Chapter 74: Mariejois – The Five Elders' Deliberation & Hancock's Secret Longing
Holy Land Mariejois, Pangaea Castle.
In the grand hall, the Five Elders gathered. Shadows from the high dome fell across their solemn faces. A communications officer knelt on one knee, reporting in a low voice:
"Red-Haired Shanks has secretly sent an envoy to make contact with the Whitebeard Pirates."
Saint Nasujuro gave a soft snort, fingers stroking the hilt of his sword, expression calm: "Shanks' movements can be set aside for now. The urgent priority is filling the vacancy left by Crocodile. If left unchecked, the order of the New World will collapse even faster."
Saint Saturn nodded slightly, his deep voice echoing in the hall: "Though Shanks is a variable, he won't easily disrupt the world's balance. That man understands better than anyone the price of recklessly stirring up a storm."
Saint Vochuli crossed his hands, pondering for a moment: "For now, let's observe quietly. Acting rashly might push them to unite ahead of time."
Saint Mazu's eyes flickered. He suddenly spoke: "What about that disciple of Garp's? In terms of strength, he's more than capable of guarding a region. As for his past stain… the outside world knows nothing. It won't affect the World Government's authority."
Saint Pitt tapped the armrest lightly, giving Saint Nasujuro a half-smiling look: "Indeed a suitable candidate. But… he did punch your nephew back then. You don't mind?"
Saint Nasujuro's expression remained unchanged, voice flat: "Personal grudges are insignificant. If he's willing to pledge loyalty, past conflicts are nothing more than passing clouds."
After a brief silence, Saint Saturn slowly rose, half his face shrouded in shadow: "Then send someone to make contact. I hope he… can recognize his position."
In the hall, candle flames flickered. The five figures cast deep, dark shadows on the walls.
——————
Elsewhere, at Marine Headquarters in Marineford, inside the brightly lit conference room.
Two Marine soldiers grappled fiercely, one strangling the other's neck, cold sweat soaking his uniform.
"S-Stop… I can't control myself!" he roared in terror, while the one being choked trembled and drew his saber, the blade glinting coldly in the sunlight.
"Fufufu fufu…"
A low, sinister laugh came from the balcony. Doflamingo sat cross-legged on the stone railing, the corners of his mouth stretched wide under his sunglasses. His fingertips twitched slightly—invisible strings manipulated the two soldiers' movements.
"That's enough, Doffy." Vice Admiral Tsuru sat on a nearby bench, watching calmly. "They're good boys."
"Good boys? Tsuru-senpai, the way you say it makes me sound like the bad guy." Doflamingo feigned grievance, spreading his hands—but his fingers still flicked lightly. The controlled soldier staggered forward a step.
Beside him, Bartholomew Kuma stood silently, thick Bible open in his palms, completely ignoring the farce.
"Causing such a scene outside the conference room—what a disgrace." Sengoku's voice came from behind a pillar. He frowned as he approached, his Marshal's cloak billowing slightly behind him.
Doflamingo tilted his head with a grin: "'Sea Thug'? Marshal Sengoku, that nickname really… flatters me."
Sengoku gave him a cold glance. Doflamingo shrugged. With a flick of his fingers, the two soldiers collapsed to the floor, gasping heavily, fear still lingering in their eyes.
"Let's begin the meeting. Waiting longer won't bring anyone else." Sengoku pulled out a chair and sat, tone indifferent. "Six Warlords—only two of you showed up. Attendance already exceeds my expectations."
Doflamingo lazily dragged a chair over, straddled it backward, chin resting on the backrest, grinning: "If it weren't for Dressrosa's construction going so smoothly and me getting bored out of my mind, I wouldn't bother coming."
Sengoku snorted coldly, arms crossed: "Hmph. While pirate enterprises are thriving, the Navy's days are getting harder."
Doflamingo leaned forward, trademark wicked smile spreading: "Fufufu… that sour tone doesn't suit your 'Buddha Sengoku' prestige." He deliberately dragged out the words, fingertips tapping the table lightly.
"I've been listening to pointless bickering for a while now. Did I come to the wrong place?"
"Indeed, such clamor makes this meeting feel utterly meaningless."
Two voices arrived one after the other. Everyone turned. Dracule Mihawk entered slowly, black blade Night carried on his back, sharp hawk-like eyes sweeping the room. Boa Hancock glided in with elegant steps, slender neck raised proudly.
Sengoku raised an eyebrow: "Unexpected. I didn't think either of you would show."
Doflamingo leaned forward excitedly, sunglasses glinting strangely: "Fufufu… the two least likely to attend both came. Looks like this matter is far more interesting than I imagined."
Mihawk walked straight to the table, black boots echoing steadily. "No need to be surprised." He pulled out a chair and sat, hands crossed on the table. "I'm simply interested in the pirate we're discussing today."
Hancock flicked her long hair and sat gracefully in the farthest corner, legs crossed elegantly: "The same for me." She rested her cheek on one hand, waving the other casually. "Let's begin quickly. Don't waste my precious time."
"May I be permitted to join this meeting, my lords?" Laffitte leaped gracefully down from the windowsill, black top hat low, eyes glinting slyly. He twirled his cane and gave a slight bow.
Sengoku's brow furrowed, gaze sharp: "Who are you?"
The surrounding Marines immediately went on alert, hands on sword hilts, ready to act.
Vice Admiral Tsuru slowly raised her head, eyes calm yet piercing: "Laffitte… former security officer of a West Blue island, expelled for excessive violence. I never expected to see you here."
"Oh my~" Laffitte dramatically clutched his chest, smile unwavering. "To be remembered by Vice Admiral Tsuru—I'm truly honored! But those are old stories. I'm here today to recommend a suitable candidate to replace Crocodile as Warlord."
Doflamingo leaned forward with interest: "Oh? Who are you recommending?"
Laffitte tapped his cane once. His voice rang clear and loud: "Captain of the Blackbeard Pirates—Marshall D. Teach! Please remember that name well."
Sengoku snorted coldly: "Never heard of him. Some nobody. How could he possibly intimidate other pirates?"
Hancock raised her chin haughtily, tone icy: "Putting someone like that on equal footing with me? Are you insulting me?" She flicked her wrist; a wanted poster slid onto the table. "If we're choosing a new Warlord, isn't that former Navy hero Garp's disciple a far better fit?"
On the poster: Sol's grinning face.
Doflamingo burst into exaggerated laughter: "Fufufu! The guy who punched a Celestial Dragon and ran? If it's him, I wouldn't mind at all!"
"Little Sol won't do." Tsuru cut in decisively. "Garp would tear down Marine Headquarters."
Hancock clicked her tongue in displeasure and turned her face away, refusing to speak further.
Seeing the opening, Laffitte immediately pressed: "Regarding that, our pirate crew already has a perfect plan. Just give us a little more time…"
Doflamingo fanned the flames gleefully: "Fufufu! Since the Empress's suggestion was rejected, why not hear this guy out? Marshal Sengoku~"
Kuma silently flipped pages in his Bible. Mihawk watched from the sidelines, hawk eyes shifting between them.
After Laffitte left, the meeting continued. Outside the window, sunlight gradually sank westward, casting long shadows across the conference room.
…
On the Perfume Yuda, in the Empress's bedroom.
The heavy door closed firmly behind her. Hancock finally shed her proud Empress facade. Her slender fingers irritably tore off her cloak, letting the ornate garments slide to the floor.
"Damn Tsuru-senpai…" She bit her lower lip, stomped her foot in frustration, then flopped onto the soft bed like a deflated balloon.
"Lord Sol…"
Hancock dove forward, burying herself in the plush velvet bedding, clutching the gold-embroidered pillow and rolling back and forth. Her silky black hair spilled messily. The usually cold, regal face was flushed with unnatural heat.
Her gaze drifted unconsciously to the wall—covered with carefully framed photographs: Sol standing ramrod straight in his Navy uniform; young Sol sweating in the training yard; Sol devouring food heartily in the mess hall.
Even that precious, blurry yet shocking photo—the moment a young Sol punched a Celestial Dragon flying.
Every image was meticulously mounted in golden frames, gleaming softly under the warm lamplight.
More than ten years ago, when she first heard that someone in the Navy had beaten a Celestial Dragon and escaped unscathed, she immediately sent people to collect every piece of information about Sol.
Back then, her heart surged with indescribable shock and… yearning.
"So there really is… someone in this world who dared to strike a Celestial Dragon…"
Most of those photos came from leaks in the Marine family quarters. Rumor had it that Marineford even had a secret "Sol fan club," and Hancock—through every channel, at great expense—had gathered these precious images.
She rolled over, staring at the ceiling, fingertips twirling her long hair, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"If Lord Sol becomes a Warlord… the Navy won't be able to pursue him anymore…"
Her heartbeat quickened at the thought, cheeks blooming with red. She hugged the pillow tighter, burying her face, legs kicking lightly in excitement.
"Ah… I want to see Lord Sol so much…"
The proud Empress, in this moment, was like a lovestruck young girl, lost in sweet fantasy.
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