Mary Geoise, Red Line
The Holy Land was alive with feverish activity, as the World Nobles prepared for the upcoming Native Hunting Competition. After years of hiatus, the event had returned, stirring excitent among nearly all of the 19 Celestial Dragon families. For many of these twisted elites, the competition was an eagerly anticipated occasion, a chance to indulge in their most sadistic desires.
Yet, a small number of Nobles who had been present at God Valley felt a growing unease, a sense of foreboding that sothing terrible might occur during the event. Despite their caution, the majority of the World Nobles were consud by their preparations, their arrogance blinding them to any potential danger.
With special permissions granted by the highest authorities, a host of black market traders—those with direct connections to the World Nobles—had been allowed entry to Mary Geoise. Their purpose was to supply the Nobles with whatever they desired: powerful slaves, devil fruits, advanced weaponry, and more.
The initial intelligence indicated that the island would host not only civilians as prey but also revolutionaries and various dangerous criminals and pirates from across the globe. This added a new layer of thrill to the hunt, as the Nobles could now hunt not just "rabbits" but formidable foes as well.
"I can’t wait! I’ve always wanted to be the champion, but the event was stopped before I got the chance. Now, finally, it’s my turn!" exclaid a young Celestial Dragon from the Ju Peter family. His eyes glead with twisted excitent as he watched a powerful slave being auctioned.
The thought of using such a slave as a hunting hound, to chase down and tear apart the "bunnies" on the island, filled him with glee. Unlike previous events, which were limited to tens of thousands of prey on small, unaffiliated islands, this hunt in the Sorbet Kingdom promised millions of targets. It was the largest and most grandiose hunt since the competition’s inception.
"Sixty million! Going thrice—sold!" declared a broker, concluding the auction for a giant of a man who stood over eight ters tall. The slave, a monstrous figure with a reputation as a bloodthirsty killer, was just one of the many "hounds" the Nobles would unleash. To ensure the slaves remained compliant, explosive collars and other harsh asures were employed, for the Nobles cared only about their entertainnt, not the risks involved.
In a different part of the sa plaza, away from the auction of the "hunting hounds," another platform had been set up. This one drew even more attention, as it showcased the latest in advanced weaponry.
Though all World Nobles had privileges, only a select few truly cultivated personal strength. The rest relied on weapons, and this plaza was hosting the largest weapons showcase the world had ever seen.
"This, my Lords, is the latest Dedicated Marksman Rifle," a slick underworld representative announced, holding up a gleaming weapon. "It’s perfect for both indoor and outdoor use, with a maximum effective kill range of nearly a mile. Your targets won’t even know what hit them."
A young Celestial Dragon from the Donquixote family stepped forward, his interest piqued. He lifted the rifle from its display, admiring its craftsmanship. "A mile, you say?" His voice was thick with smug anticipation as he examined the weapon. He had many toys—pistols, rifles, all manner of deadly devices—but nothing quite like this. The rifle wasn’t just functional; it was a work of art, with precious tals and jewels encrusted into its design.
Doflamingo, ever the opportunist, had instructed that a special batch of these exquisite-looking weapons be sent to the showcase. They were identical in performance to the standard models but adorned to appeal to the Nobles’ vanity. What would normally sell for hundreds of thousands was now priced in the millions.
"Oh, this is lovely. Perhaps I’ll take it. Do you have anything with a longer range?" The young Donquixote Celestial Dragon’s voice was casual, as though he were discussing the purchase of a re trinket.
"Yes, my Lord! We have the latest sniper rifles, capable of taking down targets from five miles away. The weapon is designed to have minimal recoil, making it perfect for precision shots. This is one of the most recent offerings from the Donquixote family, and nearly all the advanced weapons here today are their creations," the representative continued, unaware of the young Noble’s reaction to the ntion of the Donquixote na.
The Donquixote Celestial Dragon’s expression darkened. "Donquixote family... heh," he muttered, his voice dripping with venom. Turning to his guards, he barked, "I’d like to test this weapon. Prepare a target."
The guards, understanding their master’s intent, moved swiftly. Two of them seized the underworld worker who had been demonstrating the weapon, dragging him toward a nearby pole. The worker’s protests were ignored as he was bound tightly, an apple placed on his head.
The sniper rifle was ticulously set up on the back of a slave, who had been forced to act as a makeshift stand. The slave, trembling but silent, bore the weight of the weapon as the young Celestial Dragon took his ti adjusting the scope.
Almost all the World Nobles present watched the scene with amusent. So mused that they should have thought of such an entertaining way to test the weapons themselves. The idea of using the underworld workers as target practice appealed to their twisted sense of humor, and they ntally noted to take their turns next.
"Please... please, no..." the man tied to the pole whimpered, still unable to comprehend what he had done wrong. But he had failed to consider the deep-seated grudge within the Donquixote family—a na that was taboo among the Celestial Dragons, especially within their own ranks.
Oblivious to the man’s pleas, the young Donquixote Noble was more engrossed in the explanation of how to operate the jewel-encrusted sniper rifle. "Oh, so this is what you call a precision scope," he remarked, peering through the lens like a child with a new toy.
"Yes, my Lord," the underworld executive nervously explained, "and to fire, you simply squeeze the trigger—"
"Bang!" The rifle bood, the sound reverberating across the plaza. The slave, who had acted as the stand, winced in pain as the recoil tore through his back, ripping his flesh. But his suffering ant nothing to the Noble, whose eyes were fixed on the pole.
The head of the man tied to the pole exploded, along with the top of his body, splattering blood and gore across the ground. The World Nobles watching widened their eyes in surprise and delight.
They began to murmur among themselves, eager to get their hands on a sniper rifle of their own. The idea of a weapon with such devastating power appealed to their twisted sense of superiority.
"Tch! He said the recoil would be minimal. I should have him whipped," the young Donquixote Celestial Dragon chuckled, his anger simring down as he fell in love with the weapon. The underworld executive, sensing an opportunity, quickly approached.
"Pack this for ," the Noble ordered, puffing out his chest with pride as he glanced around at the other World Nobles, many of whom were now moving forward, their interest piqued.
"It will be 80 million, Tenryubito-sama," the underworld agent added carefully, his voice trembling slightly. The World Noble rely waved his hand, and a servant stepped forward to settle the bill. Just then, another voice rang out.
"I’ll give you 100 million! I want that weapon," declared another young Celestial Dragon, this one from the Warcury family. He stepped up, challenging the purchase with a defiant smirk. The executive froze, caught between two powerful and ruthless custors, knowing that anything he said could cost him his life.
Sensing the danger, the supervisor, who had been watching the scene unfold, quickly intervened. "Tenryubito-sama," he addressed the Wacury Noble with a placating smile, "we have many models similar to this one, each with different encrusted precious stones to suit your taste. I can assure you the performance will not vary, and you can choose sothing that better suits your aesthetics."
The young Donquixote Celestial Dragon, seemingly mollified by the suggestion, turned back to the rifle. "Why didn’t you say so earlier? I’d like a different color. This one looks too dull," he remarked with a dismissive wave. The underworld executive wasted no ti in introducing the other designs, each one more ostentatious than the last.
"Damn you, Doflamingo! How the hell did you know these World Nobles would spend so much just because you plastered a few stones on a standard model?" The underworld broker fud internally, his frustration bubbling beneath a mask of polite servitude.
He stood at the edge of the chaotic plaza, watching as the Celestial Dragons eagerly shelled out millions for weapons that, despite their gaudy embellishnts, were no different from the ordinary models. "If I’d known they’d fall for this trick, I’d have bought them myself and resold them here for a fortune."
He clenched his fists, trying to suppress his bitterness. His mind raced with what-ifs and missed opportunities. But reality hit him like a cold wave—he was only getting a commission from the sales.
A asly cut, compared to the fortune he could have made if he had been the one to sell these weapons directly. The thought gnawed at him, but he dared not express his frustration openly.
The broker cast a wary glance around the plaza, noting the other underworld agents scattered among the crowd. So were seasoned professionals, while others were new faces—strangers whose loyalty and motives he couldn’t easily gauge.
He had no way of knowing how many of them might be informants for the Heavenly Demon himself. The Donquixote family patriarch was infamous for his ruthlessness and uncanny ability to sniff out treachery.
Even the slightest attempt to falsify prices or skim profits would not go unnoticed. If he dared to embezzle a single berry, Doflamingo would know—and the consequences would be anything but pleasant.
A shiver ran down the broker’s spine as he imagined what Doflamingo might do to him if he ever got caught. The man was a sadistic monster who took pleasure in making examples out of those who crossed him. No, the broker had no choice but to play by the rules.
He sighed deeply, resigning himself to his fate. Still, he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers completely. If he couldn’t manipulate the prices outright, he could at least hike them as much as possible.
After all, the nobles were in a frenzy, eager to outshine one another. They barely blinked at the exorbitant costs as long as the weapons in question glittered with enough gold and jewels.
"We’ve got hundreds of these units prepared," he thought, his eyes flickering with greed.
"Different designs, all equally extravagant. They’ll sell like hotcakes, and every ti I push the price higher, that’s more money in my pocket."
He moved among the World Nobles with renewed vigor, adopting a fawning deanor as he showcased the weapons. Each ti a Noble showed interest, he subtly suggested that an even more exquisite model was available, just waiting for the right owner.
He played on their vanity, their desire to own sothing unique, sothing that would make them the envy of their peers.
"Tenryubito-sama," he would say, his voice dripping with sycophantic charm, "this rifle is indeed magnificent, but might I interest you in another model? This one, adorned with sapphires and gold filigree, is even more befitting of soone of your stature. And for a Noble as distinguished as yourself, the price is a re trifle—only a hundred million berries."
The Nobles, intoxicated by their own sense of superiority and the thrill of the upcoming hunt, eagerly agreed, not realizing—or perhaps not caring—that they were being played. For them, the cost was irrelevant; it was all about possessing the finest, the most luxurious weapons.
The broker, anwhile, felt a surge of satisfaction each ti a transaction was completed. He could almost see his commission growing with every sale, envisioning the wealth that would soon line his pockets.
Soon enough, the scene repeated itself as more and more World Nobles began testing their weapons on slaves or other unfortunate souls who had displeased them. The plaza was quickly transford into a grotesque shooting range, where human beings were slaughtered like animals, and their deaths were t with laughter and applause.
Each World Noble took turns showcasing their weapons to their competitors, flaunting their newfound toys in a sick display of power and cruelty.
The depravity of the World Nobles knew no bounds. Their hearts were as cold and twisted as the gems that adorned their weapons, their amusent derived from the suffering of those they considered beneath them.
The Holy Land, for all its grandeur, was nothing more than a den of monsters, where the powerful preyed upon the weak with impunity. The upcoming hunt promised to be a bloodbath, a celebration of their unchallenged dominion over the world.
anwhile, unlike the flourish and excitent that was happening outside in the main plaza of the Holy Land, the atmosphere within the Room of Authority was grim. The air was thick with tension as a rare and imposing guest had co to visit the Five Elders.
This was no ordinary visitor. Sitting with an air of absolute confidence on a specially arranged couch, which matched the grandiosity of the seats occupied by the Elders, was none other than Figarland Garling, the Supre Commander of the God’s Knights.
The Elders exchanged uneasy glances. They had a vague idea why the cunning and ambitious head of the Figarland family had graced them with his presence, but they hoped against hope that it wasn’t the matter they dreaded.
Figarland Garling was not soone who ca to rely exchange pleasantries. His visits always bore weight, and more often than not, they left ripples across the power structure of the world itself.
Elder Warcury, attempting to steer the conversation away from the potential minefield, tried to engage the Commander in a different matter. "Tell , Saint Figarland," Warcury began, his tone laced with feigned curiosity, "have you any idea about what happened to Admiral candidate Aokiji? It seems like a new party has joined the race for the world’s authority."
Figarland Garling’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusent and disdain. "Elder Warcury, if you’re suggesting that the God’s Knights or anyone under my command were involved in that incident, you can rest assured, we had nothing to do with it," he replied, his voice dripping with confidence.
He knew full well about the incident—a mysterious attack that had nearly claid the life of Admiral candidate Aokiji, apparently orchestrated by an unknown assailant targeting the last survivors of Ohara. But he also knew that his denial, whether believed or not, would be accepted. His authority, bolstered by his favor with Imu-sama, was beyond reproach.
"But," he continued, his gaze locking onto the Elders with an intensity that made even them shift uncomfortably, "that is not the matter we are here to discuss today, is it?" There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, a sign that Figarland Garling was not here to be trifled with. Unlike others, he did not fear the Elders. His position and his favor with Imu-sama placed him on equal footing with them, a fact he never hesitated to make clear.
Elder JuPeter, his patience already wearing thin, leaned forward with a sneer. "So, why are you here then? If it’s regarding the upcoming Native Hunting Competition, we’ve already shared the list of World Nobles who will be... taken care of during the event. If you had sothing to convey about that, sending one of your God’s Knights would have sufficed. Or is this regarding a personal request?"
The Elder’s tone dripped with condescension, but there was an underlying wariness. JuPeter knew that Figarland Garling was not to be underestimated. The man was a serpent, always lurking in the shadows, moving pieces in a ga only he seed to understand.
Even within the rarefied air of the World Nobles, where ambition and treachery were common currency, Garling was a force to be reckoned with. He had risen through the ranks of authority with unsettling speed, gaining power and influence that rivaled even the Elders themselves.
Figarland Garling’s smirk widened at JuPeter’s words, but his eyes remained cold, calculating.
"Are you sure, Garling? Or perhaps this is about one of your progeny?" Elder Nusjuro interjected, trying to probe into Garling’s personal affairs. "I’ve heard rumors that you’ve been having problems with one of your children..."
*****
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