Through the misty sky streaked a shadow like a falling star.

It soared over a massive gate shaped like a gaping mouth full of teeth, then crashed down with a heavy thud onto a desolate field of shattered stone.

Crack… crunch…

The ground caved inward, forming an enormous paw-shaped crater. From the swirling dust, a towering figure slowly rose—so massive he could have been mistaken for a giant.

On his head was a hat adorned with bear ears. Silent and imposing, he peered through the lenses of his square-framed glasses. His messy, unkempt black hair was much like Aokiji Kuzan’s.

This was none other than one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea—the “Tyrant” Bartholomew Kuma, a pirate who never smiled, whose face was eternally carved with solemnity.

In his left hand, he clutched a Bible. His right hand reached into his coat, fumbling for a moment before producing a Den Den Mushi, small enough to be crushed in a single squeeze.

Pururururu—purururu—

The snail trembled pitifully as it rang, as though it too feared being snuffed out should Kuma grow displeased.

But Kuma was not so fickle. He calmly connected the call.

“If you were to travel… where would you go?”

“Naturally, to the Holy Land of Mary Geoise.”

With the coded exchange complete, both sides lowered their guard.

“Kuma, it’s never easy to get through to you.”

A deep voice came from the other end.

Kuma’s expression did not change in the slightest, as though he had expected this.

“…Dragon.”

“Yes. I knew you attended the recent emergency Warlord meeting at Mariejois. I assumed your line might be tapped, so I refrained from contacting you until you discreetly signaled our agents. Only then did I call.”

Far away at the Revolutionary Army’s hidden base, Monkey D. Dragon stood upon barren white earth, his tattered green cloak billowing. The strange half-patterned tattoo on his face was visible as he spoke.

“Tell me. What did Sengoku and the others say at that Warlord meeting?”

Kuma paused in silence, carefully choosing his words. His voice, unexpectedly soft and gentle, contrasted sharply with his immense, tower-like frame.

“They mainly announced Crocodile’s replacement—Marshall D. Teach, known as ‘Blackbeard.'”

Dragon’s eyes narrowed.

“That man… I’ve heard he was once Whitebeard’s subordinate. Then he killed a crewmate to steal the Yami Yami no Mi, captured Fire Fist Ace, and delivered him to the Marines. A dangerous one indeed.”

Kuma nodded slightly as he began walking across the fog-shrouded island.

“Moria did not attend the meeting. I was tasked with informing him of the results and ensuring that, in the coming months, he maintains communication with Marine Headquarters.”

“So that explains your broken signal. You’ve entered the Florian Triangle. And if they want Moria to stay in touch… then it’s almost certain the Marines are preparing to clash with the Whitebeard Pirates.”

Kuma recalled the meeting scene.

“They didn’t state it outright, but it’s clear they intend to mobilize the Warlords. With our aid, the Marines hope to gain the upper hand against Whitebeard. Still, not every figure in Marine leadership supports the Warlord system.”

Dragon’s reply was firm.

“That’s only because they haven’t yet sat in the Fleet Admiral’s chair. Once they do, their perspective changes. Kuma, don’t harbor illusions about them.”

“…I know.”

Kuma removed his gloves, revealing the pink paw pads on his palms.

Boom—!

With a swing of his arm, a massive shockwave launched him skyward. He landed atop an ancient, crumbling clock tower just as its bells tolled with a resonant clang… clang… clang…

From the peak, he surveyed the bleak, lifeless surroundings. After a moment’s thought, he spoke again.

“Moria’s ship—the Thriller Bark—is the true cause of the countless disappearances in the Florian Triangle every year. It sits so close to the Red Line and Marine Headquarters, and yet they turn a blind eye to his atrocities right under their noses.”

Dragon’s voice was grave.

“That is the World Government for you… Apart from the new Warlord appointment, was there any other agenda?”

“They briefly mentioned the ‘Lord of the Deep’—Davy Jones. But they have no intention of acting against him yet.”

“As expected. The Marines don’t have the manpower to take on such a monster right now.”

Kuma lowered his gaze to the tiny Den Den Mushi in his palm.

“It sounds as if you’ve had contact with Davy Jones yourself.”

“Yes. I encountered him once in the East Blue. What he’s done since then was beyond even my expectations. The Reverse Mountain battle… the Alabasta civil war… the great Water 7 tsunami—his shadow lies behind them all. He is actively reshaping the world.”

“…Is he enemy, or ally?”

Dragon pondered.

Davy Jones had crossed Reverse Mountain under Garp’s watch, and in Water 7, he had beaten Dragon’s own son, Luffy. By rights, these were grudges.

But Dragon did not weigh things so personally. The three in his family each embodied a different path in this world:

Garp, the Marine path, once glorious but now fading.

Himself, the Revolutionary path, arduous and uncertain.

Luffy, the Pirate path, youthful and rising.

Their choices and struggles did not affect Dragon’s clear judgment of Davy Jones.

“Neither enemy nor ally. But as long as he does not stand with the Celestial Dragons, that alone is enough.”

Kuma’s tone shifted slightly.

“…You hold him in high regard.”

“The old world order has stagnated too long. To move again, it needs new forces. I cannot say for certain what Davy Jones will achieve… but my instincts tell me the coming years will be turbulent because of him.”

“…I see.”

Then Dragon’s voice hardened.

“Kuma. You still intend to go through with Vegapunk’s modifications?”

At last, Kuma’s iron mask of composure cracked. A faint trace of emotion surfaced, as though he remembered a certain face—but it vanished quickly, leaving his expression firm again.

“What has already begun will not be ended lightly. But what of you? With the storm about to break, will you move to rescue Ivankov from Impel Down?”

Both men conjured the same image in their minds: the massive face of their comrade, Emporio Ivankov, the Okama King.

Long ago, the three of them—Dragon, Kuma, and Ivankov—had been the founding pillars of the Revolutionary Army. But the paths had diverged: Kuma became a Warlord, Ivankov was captured and imprisoned in the depths of Impel Down, and Dragon alone had borne the weight of growing the movement to what it was now.

Dragon’s reply came strained, heavy.

“…We can scarcely protect ourselves as it is. Not long ago, we lost several Commanders. To think of storming the deep-sea prison now… it’s impossible. If anything, we owe Davy Jones thanks. He avenged us by killing the CP9 agent who murdered our people.”

Though branded the “World’s Worst Criminal,” Dragon’s Revolutionary Army was not as overwhelmingly powerful as its reputation suggested. They had successfully toppled nations—but they had failed often as well.

Just then, Kuma noticed a bat fluttering toward him through the sky.

“Dragon, we’ll speak again another time. I must meet with Moria now.”

“…Very well. Stay safe.”

Click.

The line went dead.

The bat’s figure grew larger as it approached. Its pale, vampire-like face twisted in alarm upon spotting Kuma, shuddering with unease.

“Y-you… who are you? How are you here?”

Kuma did not bother to answer. He cast it a cold glance, enough to nearly freeze the creature in terror.

“I am Bartholomew Kuma. Take me to your master.”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep