The next day, Den Den Mushi across the world rang out in chaos.
Atop the Red Line – Holy Land Mariejois.
Inside a vast and opulent palace hall, a large, bearded old man sat upon the central throne. His head was encased in a bubble-shaped hood, and in one hand, he held a heavy chain. At the other end of that chain knelt a heavily tattooed, musclebound man, shackled and subdued. Below them, on one knee, a man in a black suit appeared to be giving a report.
"Saint Rosward, the Crimson Man-Eating Flower you've been supporting was discovered by the Navy yesterday. They were completely wiped out near the waters of Saintin Island by an unidentified force," the suited man reported from his position on the gleaming marble floor.
So this bearded man in the bubble hood was Saint Rosward—one of the Celestial Dragons, the so-called "Descendants of the Creator." Only those of that divine bloodline could bear the title of "Saint."
"What?!" Rosward's eyes bulged beneath his hood. "They're all dead?! Does that mean... no one will be delivering new stock to me?!"
The tattooed brute at his feet flinched slightly, a mix of shock and hate flashing through his otherwise emotionless eyes—before suddenly shifting to a manic glint of glee.
"This... might mean you'll have to personally visit the Sabaody Archipelago next time, Saint Rosward," the suited man muttered, clearly not expecting the Celestial Dragon's first concern to be the disruption to his slave supply, rather than who had dared eliminate such a powerful syndicate.
"Unforgivable! Who did this? Tell the Navy and CP agents to take them out immediately!" Rosward barked, outraged.
"We haven't been able to identify the attackers yet. By the time the Navy's patrol ship arrived, the Crimson Man-Eating Flower had already been destroyed for over a full day," the man replied, shaking his head.
"Useless Navy scum. Go—find them. And once you do, eliminate them!" Rosward snapped, the chain in his hand clinking and jangling wildly with every furious shake.
"Yes, Saint Rosward," the black-suited man bowed deeply and withdrew.
Another office deep within Mariejois.
A high-ranking government official stared grimly at a Den Den Mushi buzzing off the hook. Calls flooded in from every corner of the world: a politically powerful noble from the Grand Line, a tycoon from the West Blue, a fabulously wealthy king from the South Blue...
In the New World – Somewhere in an uncharted sea.
Dozens of colossal warships clustered together, each over 100 meters long. At the center loomed a super-dreadnought—nearly 200 meters in length, dwarfing even a first-class Marine battleship. The vessels were packed so tightly and laden with infrastructure, they resembled a floating city—imposing and foreboding.
At the heart of it all, on the central super-ship, stood a stone palace. Inside its grand hall, a man with flowing golden hair and a sharp, upturned mustache sat on a golden throne. He wore a long black coat with twin sixes stitched in gold on its hem—Vinsmoke Judge, Supreme Commander of Germa 66.
"Commander, intel from the World Government just arrived. The Crimson Man-Eating Flower was wiped out near the Alabasta Kingdom in the first half of the Grand Line. Elver and Paradi are confirmed dead. Their whole operation has been eradicated," reported a scarred, shirtless warrior kneeling on one knee before the throne.
"What?! Wiped out?!" Judge narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Those fools may not have been impressive, but in the first half of the Grand Line, who even could do something ? Aside from the Navy and a few of the Seven Warlords... Wait—was it Crocodile?"
"Based on what the Navy gathered, it was likely pirates. The Saint Florent was completely looted—everything valuable and even the 24-pounder cannons were stripped," the man replied respectfully.
"Not a Warlord, huh? Then who has that kind of firepower in Paradise? If Crimson Man-Eating Flower is gone, we'll have to reestablish a new supply line..." Judge muttered, troubled.
This was none other than Germa 66, the only mobile, sea-bound nation in the world. Usually scattered across individual ships, they could combine into one formidable kingdom. Their citizens were exclusively male and trained as soldiers, forming a fearsome army known as "Warhouse" or "Army of Evil," led by the deadly Vinsmoke family—renowned for their ruthless scientific warfare.
Germa relied on Crimson Man-Eating Flower for slave procurement. Boys were brainwashed and trained into loyal soldiers for Germa 66. Girls were raised as servants for the royal family—or as rewards for high-ranking officers.
While the syndicate originally catered to Celestial Dragons and elite clients, it eventually expanded, with subordinate branches selling more common captives to clients like Germa.
Now that the syndicate's main force and leaders had been annihilated, their remnants would likely either dissolve or fall to the same mysterious enemy.
"Commander, allow me to handle this matter personally," the scarred warrior offered.
"Fine, I leave it to you," Judge nodded after a pause. "As for who took out the Crimson Man-Eating Flower... doesn't matter. If they were that weak, they deserved to be crushed."
Sky above the New World's entrance.
A tall man in an extravagant pink feathered coat soared through the clouds, leaping effortlessly from air to air. Blond hair cropped short, face hidden behind tinted shades, black suit under his open coat, red tie at the collar, and white pants embroidered with orange flame motifs at the cuffs—his every step seemed to hover in midair.
His Den Den Mushi buzzed. Reaching into his coat, he retrieved a tiny, bubblegum-pink transceiver snail.
Once connected, a playful voice emerged:
"Oi oi, Doffy... something very interesting just happened."
The man grinned darkly. He was none other than the Heavenly Yaksha, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea—Donquixote Doflamingo.
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