The People of Dressrosa Elected Me; It Has Nothing to Do with Me

Actually.

The proposal to make Kyros king of Dressrosa had come from Atlas and Sengoku.

Sengoku knew Atlas had to be plotting something.

All he could do was turn a blind eye.

Justice didn't need anything holding it down.

"So what?"

Saint Lacroix snapped back.

The will of the people, recognition from neighboring countries—did any of that matter?

Those were just words on paper. If they said they mattered, they did. If they said they didn't, they were worthless.

Saint Alberic pondered for a moment. "It's not impossible. The next generation will still carry the Riku Family's blood."

"Saint Alberic, you..."

"Enough. Sengoku, you may go. We'll discuss this among ourselves first," Saint Nazzaro said. He had remained silent until now, and he drew the long sword in his arms a little closer.

They were somewhat persuaded.

But accepting a subordinate's proposal too readily was no way to keep subordinates in line.

They could treat this as a small reward for White Hou, something to deepen his sense of belonging.

Besides, they had no better option.

Sengoku nodded, took his leave, and headed straight for the doors.

But he knew perfectly well: this was as good as settled!

New World.

Dressrosa.

A white tent bearing the Seagull Emblem stood on an open stretch of ground.

Outside it, tables had been arranged in a neat row.

Atlas lounged in a wicker chair, wearing sunglasses and basking in the sun.

Most of the marines aboard the White Hou had already been sent to help Kyros keep Dressrosa under control.

In the chaos Doflamingo had caused earlier, many palace guards and soldiers had been injured.

And logistics and medical care required trained personnel.

Even with the Horse Talisman, Atlas couldn't treat an entire country on his own.

It would take an enormous