Bang!
The heavy thud of a club striking flesh echoed sharply through the stunned silence of the crowd.
The bubble helmet atop Charlmarco Saint's head burst with a sharp pop, and his ugly, bloated face was struck full-on by the descending staff.
Crack!
The sound of his nasal bone shattering rang clearly as his nose collapsed inward.
Seven or eight of his teeth flew from his mouth, scattering through the air with bright red blood before bouncing and rolling across the polished white ground.
The sudden violence shocked everyone—Cobra, Neptune, even Rorschach and Hibari all froze in disbelief.
The three Celestial Dragons whose minds had been affected by Rorschach's bioelectric field also stared wide-eyed, unable to process what had just happened.
Charlmarco Saint was thrown backward off his giant slave's back, crashing heavily onto the ground.
He staggered, dazed from the blow, pressing a trembling hand against the floor as he sat up. His other hand rose shakily to touch his face—still throbbing in agony.
When he saw the blood smeared across his palm, a shrill, panicked scream erupted from his throat.
"AAAAHHHHH!!!"
"Charlmarco Saint!"
The slaves belonging to him were the first to react, panicked and terrified. They rushed forward and formed a protective wall around the attacker—a Celestial Dragon with a tied-up bun, who had just stepped off the back of a one-armed CP agent.
Charlmarco Saint, clutching his bleeding face, glared hatefully at the man before him, shouting hoarsely:
"Musgarud! You—you beast! How dare you! Do you want to die? Slaves! Kill him! Kill him now!"
He roared his command at his terrified slaves. But none of them moved.
Not one.
Even his strongest giant slave remained still, trembling.
For here, in the Holy Land of Mary Geoise, there existed one unbreakable law:
No one who is not a Celestial Dragon may harm a Celestial Dragon.
Even the smallest act of disrespect toward a Celestial Dragon meant certain death—not just for the offender, but for anyone associated with them.
To strike one? That was a death sentence for entire families, entire units—perhaps even the officials who had witnessed it.
"Musgarud? So it really is him," Rorschach murmured, eyes narrowing as he studied the unexpected newcomer who had intervened so suddenly, like a divine retribution from the heavens.
Donquixote Musgarud—a member of the Donquixote family, one of the nineteen royal lines who founded the World Government.
The same family as Donquixote Doflamingo.
Years ago, Musgarud's ship had wrecked near Fish-Man Island. It was Queen Otohime who saved him. Her words and compassion had moved him deeply, awakening a conscience long buried beneath Celestial arrogance. From that day, he turned away from the cruelty of his own kind, becoming the rarest of anomalies among the Celestial Dragons—a man with a heart.
He was now shunned by the rest of his kind, much like Donquixote Homing, Doflamingo's father, who had once renounced his status for similar reasons.
(Though Rorschach couldn't help wondering what relation Musgarud might have to that man.)
Charlmarco's muffled, toothless roars of rage only grew louder. Musgarud, however, stared him down without fear, shouting back:
"Charlmarco! Ever since the Rozwald family died, your estate has held the most slaves in all of Mary Geoise!
"You heartless wretch—you waste the Heavenly Tribute the Five Elders allot you on buying slaves to torture and kill for amusement!
"And now, you would dare lay hands on the descendant of my savior?
"I, Donquixote Musgarud, will never stand by and watch such evil unfold!
"Princess Shirahoshi is here under the direct invitation of the Five Elders to attend the World Conference as the representative of the Ryugu Kingdom!
"Even a Celestial Dragon has no right to attack the princess of an allied nation!
"If you don't want to be executed by the Five Elders for your crimes, you'd better shut your filthy mouth!"
Ignoring the slaves trying to block his path, Musgarud strode straight to Charlmarco, his expression fierce. He grabbed the older man by the bloodstained collar and roared in his face.
The threat hit home.
At the mention of being punished by the Five Elders, Charlmarco's bloated, bloodied face went pale. Fear flickered in his eyes.
For a brief moment, even his madness faltered.
He slumped weakly, trembling, and could only let out a pitiful groan from deep in his throat.
"What's happening here? Make way!"
The shout came from behind as a squad of World Government officials arrived, leading armed Holy Land Guard soldiers and several powerful CP0 agents. They pushed through the crowd of slaves, forcing them aside.
When they saw Charlmarco's bloody, swollen face, several officials blanched with horror.
A few black-suited guards leapt forward with Moonwalk, landing beside the wounded Celestial Dragon.
"Charlmarco Saint! Are you alright?! Doctor! Get a doctor, now!"
Masked CP0 members spread out in a defensive ring, glaring suspiciously at Rorschach through their masks.
And from far down the road leading toward Pangaea Castle, Rorschach felt another presence—a sharp, cutting aura rapidly approaching.
It was Figarland Garling Saint, commander of the Holy Knights.
Rorschach raised a hand, signaling Law. He nodded toward the bloody, groaning Charlmarco, silently instructing him to treat the man's wounds quickly and contain the situation before it worsened.
Though clearly reluctant, Law moved.
Whoosh!
But before he could reach him, a tall CP0 agent in a white cloak and a monkey-faced mask appeared before him in a flash.
"Stop, Marine. One more step, and you die."
"I'm a doctor," Law replied calmly. "Trafalgar Law, Marine Headquarters Special Surgeon, Rear Admiral. I only wish to treat Charlmarco Saint's injuries."
"We don't need you. We have our own physicians," the CP0 agent growled, his tone sharp and dangerous. The killing intent rolling off him made Law's skin prickle.
"I understand," Law said smoothly. "But if we delay, the blood loss may become fatal. It would be… troublesome if such a distinguished man were to die here."
Then Rorschach spoke. His voice was soft—almost kind.
But when his words reached Charlmarco's ears, they struck like thunder.
"If his bleeding isn't stopped soon, he won't survive much longer."
The fear of death seized Charlmarco's heart like a vice. Panic flooded him, and he screamed hoarsely:
"Move aside, you fools! Let him treat me! If I die, I'll drag all of you to hell with me!"
The CP0 agents hesitated. Then, without a word, they stepped back.
Meanwhile, down the main road, the figure of Garling Saint appeared—clad in a gold-trimmed black cloak, his moon-shaped head gleaming under the sunlight.
As the Holy Knight commander advanced, tension rippled through the guards and CP0 agents.
Law raised his hand. A glowing, spherical Room—ten meters wide—expanded from his palm, enveloping Charlmarco's head.
Before anyone could intervene, Law's right hand blurred—his fingers moving like precision tools into Charlmarco's broken nose.
In seconds, the miracle happened.
The Celestial Dragon's crushed nasal bridge reformed instantly, his face returning to its former grotesque shape. The blood vanished as though erased.
Even the teeth that had scattered across the ground reappeared in his mouth, perfectly reattached to his gums.
Within moments, the man who had been a bloody ruin was completely healed.
Had it not been for his shattered bubble helmet and the faint stains on his clothes, one might have believed the entire scene had been an illusion.
"Such extraordinary medical skill…" murmured one of the CP0, unable to hide his amazement.
Musgarud himself looked stunned.
If not for the blood still smeared on his staff, he might have thought he had imagined everything.
Then, with a thud, a new presence landed in their midst.
A tall figure in a black cloak descended from the sky, having crossed hundreds of meters in an instant.
The air itself seemed to bow to his arrival.
At once, every person present—guards, slaves, CP0, and officials alike—fell to one or both knees.
"Garling Saint."
Garling rested one hand on the hilt of his western-style sword, his cold, predatory gaze sweeping across the scene—from Charlmarco, to Rorschach, to Cobra and Shirahoshi—before finally fixing on Musgarud.
"Speak, Musgarud," he said evenly. "What happened here?"
Under that gaze, Musgarud felt as though a mountain had been dropped on his shoulders.
The bloodied staff slipped from his trembling hands and clattered to the ground.
Cold sweat beaded across his forehead.
"Kill him! Execute him, Garling Saint!" Charlmarco shrieked suddenly, seizing Garling's sleeve. "He's a traitor to our kind! He dared to strike me—strike a god! Kill him now!"
Smack!
The sharp crack of a slap rang through the air.
Charlmarco Saint, struck full in the face, spun once on his feet before collapsing back onto the ground, dazed and bleeding anew.
The entire crowd froze, too shocked to breathe.
Rorschach's eyebrows rose. Even he hadn't expected this.
Garling Saint—striking another Celestial Dragon, and so publicly?
And by the looks of it, no one around seemed to find it strange.
The CP0 and black suits remained silent, their expressions unchanged.
Garling looked down coldly at the cowering Charlmarco. "Did I ask you to speak?"
His voice was glacial. "Do you wish to be stripped of your title as a Celestial Dragon?"
"I—I'm sorry, Garling Saint," Charlmarco stammered, clutching his face and nodding frantically, too afraid to utter another sound.
Garling dismissed him with a glance, then turned back to Musgarud.
"Now, Musgarud," he said in a voice that brooked no defiance. "Explain yourself. Why did you strike Charlmarco?"
(End of Chapter)
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