Battle erupted on every front in the Holy Land, and the Holy Knights' entire fighting force
was now caught in a deadly net woven by the Marines' top combatants,
pinned down, divided, and defeated one by one.
Yet an eerie silence hung over the main road leading to Pangaea Castle, at the very heart of the Holy Land.
Paved with white cloudstone and broad enough for ten carriages to travel abreast,
the "God's Imperial Road," normally serviced by slaves, now stood utterly empty.
At the end of the road stood the building that symbolized eight hundred years of absolute World Government rule:
Pangaea Castle's enormous arched entrance, dozens of meters high.
And directly before that suffocatingly magnificent entrance,
less than a hundred meters away, sat a simple set of furniture utterly out of place amid its surroundings:
an ordinary Wooden Square Table and a hardwood chair with a backrest.
Dozens of Den Den Mushi of all shapes crowded the tabletop, every one of them with its eyes shut and antennae drooping.
They represented the communication lines to the Holy Land's key defensive positions.
Their collective "silence" now coldly proclaimed a single fact:
nearly every defensive line assigned to the Holy Knights
had been breached or locked in desperate combat, leaving no attention to spare.
Gunko sat upright in the chair.
Alone, she guarded this final "gateway."
Footsteps approached from the distance.
Gunko slowly raised her eyes and looked straight ahead.
Three figures, bathed in the Holy Land's "sunlight," walked along the God's Imperial Road, heading straight toward her and Pangaea Castle's entrance.
The man in the lead wore the pure white Fleet Admiral's coat that symbolized the Marines' highest authority, over a simple black shirt and military trousers.
His steps were steady, his gaze fixed ahead, and his face betrayed