A gargantuan sea chart hung upon the wall.
It was so vast that the entirety of the New World was contained within its borders. Though certain regions remained shrouded in mist—uncharted and impenetrable—the map nonetheless detailed every known expanse of the sea. Such a chart, if brought to market, would command a price beyond reckoning.
Yet, far more valuable than the map itself were the dense, intricate shipping lanes etched upon it. Each line represented a vein of gold, where mountains of wealth flowed ceaselessly across the waves.
This was the fruit of Umit's life's work.
The specific data of every route, the layout of every port, the prevailing winds, tides, currents, hidden reefs, and drifting ice—these details formed the flesh and bone of the Blackwater Society. They were the pillars that supported the Shipping King's hegemony in the New World.
"What is the status of the Dalama Kingdom? Why haven't I seen the latest reports from their shipping office? And Ariye? Where are they? Why is there nothing from them?"
Umit's gaze was cold enough to make one forget the sweltering heat of a Summer Island. His eyes, like the depths of a frozen abyss, swept over the secretaries who stood before him with bowed heads.
He maintained a massive secretarial pool.
As the Shipping King of the New World, it was impossible for him to pilot the super-dreadnought known as the Blackwater Society alone. Time and energy were finite resources. He required a legion of hands to help him steer his commercial empire. This pool of over fifty secretaries served as his tentacles, reaching into every corner of his domain.
"Can anyone tell me? Exactly what has happened?" Umit asked again.
The uniquely styled, oversized navy hat atop his head—adorned with a silver anchor—quivered slightly as he turned his gaze.
The secretaries did not remain silent for long. After a series of wordless glances, one man stepped forward, bowing deeply before Umit's desk. "Lord Umit, we have not yet received formal reports from the local branches. Thus far, we have only gathered fragmented messages..."
"Give me the conclusion!" Umit snapped, staring the man down.
"It is... the Kingdom of Echemondo," the secretary replied, forcing the name past his lips.
As Umit's personal staff, they understood his ambitions better than anyone. In fact, they were the ones who had brainstormed the specific operation against Echemondo. The plan had been to use the Amento Kingdom as a veil to blind the Whitebeard Pirates, creating a fait accompli before pacifying the old man's wrath with gold and severed heads.
The plan hadn't been particularly subtle, but it was practical and easy to execute.
Unfortunately, the play had barely begun before the curtain was forced down.
The "Black Prince," Soccachio Elus, had achieved fame in a single stroke. All of Umit's effort and investment had become a stepping stone for the Prince, granting this once-obscure noble a seat among the powerhouses of the New World.
The message brought back by "Ghost Sword" Venculla was still burned into their minds. After all, it had been nearly a decade since anyone had dared to speak such arrogant words to Umit:
Until the day I personally claim your head, pray keep my trophies safe. Do not misplace them.
What was most infuriating was that Venculla, that spineless wretch, had been utterly broken by terror. He had done nothing but ramble about Elus's horrifying power before Lord Umit, exhausting his limited vocabulary in a desperate attempt to explain his failure.
It was a common enough tactic—exaggerating the enemy's strength to mask one's own incompetence.
However, it was still a profound disappointment to see that Venculla, a man once held in high regard, was so easily crushed. To describe a mere prince as being as terrifying as a Yonko... it was almost enough to make one laugh. But after the laughter came a deep, cold frustration.
Venculla was currently rotting in a prison cell. Yet, here they were, forced once again to speak the unpleasant name of Echemondo.
"Echemondo... so, this is a reprisal?"
Once the source of the trouble was identified, Umit's fury actually began to settle. Seventy percent of his rage had been rooted in the unknown. The fear of the unseen was always the greatest; once the enemy's identity was clear, that fear naturally evaporated.
Compared to the unknown, what did a tangible threat matter?
Unless the one targeting him was a Yonko, one of the three Marine Admirals, or a monster like Hawkeye Mihawk, he feared nothing.
He was the Shipping King, an undisputed Emperor of the Underworld.
"I had intended to let them slide for the sake of Whitebeard's flag, but since they've chosen to go looking for trouble... they have only their own foolishness to blame." Umit tugged at his curled mustache, his frigid eyes brimming with murderous intent.
Ever since the battle at Whale Tail hit the papers, the news that he had meddled in Whitebeard's territory had spread. This had forced him to keep a wary eye on the Moby Dick, bracing for the old man's thunderous retribution.
Instead of Whitebeard's wrath, he had been bitten by a small cur he hadn't even deigned to notice.
"Contact..."
Umit started to speak, then paused.
Whom should he contact?
Venculla wasn't the strongest among his hidden assets, but he was certainly in the top five. The fact that Venculla had been reduced to a shivering shell of a man suggested that Echemondo—no, that the "Black Prince" Soccachio Elus—was more than just a bloodthirsty butcher.
Sending someone on Venculla's level would likely be a waste of resources. But as for those who stood far above the Ghost Sword... was he expected to handle this personally?
Furthermore, he had to consider the consequences. If he continued to strike at Echemondo, how would the Whitebeard Pirates react? Would they remain indifferent, or would they decide he was overstepping his bounds?
This made him realize his murderous impulses were perhaps too simplistic.
The New World was a labyrinth of complexity. It belonged to the Four Emperors—not just one, but all four. Even a Yonko could not act with total impunity; seen and unseen restraints bound everyone, including a giant of the Underworld.
No one truly acted with absolute freedom. Even Big Mom, that mad sovereign who would sack a nation for a few sweets, had curbed her appetite for Fishman Island all these years, wary of the protection afforded to it by Whitebeard.
"Whitebeard... since it isn't wise to strike his doorstep, then... we shall invite the Prince to come to us." Umit stared at the massive sea chart. "Spread the word. Tell the world that in the middle of next month, I will be traveling to Dressrosa to meet with Joker. Simultaneously, send a formal invitation to our dear Black Prince. Tell him..."
As a self-made mogul of the dark, Umit never lacked for boldness or resolve.
He didn't hesitate for a moment at the prospect of using himself as bait. Risk and opportunity were two sides of the same coin—a truth he understood better than anyone. One who refused to pay the price could never reap the harvest. To remove a parasite like Elus, who was currently gnawing at the foundations of his "Shipping Kingdom," he was willing to take the gamble.
"Tell him I am waiting in Dressrosa. I am giving him the chance to kill me. If he wants my head as a trophy... he'll have to come out and fight for it."
Umit's gaze remained fixed on the chart. His eyes were possessed by a singular obsession, as if he were staring at the sum of his own life. Indeed, this chart and these tangled routes were his life. The better part of his years had been poured into every single one of those lines.
"If you want my head, come and take it," he whispered to the empty air.
A small wave of unease rippled through the secretaries. They were not in favor of Umit putting himself in danger—especially in Dressrosa, the lair of that shameless villain, Joker. Compared to Elus, whose courage to accept the invitation was still in question, Joker was a far more treacherous and greedy monster.
"Lord Umit, Joker is..."
"Do not worry. Do not underestimate that trash's instinct for survival."
Umit cut off the secretaries' protests.
As a fellow Emperor of the Underworld, Joker's ambition was common knowledge. This former Celestial Dragon turned Warlord of the Sea lived by his own theory that "Justice will prevail—because whoever wins becomes Justice." He understood perfectly well that, at his current strength, he could not yet be the ultimate winner.
Therefore, Joker would not maliciously break the existing rules. On the contrary, to protect his lucrative position between the light and dark, he would do everything in his power to maintain the current order. Until the "New Era" he dreamed of arrived, he would not be the one to destroy the old one.
That was precisely why Umit had chosen Dressrosa. When necessary, he would pay the price to borrow Joker's strength.
Of course, if Elus failed to appear in Dressrosa next month... Umit would simply find another way to dispose of the nuisance. His Shipping Kingdom was not so fragile that it could be toppled by a single parasite.