Chapter 52: The Demon's Pardon

The galley of the Titan’s Glory was dead silent.

I held the golden Den Den Mushi receiver to my ear, listening to the heavy, infuriated breathing of Fleet Admiral Sengoku on the other end of the line.

“You accepted the title,” Sengoku growled.

“What is this ‘favor’ you require, Costa?”

“It’s simple, really.

I don’t want territory.

I don’t want a cut of the World Government’s taxes,” I said, leaning back against the heavy wooden table.

“I demand that my new Warlord immunity be explicitly extended to my entire active crew.

Specifically, I want the active bounty on my Quartermaster, Nico Robin, formally suspended.

The ‘shoot-on-sight’ order is revoked as long as I hold this seat.”

The silence on the line was so profound I could almost hear a blood vessel popping in Sengoku’s forehead.

“Absolutely not,” Sengoku roared, the snail’s face contorting with rage.

“Do you have any idea what you are asking?!

The Demon Child is a class-S threat to the history of the world!

She is the last survivor of Ohara!

Giving her government immunity is geopolitical suicide!”

“She is my Quartermaster,” I corrected him, my voice dropping to a cold, unyielding baseline.

“She sails under my flag, which means she is my responsibility.

The Five Elders gave you a direct order to make me a Warlord to keep the Dressrosa secret buried.

If you want my silence, Sengoku, you give me her pardon.

The World Government turns a blind eye to her presence on my ship.

Non-negotiable.”

Sengoku let out a long, ragged exhale.

He was trapped by the political machinations of his own superiors.

“Fine,” Sengoku ground out, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.

“Her active pursuit is suspended.

But mark my words, Beastmaster.

If you fall, the immunity falls with you, and the hounds will be released instantly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.

Goodnight, Fleet Admiral.” I dropped the receiver, cutting the connection.

Before I could even take a breath, the standard Marine snail sitting next to the golden one began to puru-puru-puru.

I picked it up.

“Costa.”

“This is Bogard,” the stoic voice of Garp’s second-in-command came through.

“Vice Admiral Garp has engaged the Golden Lion in the airspace above the East Blue.

As promised, your intelligence was verified.

Commodore Alister’s transfer of Trafalgar Law to Impel Down has been completely halted by Vice Admiral’s authority.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Where is he?”

“Law is currently being held at a secure midway transfer base just outside the Tarai Current,” Bogard reported cleanly.

“But remember the deal, Costa.

The Vice Admiral stopped the Impel Down transfer, but to secure Law’s complete release, you still owe Marine Headquarters two notorious New World pirate captains.”

“I haven’t forgotten.

Tell Garp to give Shiki hell for me,” I said, hanging up the snail.

I turned around.

Robin was standing by the galley doorway.

Her dark eyes were wide, her hands trembling slightly as they clutched the fabric of her skirt.

She had heard every word of the conversation with Sengoku.

“Victor…” Robin whispered, her voice cracking.

“Did you…

did you just…”

“It’s done, Robin,” I said softly, stepping toward her.

“The bounty is frozen.

The CP-9 agents, the Admirals, the Buster Calls…

they’re gone.

As long as you are on this ship, the World Government cannot touch you.”

For twenty years, Nico Robin had run.

Ever since the fires of Ohara turned her home to ash, she had lived every single day of her life looking over her shoulder.

She had been betrayed by everyone she trusted, forced to ally with monsters just to survive another week, always expecting the knife in her back.

But looking at me, and looking at the crew that had just gone to war with the highest military power of the world to protect her…

the crushing, suffocating weight of two decades finally shattered.

Robin collapsed to her knees.

She covered her face with her hands, and for the first time since she was an eight-year-old girl, she broke down in tears of pure, unadulterated relief.

Deep, racking sobs shook her shoulders as the phantom chains of the World Government finally fell away.

Gammamon immediately bounded over, wrapping his little white arms securely around her leg in a tight hug.

Perona floated down from the ceiling, looking a bit awkward with genuine emotion, but she gently patted Robin’s back with a gloved hand.

Brook didn’t say a word; he simply pulled his violin from his coat, drawing his bow across the strings to play a soft, incredibly warm, comforting melody that filled the room.

I smiled, leaning against the wall, letting her let it all out.

The Demon Child was dead.

The Archaeologist of the Titan’s Glory was finally free.

The next morning, the sun broke through the clouds, illuminating the massive Adam Wood hull of our flying fortress.

A solitary News Coo swooped down through the morning mist, dropping a rolled-up copy of the World Economic Journal onto the deck.

The headline, printed in massive, bold font, took up the entire front page:

THE BEASTMASTER ASCENDS: WG APPOINTS VICTOR D.

COSTA AS NEWEST WARLORD OF THE SEA!

The shockwaves of that single piece of paper rippled across the globe instantly.

Water 7 – Deep Underground Bunker Iceburg unrolled the paper, his eyes scanning the bold ink.

The tension that had coiled in his spine for the past twenty-four hours finally released.

He slumped back into his chair, letting out a long, exhausted sigh of relief.

The city was safe from Marine retaliation.

Across the table, Franky snatched the paper from the Mayor’s hands.

The cyborg’s eyes widened, and then he threw his head back, bursting into a loud, barking laugh.

That crazy bastard, Franky thought, wiping a tear from his eye.

He perfectly played the World Government and walked away with a massive promotion.

A Super Warlord!

Baltigo – The White Soil Island The wind howled outside the hidden headquarters of the Revolutionary Army.

Inside his stone office, Monkey D.

Dragon read the paper in complete silence.

He didn’t speak, but a small, knowing smirk formed on his tattooed face.

Sitting across from him, Sabo laughed out loud, tossing his copy of the paper onto the table.

He looked over at Koala, shaking his head in amusement.

“Well,” Sabo grinned.

“Looks like Commander Jasmine’s older brother is making some serious waves.

Setting him up as a Warlord to act as our Trojan Horse?

She’s an absolute genius.”

Dressrosa – The Royal Palace Lounging on a lavish velvet couch, Donquixote Doflamingo swirled a glass of expensive red wine.

He read the headline, an arrogant, dismissive chuckle vibrating in his throat.

A South Blue rookie taking Moria’s empty seat.

How quaint, the Heavenly Yaksha mused, taking a slow sip of his wine.

He found the World Government’s desperation to fill the ranks pathetic.

He tossed the paper aside, completely unaware that this “upstart rookie” was the very man currently holding a geopolitical gun to his head.

Midway Marine Base – Near the Tarai Current Commodore Alister D.

Silva stood in his heavily fortified office, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of his desk.

He stared at the newspaper, his chest heaving with barely contained fury.

He had spent weeks perfectly orchestrating the capture of Trafalgar Law.

The plan was flawless: use the North Blue rookie as bait to lure Victor into the impenetrable walls of Impel Down.

Once Victor was trapped, Alister would bank a massive promotion from Marine Headquarters for capturing the Beastmaster, all while giving his arrogant cousin the ultimate middle finger by using his own blood against him.

And in a single night, the board had been flipped.

How?

Alister thought, his mind racing.

How the hell did he pull this off?

First, Garp personally pulls rank to halt the transfer.

Now, the Five Elders grant Victor immunity.

Alister’s calm, calculating facade violently fractured.

He slammed his fist down onto the desk, completely crushing the newspaper.

He’s still the same pathetic loser, Alister seethed internally, his killing intent suffocating the room.

Just as big of a loser as his father was.

Victor amounted to absolutely nothing in our old world, and he will amount to nothing in this world, either.

“I will personally drag you back down to the dirt,” Alister hissed into the empty room, his eyes burning with absolute hatred.

“I’ll make sure of it.

For both him and his sister.”

Down in the maximum-security holding cells below, a chained and battered Trafalgar Law felt the sudden, violent spike of rage radiating from the office above.

The bruised Surgeon of Death let out a low, raspy chuckle.

He had no idea what the news was, or that a cousin he didn’t even know he had was coming for him.

All Law knew was that someone out there had just completely ruined the arrogant Marine’s day, and that alone was worth a defiant smile.

Aboard the Titan’s Glory, the mood was electric.

I stood in the massive, fully stocked kitchen, using a low-output Fa-Jin to hyper-accelerate my movements.

I was a blur, managing four frying pans at once, flipping pancakes, searing Sea King bacon, and scrambling eggs with terrifying efficiency.

We gathered around the large dining table, digging into the massive celebratory breakfast.

“So, Captain,” Brook asked, dabbing his skeletal mouth with a napkin.

“The World Government has graciously given us a free pass.

What is our next destination?”

“We have a promise to keep to Vice Admiral Garp,” I said, pouring a cup of black coffee.

“He stopped Law’s transfer, but the Marines are holding Trafalgar at a midway base.

To officially buy his freedom and the freedom of the Heart Pirates, we need to hand over two notorious New World pirate captains.”

Robin took a sip of her tea, the dark circles under her eyes already looking significantly lighter.

“Normally, that would require us to stop at the Sabaody Archipelago to have the ship coated with Yarukiman resin, so we could pass under the Red Line through Fishman Island.”

“Normally,” I agreed, a wide grin spreading across my face.

I pointed a thumb toward the ceiling.

“But we have a Sky-Rift Roc, and this ship was built with custom aerial-harnesses.

We don’t need to go under the wall.”

Perona gasped, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“You mean…”

“We’re skipping Fishman Island completely,” I confirmed.

“We are going to fly directly over the top of the Red Line.

Next stop: The New World.”

The crew cheered, Gammamon happily stuffing three pancakes into his mouth at once.

Just as we began to celebrate our new flight path, a harsh, heavy ringing cut through the galley.

Bacha-cha-cha.

Bacha-cha-cha.

It wasn’t my standard encrypted snail.

It was a new one, delivered with the morning paper.

It had a jet-black shell and small, leathery bat wings attached to its sides.

It was the official, heavily monitored Government line reserved exclusively for the Seven Warlords of the Sea.

The galley went quiet.

I set my coffee mug down and picked up the receiver.

“Victor D.

Costa,” a cold, bureaucratic voice echoed through the room.

It was a high-level dispatch officer from Marine Headquarters.

“As the newest inductee into the Seven Warlords of the Sea, your presence is formally mandated at an official convocation.

You are to proceed to Marineford immediately to ratify your treaty and meet your colleagues.”

“And if I’m busy?” I asked lazily.

“Attendance is non-negotiable, Warlord Costa,” the dispatcher replied sharply.

“Failure to attend your induction ceremony will be viewed as an act of hostility against the treaty.”

I smirked, looking around the table at my crew.

I was about to walk into a room filled with the most dangerous, government-sanctioned monsters on the planet.

I was going to look Donquixote Doflamingo dead in the eye at the very heart of Marine power.

“Send me the heading for Marineford,” I said, my voice dripping with anticipation.

“And tell the caterers to set an extra plate.

I’m bringing my appetite.”

Word Count: 2007

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