."
"They stand in direct contrast to the decaying, elitist, racially oppressive World Government."
His voice dropped lower.
"Finally…"
"Throughout this entire conference, Gern remains on the moral high ground."
"He becomes the 'Liberator of Races.' The embodiment of justice."
"By making—and soon fulfilling—these promises…"
"He amasses overwhelming political capital."
"Any force that opposes him in the future…"
"Can be branded as enemies of liberation. Defenders of slavery."
He exhaled slowly, summarizing:
"Weaken the noble class. Strengthen centralized Marine authority."
"Divide enemies. Redirect conflict."
"Recruit elite forces. Build a loyal core."
"Elevate image. Seize moral dominance."
Samuel glanced toward the figure on the platform—the man now receiving reverent gazes from countless representatives.
His voice carried a quiet weight.
"Captain… this 'Heaven-Shaking' Fleet Admiral…"
"His political acumen and long-term vision…"
"…may be even more terrifying than his strength."
Silence lingered.
Blackbeard listened to the entire breakdown.
Then slowly, he lifted his head again—eyes fixed on Gern Reginald Sigmar.
This Marine Fleet Admiral…
He wasn't just a monster in battle.
He was something far more dangerous.
Blackbeard's gaze darkened, calculations already shifting deep within his mind.
"…Looks like," he muttered under his breath, "I'll need to keep a few extra cards up my sleeve… when dealing with the World Government."
..
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