At the same time...
North Blue.
The sky hung heavy with rain. A cold wind whipped across the sea, rattling the authority-laden cross-shaped flag with sharp, crackling sounds.
"Saint Figarland Garling-sama, all fleet units have entered North Blue in staggered waves and begun to disperse. This ensures no force will be able to intercept or attack them."
A captain of the Holy Land Guard knelt on one knee aboard the World Government's official vessel, his gaze fervently locked on the gem-studded boots of the man before him, his voice trembling with excitement.
This was the great and sacred Saint Figarland Garling!
A man who held the absolute right of "judgment" over the Celestial Dragons. The deputy commander of the God's Knights!
Never in his life had this lowly officer imagined he would stand on the same ship as such a divine figure.
It was the pinnacle of his existence.
Were it not for the presence of his own subordinates around him, he would have gladly crawled over and kissed Garling-sama's boots.
"Mm. I see."
Figarland Garling regarded the unfamiliar sea before him with cold indifference, letting the wind and rain whip through his crescent-shaped crimson hair. His narrowed eyes glinted dangerously.
"Send the orders. All fleets are to remain on alert and proceed as planned."
"Not a single island or nation on the list is to be spared—including Philseque Island."
His voice was colder than the wind, more biting than the rain. It hung in the air like an ancient anchor suspended mid-fall.
"Anyone who dares to obstruct or defy the orders—kill them on the spot."
The Holy Land captain trembled with reverence, nodding eagerly.
"Yes, I will carry out your orders without fail!"
His whole body was shaking with exhilaration as he turned to execute the command.
Especially that last sentence from Figarland Garling-sama—it sent a thrill straight through him, his eyes gleaming with fevered madness.
He, more than anyone, knew what it meant.
This was a supreme order from the God's Knights... an order backed by absolute immunity.
Which meant that in this mission, there were no rules.
Even ministers, nobles, even royal family members—if necessary, they could be eliminated without hesitation.
The very thought of seeing those proud royals trembling in fear beneath their rifles nearly sent him into a frenzy.
Figarland Garling let out a slow breath and turned his gaze to the island in the distance, its silhouette gradually sharpening through the mist and rain.
A trace of blood carried on the wind made him frown slightly, creasing his perfectly groomed brow.
"So this is Philseque Island..."
As the World Government's vessel approached the shore, Garling narrowed his eyes at the battered island. The fractured terrain left him visibly impatient.
He truly hadn't expected Rogers Daren would defy the Five Elders.
Even less so that the man possessed so many hidden assets—power enough to contend with the Five Elders, and a ghost fleet that seemed impossible to trace or counter.
"I really underestimated him..."
Garling licked his lips as he recalled that initial encounter at Mary Geoise, where he and Daren had exchanged a brief but sharp test of strength. His fingers drifted unconsciously to the hilt of the Western sword at his hip.
He hadn't felt this thrill since the God Valley Incident twelve years ago.
That dangerous, exhilarating chill of being challenged.
...
While his thoughts churned, the ornate white ships of the World Government finally made landfall.
A Marine unit stationed to blockade the coast jogged forward and saluted.
"Transfer of authority complete. Philseque Island is now under the control of Holy Land forces."
Figarland Garling looked down coldly at the Marines from his elevated position.
The soldiers hesitated at first, but under the weight of that cross-shaped flag, they said nothing.
They turned back to give the island one last look. A flash of reluctance crossed their eyes before they hardened their resolve and reboarded the warship.
More than two thousand civilians still remained alive on the island—but now, it was likely...
Only a dull, helpless numbness remained in their eyes.
"Saint Figarland Garling, we've found the body of Saint Barbo. Do you wish to inspect it?"
A Holy Land guard stepped forward cautiously, lowering his voice.
"Who?"
Figarland Garling frowned, visibly puzzled.
"Figarland Barbo... your nephew."
The guard hesitated, then clarified more carefully.
"Oh…"
Garling seemed to realize, then waved dismissively.
"No need. He's already dead—nothing worth seeing."
"The Figarland family… has no weaklings."
The guard froze but didn't dare show any reaction. He simply bowed deeply, turned, and left.
"The Island of the Fallen Gods… That birdbrain Morgans is really asking for death."
Garling gazed coldly across the bitterly frigid island, a cruel smile slowly curling at his lips.
He had read the report from the World Economic News Agency. That reckless fool Morgans had actually exposed everything—and even went so far as to label this impoverished North Blue island, Philseque, as the "Island of the Fallen Gods"… It left a bitter taste in Garling's mouth.
"Vermin from a dump like this should've been wiped out long ago…"
He raised his hand and made a military signal.
"Bring all surviving civilians on the island here."
"Yes, Saint Figarland Garling!"
At his command, the Holy Land guards responded in unison and sprang into action.
In less than an hour, hundreds of ragged civilians were driven at gunpoint through snow and wind, stumbling their way to the shoreline.
Terrified, the civilians trembled in the cold, none daring to look at the imposing red-haired figure.
Tattered clothes, frostbitten faces, trembling with fear… Under the muzzles of the Holy Land Guard, the kneeling civilians crowded the snow-covered ground in a desperate huddle.
From a distance, Marines aboard the warships watched with heavy hearts. Their eyes were bloodshot, fists clenched tightly.
Garling sneered, muttering to himself,
"Rogers Daren, you can't protect anything… The order you've built in the North Blue over the past ten years will crumble in an instant under the government's authority."
He slowly raised his hand.
Swish, swish, swish!
All the Holy Land guards lifted their rifles in unison.
Beneath the looming barrels, fear surged like a tide. The civilians began to panic—some couldn't hold back their sobs.
"This is just the beginning."
Garling was about to clench his fist and give the order to fire when suddenly, the shrill ring of a Den Den Mushi pierced the air.
"Brrrruuu…"
Its urgent, agitated tone made Garling frown.
He paused, then slowly lowered his hand as the desperate stares of the civilians bore into him.
He pulled out his military Den Den Mushi and answered.
"You all know I don't like being interrupted in the middle of a game…"
His voice was cold, laced with arrogance.
"I expect a damn good reason."
A brief silence followed.
Then came the hoarse voice of the Five Elders.
"Temporarily suspend all operations in the North Blue, Saint Figarland Garling."