As the warship passed the halfway point, the communications officer contacted the guards at the Gates of Justice in front of Impel Down. By the time the ship arrived, the gates had already opened just enough for them to slip through with the current before sealing shut again—security was tight.
"Victor, come with me to escort Avalo Pizarro inside," Zephyr said as he led Pizarro out onto the deck.
Victor nodded without objection. He was curious to see the legendary underwater prison, famed for being the most inescapable fortress in the world.
The three stood on the deck, waiting for the ship to dock at the prison's entrance on the sea-level floor.
Impel Down's above-water section resembled a massive circular fortress, surrounded by numerous warships. Beneath the waves, enormous shadows drifted ominously.
Suddenly, Pizarro slumped onto the deck. Victor and Zephyr exchanged glances, surprised.
Pizarro locked eyes with Victor for a long moment before speaking in a calm, resolute voice.
"Orens Victor… I have a story. Would you like to hear it?"
Victor glanced toward Impel Down, then sat down as well. "Go ahead, but make it quick."
Zephyr remained silent, assuming this was just a final plea before imprisonment.
Pizarro's voice was low, his gaze distant, as if lost in memory.
"I had a friend. He was born into royalty—his father was the king of a small nation. From childhood, he was raised with strict royal education, taught to care for his people."
"His father was a good king, one who loved his subjects. But due to the climate, crops could only be harvested once a year. The people barely scraped by, and the old king could do little to change that. Taxes were kept low—just enough to sustain the kingdom."
"The royal family lived frugally, never wasting food or indulging in extravagance. Because of this, they couldn't afford the Celestial Dragons' tribute—the 'Heavenly Tribute'—and thus couldn't join the World Government. The kingdom remained unstable, yet the people were grateful to the royals. The low taxes were the only reason they survived."
"His father always blamed himself for failing to provide true stability. He told my friend, 'When you become king, you must find a way to give our people a better life. Protect them. Keep them safe.'"
Pizarro's voice wavered slightly, his eyes tinged with sorrow.
"My friend took those words to heart. He studied tirelessly, preparing to be a good king. But before he was ready, his father died mysteriously in the palace—a bloody hole in his right temple, yet no bullet, no burn marks. As if killed by a ghost."
"Devastated, my friend searched for the killer but found nothing. With no time to mourn, he was thrust onto the throne at eighteen, forced to bear the crown in grief."
"A month later, a masked man arrived, claiming to be from the World Government. He asked my friend a single question: 'Do you wish to join the World Government? Become a member nation, and the Marines will protect you from pirates.'"
Victor listened quietly, already guessing where this was going.
"But how could my friend agree? Joining would bring security, but the Heavenly Tribute was exorbitant. With their meager harvests and no valuable resources, paying it would starve them within a year. He refused."
"The masked man shook his head as he left, muttering, 'Another stubborn fool.'"
"My friend didn't understand at the time, but he wouldn't change his mind. Then, not long after, packs of strange white wolves appeared in the southern forests—beasts never seen before. They rampaged through towns, slaughtering and devouring people."
"My friend organized hunts, but the wolves were too fast, too strong. Desperate, he ordered the construction of a great wall—twenty meters high—to keep them out."
Pizarro paused.
"What happened next?" Victor asked softly.
"It took over a year to complete the wall, isolating the entire forest. The wolves were no longer a threat, but the construction drained resources. Crops failed. People starved. Rumors spread—that the new king had murdered his father, that the wolves were divine punishment, that the wall was a wasteful vanity project."
Victor sighed. 'An entire nation, toyed with so easily. Is this what it means to rule the world?'
"My friend bore no resentment. He knew he hadn't killed his father. The wall had saved lives. But with famine spreading, he distributed the royal family's surplus food as relief. Yet corrupt officials and nobles stole most of it. The people received scraps."
"Then came new rumors—that the king feasted lavishly in his palace while his people starved. No one listened to his denials. The people's gratitude turned to hatred."
Zephyr had been listening in silence, making no move to stop Pizarro.
"To increase food production, my friend ordered more farmland cleared. But crops needed water, so he commanded the digging of a vast lake at the island's center—to store rainwater and snowmelt for irrigation."
"A sound plan," Victor remarked.
"Two more years passed. The lake was finished. By some miracle, heavy snows came, filling it to the brim. The next year, meltwater provided enough for all the fields. The harvest was bountiful—finally, the people ate their fill."
"But new rumors spread: the lake was really for the king's pleasure—a place for boating and feasting. My friend had inspected the water levels by boat, but now even that was twisted into extravagance. More lives lost to 'wasted' labor."
"Still, the kingdom prospered that year. Yet its population had dwindled by twenty percent. To recover, my friend issued a new decree: 'After six in the evening, no one may leave their homes.'"
"Oh? Why didn't he explain things clearly?" Victor asked.
"Because lies kept spreading no matter what. My friend knew the truth would only be twisted, so he stopped bothering. As long as it benefited the kingdom, that was enough. And just as expected—rumors flared again. They said the king was growing more tyrannical, more controlling, even stripping away their freedom. The year's bountiful harvest, which had briefly earned their gratitude, was forgotten."
"The masses struggle to discern truth. They're easily swept up by the tide," Victor remarked.
"That was my friend's final year as king. A coalition of nobles exiled him overseas. The people didn't resist—they celebrated, even holding feasts. Heartbroken, he drifted alone on a small boat… until the day he found a Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit. With its power, he returned."
"But what he saw was a nation worse off than before—people gaunt, clothed in rags. The country had joined the World Government after all. When the citizens recognized him, their eyes filled with hatred, blaming him for everything. Crushed, he left as they screamed 'Corrupt King!' at his back." Pizarro exhaled as if unburdened, his bitterness finally voiced.
"And after that? What became of your friend?" Victor pressed.
"The betrayal broke him. He became someone else—a monster, wielding his strength for cruelty. The very evil he once despised." Pizarro's voice steadied, though his eyes glistened.
"A moving tale. But your friend lacked resolve. He let himself become what he hated most." Victor's tone was measured. "A king granted such power should have grown stronger, then remade his kingdom. Used that strength to protect his people, better their lives, and slowly mend their trust."
"A ruler needs forbearance. They were deceived—not beyond saving. Abandoning them only condemned them to worse under worse rulers."
Pizarro studied Victor's face. In those radiant eyes, he saw unshakable conviction—a man who'd bow to no trial.
"Victor… you should visit that country someday. There might be something there you seek. With your influence now, locating it would be simple." Something cryptic flickered in Pizarro's gaze.
"Perhaps." Victor's reply hung in the sudden silence. Even Zephyr lowered his head, shadows veiling his expression.