The swagger in Doflamingo's voice vanished in an instant.
If it had only been a call with Sammi, he would have traded quips for a while. They were on the same side, yes, but also competitors in the underworld, and he enjoyed the dance. If the message carried Lord Ozz's instruction, however, that was another matter.
"What is it?" Doflamingo asked evenly. The red lenses hid his eyes, yet his attention sharpened on the transponder snail's face. "What has Lord Ozz decided?"
Sammi did not posture or borrow authority. She went straight to the point. "The Seven Warlords program. Your name is on the list."
She drew breath to explain the scheme, only for Doflamingo to cut in. On the other side of the line, the snail's features adopted a pink-feathered silhouette and bared a grin as that peculiar laugh bubbled up.
"I already know, Sammi. This seat was set aside for me a long time ago. By Lord Ozz himself."
Sammi was briefly at a loss. She had not known that piece of history. "In that case, your position is clear. I have nothing further. Congratulations."
Elation flashed and was reined in just as quickly. With this badge he could begin his succession plan in earnest, but he kept the surface gracious. "Think nothing of it. No title, no matter how glittering, can compare to yours, Lady Sammi. Being Lord Ozz's voice carries more weight than any government seal."
He might be pleased, but he was not foolish. He knew exactly why this door had opened and whose name lay behind it.
And he knew better than to believe all the marketing. Aside from a rare few, most of the so-called Seven Warlords would be second-tier talents like himself. Let the Government say a Warlord stood across from a Marine Admiral or a Sea Emperor. He knew his own weight.
The ones who could truly stand toe to toe with Ozz were monsters, and Doflamingo did not mistake himself for one. Not yet.
Patience first. Grow. Then laugh last.
…
Elsewhere, Ozz had already reached the base of the Red Line and was preparing to cross back from the New World to the first half of the Grand Line. He did not bother to keep the Warlords business in mind. It had been an idle move at best.
Call it a whim. Call it for fun.
"L… Lord Black Emperor, your orange juice."
At the prow, Ozz stood in the wind, a cigar resting between his fingers. The liner's head chef approached with trembling care, offering up a crystal glass with both hands.
"No need to be so nervous," Ozz said, accepting the drink with an easy nod. "And about the fare, just collect it on Sabaody."
Bullying ordinary people bored him. The crew had treated him with courtesy, despite the fact he had boarded first and intended to settle the formalities later. That was worth the same in return.
The chef paled and hurried to wave it off. "No, please. Your presence honors our ship. Besides, we sail under Lord Umit, the Shipping King."
"Do you." Ozz lifted a brow, amused. In this era, he could hardly spend money even when he wanted to. Take a random ferry and it still turned out to be part of his own network.
He left the matter there and faced forward. The Red Line rose ahead like a wall into the clouds.
"Adjust course," he said. "We will go over the Red Line and return to the first half."
A murmur rippled through the bridge when the order reached the captain and crew.
"Over the Red Line? No one does that. That is the Holy Land, Mary Geoise."
"Even if the lift will take people, it does not take ships. How are we supposed to get a hull up there?"
"Ram it?"
They hesitated. The captain listened, smoked in silence, then stubbed out his cigarette and decided. "Do it. If Lord Ozz says we go, we go."
The last man under Umit to die carrying out an Ozz-related order had left his family with a fortune that would feed generations. The company took care of its own.
Men die for those who know their worth. Under Ozz the coffers were full, the manpower was vast, and there was never a shortage of loyal hands willing to go all in.
Beneath the heights of Mary Geoise, the passenger ship cut straight on. Ozz tipped his head back to take in the sheer face of the continent.
"So. Back again."
A collective gasp rose from the lift platforms as Ozz raised one hand. The entire liner lifted, timbers creaking, water streaming from her flanks. Heads turned and mouths fell open as the ship floated up and over the Red Line, angling toward the Holy Land.
Among the onlookers were World Government personnel. The keen-eyed picked out the tall figure at the prow and, coupled with the rarified display of power, had no trouble putting a name to him.
By the time Ozz guided the ship to the broad terraces atop the Red Line, a detachment of Cipher Pol operatives had already formed up to receive him. The masked man at their head was Lip, the CP0 agent assigned to Ozz.
"Welcome home to the Holy Land, Lord Ozz." Lip went to one knee. The line of CP agents followed suit in a ripple of black coats and bowed heads.
Ozz had intended to pass through without ceremony. Now that they had rolled out a carpet, ignoring it would create more fuss. He sighed, not unamused.
The vessel settled gently before the formation. Ozz stepped off the gangplank with his hands in his pockets and came to a casual halt in front of them. "No need for all this, Lip. I am not here to visit."
Lip rose and inclined his head. "Understood. There is, however, a matter I have been instructed to report. It may be… a pleasant surprise."
…
Pangaea Castle, the Celestial Dragons' domain.
Led by Lip, Ozz walked the immaculate paths toward the villa that served as his residence, one of the standardized estates allotted to those of his station. The air was clean in a way the world below rarely was. The tiles shone. The guards posted at discreet intervals watched without meeting his eye.
As they walked, Lip explained with careful deference. "Per your earlier directive, we have brought back many girls from across the seas. All of them are sets of three sisters. Only a small portion are actual triplets. We hope this is acceptable."
He delivered the last part with a trace of unease, as if bracing to be told they had misunderstood.
Ozz blinked. "Acceptable?"
What exactly was he supposed to be objecting to?
He stopped in front of the villa's door and looked at Lip again, the question plain on his face. The agent stood ramrod straight and stared at a point over Ozz's shoulder, exemplary in his discipline and completely unaware he had just startled his master.
Ozz exhaled a small laugh. He had issued many instructions, large and small, practical and playful. The machinery of the Holy Land had obeyed them all with terrifying efficiency.
"Show me," he said.
Lip bowed. "At once."
The door swung open on silent hinges. Light spilled across polished floors and the faint scent of citrus drifted from within, clean and bright. Somewhere deeper in the house, a chorus of low, nervous voices scattered into silence.
Ozz stepped over the threshold and the storm of the New World fell away as if a curtain had dropped. Beyond the walls, the Red Line held up the sky. Within them, the life of a Celestial Dragon waited exactly as he had designed it to.
Unexpected, yes. Unwelcome, not necessarily.
He glanced back at Lip. "We will talk details after. Have CP0 clear the route to Paradise."
"Yes, Lord Ozz."
Ozz's fingers brushed the last taste of salt from his lip. He smiled once, without showing teeth, then moved forward into the villa.
The next stage would begin from here.
…