Chapter 103 103: Kong, Sengoku, Borsalino at Pangaea Castle

— — — — — — Of course, Imu and the Five Elders had never heard of anything like "Automata." Automata—A concept pulled straight out of the Warhammer 40K universe. They're human slaves who've undergone extreme cybernetic enhancements—flesh merged with metal, humanity stripped down to the bare minimum. Their minds are reprogrammed to follow only the tasks they're designed for. These soulless constructs came about after the infamous Men of Iron Rebellion, when artificial intelligence was outright banned in the Imperium. Automatas were the workaround. In theory, their personal will is erased—only primal instincts and mechanical obedience remain. But due to flaws in the process, sometimes fragments of their original personality resurface. The worst cases? They become fully aware of their situation—memories intact—yet utterly powerless to act. All they can do is watch. ( ██ : "Yeah, if they didn't have that flaw, I wouldn't even be using them.") The tech for the conversions came from Merlin. She'd randomly picked it up while browsing the chat group store one day—pure curiosity. The package came with all the tools and materials needed to build a working Automata unit. And right now, it was finally coming in handy. — — — Twenty minutes later. Three figures approached Sabaody Archipelago from different directions. They moved through the now-deserted residential areas, silent streets echoing with the absence of life. Eventually, they regrouped right at the entrance to the Holy Land—Mary Geoise. "Ohhh~... looks like we're late, huh?" The man in a yellow striped suit with a Marine coat draped over his shoulders like a cape, and gold-amber tinted sunglasses, rematerialized from light particles into human form. His long hair swayed in the wind as he looked over the sea of corpses—Celestial Dragons and their bodyguards laid out like garbage. Whether the expression on his face was regret, apathy, or something else... it was hard to say. Borsalino, Vice Admiral of the Marines. Logia user. Powers of the Glint-Glint Fruit (Pika Pika no Mi). The other two who arrived couldn't have been more different. One was a broad-chested, dark-skinned man with a white mohawk shaped like a mountain peak. The other wore round frog-eyed glasses, his long beard twisted into braids at the chin. A seagull-adorned Marine cap barely concealed his wild afro beneath. These two were none other than Fleet Admiral Kong and Admiral Sengoku, the Marine strategist known far and wide for his cunning mind. "You told me over the Den Den Mushi you were at G-2 base," Kong said with a frown, eyes narrowing on Borsalino. "With your speed, you mean to tell me you just arrived here with me and Sengoku?" "Ahhh... well, you see..." Borsalino scratched his head lazily. "The real defense force of Mary Geoise... you know better than any of us how insane it is," Sengoku chimed in, stepping in to smooth things over. "If someone had the power to storm the Holy Land, after wiping out Celestial Dragons in Sabaody... even with Borsalino added to the mix, it wouldn't have changed the outcome. Coming here together made more sense." "Yeah yeah, that's exactly what I thought too!" Borsalino quickly latched onto Sengoku's excuse like a lifeline. Kong let out a tired sigh, giving the two men a look that said 'I'm too old for this shit.' "I get it. You've both got your own opinions. Just... tone it down a little. This is Mary Geoise. Try to act like you care." With Kong leading the way and the other two flanking him, they stepped into the sacred grounds of the World Government. What they saw as they advanced only made their unease grow. The once untouchable Celestial Dragons—those who strutted through Marine HQ like they owned the place, even cursing Admirals to their faces—were now reduced to nothing more than butchered meat, littering the streets. Meanwhile, the slaves who had once been beaten, branded, and executed on a whim... they were still alive. Confused. Shell-shocked. Wandering among the bodies of their former masters, unsure of what to do next. "Wait... this can't be—?!" Right in front of Pangaea Castle, Kong suddenly gasped as he looked upon a corpse, split clean in two. Kong's expression turned grim as he recognized the body. "That's the Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights... Saint Figarland Garling." Borsalino blinked behind his shades, confused. "Holy Knights? What's that?" Sengoku also glanced at Kong, who stayed silent, then answered them. "Let's just say this guy ranked right below the Five Elders. If today hadn't happened, Sengoku, you probably would've met him—after you got promoted to Fleet Admiral." "But even without today's mess... the real power among the Celestial Dragons doesn't lie with the Five Elders," said a voice from deep inside the castle—young, calm, and far too casual for the situation. "You guys sure took your time getting here. Good thing we were still wrapping up business, otherwise we'd have been sitting around for another half-hour." The three —Kong, Sengoku, and Borsalino—exchanged glances. None of them said a word. "Well, don't just stand there. Come inside already," the voice invited. Still silent, the three men stepped into Pangaea Castle. Waiting in the grand hall was a bald old man with a sharp nose, thin brows, and a katana resting in his arms. It was Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro, the Warrior God of Finance, one of the Five Elders. Kong and Sengoku recognized him instantly. Even Borsalino, who didn't know his full name, could tell this was one of the Five Elders—the highest ruling authority in the World Government. But right now... something was off. They didn't even need Haki to sense it. Nusjuro stood stiffly, blank-faced like a lifeless puppet. Parts of his body beneath his white robe exposed obvious mechanical modifications. Sengoku glanced at Kong, silently asking with his eyes: 'Are the Five Elders cyborgs? Is that how they've looked the same for decades?' Kong gave a subtle shake of the head, then motioned for them to follow as Nusjuro turned and began walking deeper into the castle. They passed through the familiar halls of the Five Elders' chambers and arrived at the most sacred place in the Holy Land—a throne room encircled by twenty weapons, each unique in design and origin. The Empty Throne. Seven hundred years ago, twenty kings came together to create the World Government, vowing that the throne would remain forever vacant as a symbol of unity and equality—so that no one nation would ever rule over the others. But now... someone was sitting on it. And he looked completely out of place. Covered in bizarre attire, the figure on the throne was clearly not one of the Elders, nor any known world leader. Was this the person who slaughtered the Celestial Dragons in Sabaody and then stormed Mariejois? No... something wasn't right. All three—Kong, Sengoku, and Borsalino—noticed it at once. Just like Nusjuro, the man on the throne had the same expressionless, hollow-eyed stare. A puppet. No free will. A modified body that followed orders without a thought. Which meant the real culprits... were the people still conscious in the room. Their eyes turned to the remaining three individuals—two women and one man—who were clearly in control. The man in the center smiled. "I was kinda expecting you guys to freak out the moment you saw someone sitting on that chair that's supposedly been 'untouched' for the past seven centuries." With a snap of his fingers, three pieces of parchment floated toward the Admirals—each one covered in strange, arcane symbols. "See that empty spot in the bottom left corner? Mind giving it a quick thumbprint?" the man—Veyron—grinned. "Don't worry, it's nothing dangerous... just a simple little contract." "Y'know, the kind that keeps your soul bound so even if you die, you'll come back to keep working." "!???" ×3 . . .