Fire in the Holy Land

Sea Circle Calendar 1507, the Holy Land Mary Geoise.

No one spoke in the confidential conference room.

A thick assessment report lay open on the table, its cover stamped with a confidential reference number. The very first line was impossible to miss: [Marine Headquarters Rear Admiral: Ron]

[Ability: Paramecia-type Door-Door Fruit]

[Confirmed applications: long-distance spatial transfer, instantaneous entry, attack redirection]

[Sword technique: Dimension Slash. Can affect targets across space and is capable of creating multiple spatial rifts simultaneously]

The following pages were packed with battle reports from the past two years.

Doflamingo, head of the Donquixote Family, had repeatedly retreated using Sky Walk, only for Ron to intercept him in midair;

The Black Whale Pirates' twelve warships and more than a thousand members had been defeated head-on by a single man;

Several veteran pirate crews on the edge of the New World had been wiped out in succession...

The official in charge of Devil Fruit records frowned more deeply as he read.

"Wait... this is the Door-Door Fruit?"

"What else would it be?"

The Cipher Pol supervisor beside him answered irritably.

"Weren't we always told this fruit was suited for infiltration and intelligence work?"

"Who told you it could only be used for infiltration?"

The Cipher Pol supervisor pointed to the report's account of Dimension Slash.

"What infiltrator have you ever seen use their ability to cut a warship into a dozen pieces?"

"Come to think of it, wasn't this fruit originally intended for Cipher Pol?" someone suddenly asked in a low voice.

The conference room fell silent at once.

Six years earlier, Marineford, Sakazuki's residence.

Ron, only eleven at the time, slapped a well-worn Devil Fruit encyclopedia onto the table.

"Pops, I want the Door-Door Fruit."

Sakazuki frowned at him. "Why? Headquarters is looking for a powerful Logia for you, and we even have some leads on Mythical Zoans."

"What do you want with a fruit that can only teleport you?"

"I think it suits me."

Ron answered without hesitation, his gaze unwavering.

Sakazuki stared at him for a long moment before asking one question. "You've thought it through?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'll get it for you."

Afterward, he submitted a request to Headquarters and the World Government, using the military merits he had accumulated over many years.

The approval had come through remarkably quickly.

Wasn't it just a minor fruit suited for infiltration? What was wrong with doing Sakazuki a favor?

And now, the "Dimension Slash" described in the report had nearly made the official in charge of the assessment crush his glasses.

"Who the hell wrote 'limited combat value' back then?"

Everyone's gaze shifted to the corner in unison.

An official silently set down his teacup and cleared his throat. "...I did."

No one in the conference room responded.

Ron was Sakazuki's adopted son and a student personally trained by Zephyr.

He now held the rank of Rear Admiral at Headquarters, but his strength had already made him a troublesome prospect for quite a few veteran officers.

More troublesome still, the kid wasn't particularly obedient.

The record concerning those five hundred soldiers who had disobeyed orders in the Kingdom of Belo remained buried in the deepest part of the archives.

"Should we... restrict him from developing his ability any further?" someone ventured.

The Cipher Pol supervisor looked up at him as though he were an idiot. "You want to tell him?"

"..."

"Tell Rear Admiral Ron, 'You've trained your fruit too well, so hold back from now on'?"

"Uh..."

"Or should we have Vice Admiral Sakazuki tell his own son to stop getting stronger?"

The man gave a couple of awkward chuckles and retreated into silence.

At last, the person presiding over the meeting closed the file, his voice weary. "Keep watching him. Don't provoke him for now."

"Also, stop filing the Door-Door Fruit under ordinary infiltration abilities."

An official grimaced. "Then where should we file it?"

The chair rubbed his throbbing forehead. "Set it aside on its own for now. Whoever can define it can write the entry."

Outside the window, the night was dark.

On the other side of the Holy Land, someone was climbing the immense red wall known as "impossible to climb" with his bare hands.

The Red Line, late at night.

Fisher Tiger had been climbing for a very, very long time.

His fingertips were rubbed raw, and blood from his palms trickled down the rock face. Every protruding rock he gripped bore a dark red mark.

The sea beneath him had long since shrunk to a thin line. The mountain wind stung his face, as though it might sweep him off at any moment.

Fisher Tiger didn't look down.

Images flashed through his mind: the iron collar that had rubbed the skin raw around his neck, the whistle of a whip striking the ground, Celestial Dragons sitting on a raised platform, laughing as they watched slaves fight one another, and the old man who had collapsed at the prison door...

He had clutched the bars until he died, his eyes fixed on the light outside. In the end, the guards had dragged his body away like a sack of rotten garbage.

When Fisher Tiger escaped, he had looked back once.

Behind the iron bars, hand after hand had reached out toward him.

"Take me with you..."

"Please..."

He had clenched his teeth and hadn't dared look a second time.

But those voices had returned in his dreams, again and again.

Until tonight.

Fisher Tiger raised his head and continued climbing.

At last.

Smack!

A large, bloodstained hand gripped the edge of the cliff top.

Fisher Tiger gritted his teeth, veins bulging in his arms, and hauled himself up!

He lay on the ground, his chest heaving.

He raised his head.

In the distance, a cluster of white palaces spread out beneath the lights, with broad streets, exquisite gardens, and spires so tall their tops couldn't be seen.

If you didn't know what was imprisoned beneath the ground, this place really looked like paradise.

Fisher Tiger braced himself against a rock and stood, smearing blood from his palm on the stone.

"Still just as disgusting..."

He tore off a strip of cloth and wrapped it tightly around his bleeding palm, then strode toward the brightest lights.

The slave district.

"Who's there?!"

A patrolling guard had just raised his gun when a red figure flashed before his eyes.

Bang!

The gun fell to the ground, and the guard dropped unconscious with a muffled grunt.

Fisher Tiger seized another guard by the collar.

"The cell keys."

The guard's face turned deathly pale, and he reached for his waist with trembling hands.

"I-I'll give them to you..."

Crack!

The iron door beside them buckled under a punch, its lock cylinder flying out.

Fisher Tiger released the guard.

"Never mind."

In the underground cell, a man who was nothing but skin and bones stared blankly at the open door, his eyes devoid of light.

Fisher Tiger stood in the doorway and called out in a deep voice, "The door's open!"

The man didn't move.

"Run!"

Instead, the man shrank back toward the corner and said, trembling, "Master said... I'll die if I run..."

Fisher Tiger strode in and pulled him to his feet.

"You're free!"

The man stared at him blankly.

"I... I can really leave?"

"Yes!"

Fisher Tiger tore the chain from his feet.

"What are you waiting for? Run!"

Only then did the man stumble toward the door.

The second cell, the third... the tenth!

Cell doors were smashed open, and chains were torn apart.

Some dragged themselves out on injured legs. Others carried dying companions on their backs, stumbling along the pitch-dark corridor.

"Get to the surface first!"

"Don't run toward the palaces! Hurry!"

More and more guards poured in, and gunshots rang out through the corridor.

Fisher Tiger punched down the guard at the front and led the freed slaves up to the surface.

A supply warehouse stood nearby.

He kicked open its door, knocking several barrels of lamp oil onto the ground.

Fisher Tiger casually pulled a torch off the wall and tossed it inside.

Boom!

Flames leaped up along the lamp oil and caught the wooden racks in an instant.

"Fire!"

"Put it out, quickly!"

"The slaves have escaped!"

At last, alarm bells rang frantically throughout the Holy Land.

Fish-Men, merfolk, members of the Longarm and Longleg Tribes, and ordinary people who had been abducted poured out of the underground passages in groups.

A girl in tattered clothes stumbled across the square.

She didn't dare stop. Even when one of her shoes came off, she didn't look back.

Some Fish-Men carried elderly people who could no longer walk, while young people snatched guards' swords and hacked at the chains around their companions' feet.

Dozens, hundreds, thousands...

On the terrace of a magnificent palace, a Celestial Dragon screamed in fury, "Where's my collection?! Get those slaves back! Don't let a single one escape!!"

Guards rushed toward the fire, only to find escapees everywhere. They couldn't stop them all.

Taking advantage of the chaos, several slaves overturned a cargo wagon, completely blocking an intersection to their pursuers.

Someone shouted a message back at the top of their lungs: "Stay off the main street! They've got guns wherever the lights are bright!"

No sooner had they blocked the entrance to one alley than another warehouse went up in flames.

"Who the hell did this?!"

"Report! We've lost the entire eastern cell block!"

"People are breaking out on the west side too!"

Fisher Tiger stood on a high stone staircase and looked back at the fleeing figures.

Some fell, only for the people beside them to haul them up at once and drag them along;

Some laughed and cried at the same time, shouting the names of their hometowns.

He didn't know how many people he could get out tonight, or whether he himself could make it down the Red Line alive.

But every door he smashed open meant one more person behind him, running toward freedom.

At least tonight, they didn't have to kneel and wait for their masters to open the door.

"Go!"

Fisher Tiger let out a low roar, turned, and charged toward the next cell block.

Behind him, flames soared into the sky, casting Mary Geoise's white walls red.

World Government communications room.

An official burst through the doors, his hat lost somewhere in his haste, his face deathly pale.

"Highest alert! A mass slave escape! Fires have broken out across the Holy Land!"

"Contact Marine Headquarters immediately! Hurry!"

He snatched the emergency Den Den Mushi off the desk, his voice cracking. "Mary Geoise is under attack—!"

At that very moment.

Marineford.

Brring, brring, brring!

An entire row of emergency communication Den Den Mushi began ringing frantically, almost all at once.