Saint Figarland Garling

The boundless sea stretched endlessly, magnificent waves rolling beneath a sky that seemed to merge with the azure water into an eternal scene.

Saint Figarland Garling stood on the deck, draped in a black cloak. The wind lifted his flowing black hair as the sea breeze swept across his face, lending him an impossible-to-ignore majesty.

He stood straight, his gaze as deep as the ocean as he stared toward the distant horizon. The hazy sea seemed separated from Mary Geoise by nothing more than an invisible barrier.

Suddenly, he stopped and gave a slight wave of his right hand. Even the wind seemed to freeze in that instant.

The surrounding pirates immediately felt an inexplicable pressure. Everyone fell silent of their own accord; no one dared break the momentary stillness.

He turned around, his black eyes as unfathomable as an abyss, as though they could see through every falsehood and disguise.

As he looked toward Mary Geoise, even the sky, sea, and air there seemed to become extraordinary in an instant.

"Lord Imu!?"

The two words slipped softly from Figarland's lips, low yet carrying an undeniable intimidation, like a summons drifting up from the abyss.

At that moment, the air itself seemed to solidify.

Figarland's heart abruptly stopped for a moment as well. His gaze was deep and complex, the turmoil within him intertwining with the waves outside.

He knew that familiar presence had awakened once more.

Lord Imu—the existence that had always lurked in the darkness, forever haunting the deepest reaches of the world like a ghost.

But Imu had clearly died.

Impossible.

A series of questions and intelligence reports rapidly flashed through his mind.

Imu's death had been confirmed by several parties, but he had never truly believed it.

Whether it was the World Government's various operations or