"Make sure she gets her meals on time. Wouldn't want my beloved wife going hungry."
After stepping out of the slave-holding cabin, Saint Shaldes ordered one of the CP1 agents without even turning his head.
"Yes, Lord Shaldes," the agent replied, bowing deeply.
"Oh, and one more thing…"
Shaldes paused, then looked back over his shoulder.
"That Marine from the North Blue—the one called Darren…"
The CP1 agent blinked, recalling the generous tribute from earlier. He bowed again and said:
"Are you considering promoting him, my lord? Darren, Supreme Commander of the North Blue Marines—ranked Captain under Marine Headquarters—has already been selected for the Marineford Officer Training Program. By all reports, he's on the path to high command."
"He's extremely capable, with excellent leadership and vision. Under his rule, the North Blue has seen measurable improvement in both order and economy. He's definitely worth cultivating."
"Promote him?"
Shaldes suddenly let out a twisted laugh, as though he'd just heard the most ridiculous joke.
"Not at all. What I meant was—find a way to get him thrown out of the Marines. Then kill him."
The CP1 agent was stunned, briefly unable to keep up with the noble's logic.
"Did he… offend you somehow, my lord?"
Sure, a Celestial Dragon had the power to snuff out lives on a whim.
But Darren wasn't just anyone.
A candidate for Marineford's elite training program, and a commander holding real power over the entire North Blue Marine forces, wouldn't be easy to touch—not even for the World Government.
At least not without a reason.
"Offend me?" Shaldes sneered. "No, not really."
The CP1 agent dropped to one knee, trembling.
"Then… may I ask the reason, my lord?"
Shaldes gave him a sidelong glance, then casually stomped down on his head.
Blood splattered as the agent collapsed, dazed.
"Do I need a reason to make a decision?"
"N-No, my lord!"
The CP1 leader trembled, face pale, not daring to wipe away the blood.
Shaldes snorted and turned away.
"If I had to give a reason…"
His expression darkened. His eyes turned vicious.
"It's the way he looked at me."
"…I hated the way he looked at me. That's reason enough."
He disappeared into his private quarters.
Unlike the dingy, damp slave cage below, Shaldes's personal cabin was grand and opulent. Warmly lit. Lavishly furnished. Dry carpets underfoot. Gleaming oil lamps cast golden glows across the room.
His eyes fell on the towering piles of treasure—the so-called "gift" from the North Blue's Marine commander.
Dozens of chests stuffed with gold and silver gleamed beneath the lights, making the entire room glow.
He smiled with satisfaction.
Shedding his fur coat and tossing it to the floor, he stepped through the treasure pile to the far end of the cabin, where a hidden door waited.
He turned the lock.
Click.
"Come out, my treasure," he whispered.
A woman crawled out on hands and knees. Beautiful. Collared. Shackled. Her expression vacant, her eyes lifeless.
Saliva dripped from her painted lips as she crawled to him like a broken dog, rubbing her cheek against his leg.
Shaldes let out a twisted laugh, madness in his eyes.
He pressed a button on the gramophone.
Soft jazz began to play.
He picked up a thorn-covered whip.
…
Above deck.
"You alright, boss?" one of the CP1 agents asked their bloodied commander.
"I'm fine. It's an honor to be corrected by Lord Shaldes."
He smiled proudly, wiping blood from his face and lighting a cigarette. He passed the pack around to the others.
They leaned against the railing, puffing smoke into the snowy air, faces relaxed.
They liked this feeling.
High-grade tobacco mixed with the smell of sea and snow. The chill in their lungs was oddly pleasant.
Standing on this elite government vessel, looking out over the vast ocean, they felt as though the world was theirs.
Wherever they went, commoners bowed and trembled before them. It was almost enough to convince themselves they were nobles too.
This was the reward for serving the gods.
Soon, jazz music drifted from the cabin below.
Mixed with it: maniacal laughter, the snap of a whip, and the agonized screams of a woman.
The agents looked at each other.
"Looks like Lord Shaldes is starting again…"
"Think he'll let us have a turn when he's done?"
"Heh heh heh…"
They shared knowing smiles.
"Bunch of degenerates…" their commander said with a shake of the head, chuckling.
But before he could finish the thought—
He froze.
The others did too, their eyes locked behind him, wide with horror.
A chill ran down the commander's spine.
He turned slowly.
Floating just off the bow of the ship—
A man stood calmly on a hovering silver board.
A white Marine cape billowed behind him.
Snow fell around him like feathers.
He held one finger to his lips and smiled, eyes filled with murderousintent.
"Shhh…"
---
To be continued...