In the council hall, fifty round tables stood in a circle, each with a king or representative seated beside it. The dome's stained glass cast mottled light and shadow onto the seat of honor, which had long stood empty.
Boer sat there.
At the head.
In the seat no outsider had occupied in eight hundred years.
His gaze slowly swept over the crowned figures before him-varied in appearance and expression, some arrogant, some uneasy, some curious, some wary.
Then he spotted a few familiar faces.
Donquixote Doflamingo of Dressrosa had, unusually, forgone his signature sunglasses, revealing his narrow eyes. He sat in the section reserved for the world's founding nations, his posture upright and an appropriately measured smile on his face, and gave Boer a slight nod.
Francisco III of the Oykot Kingdom, that shrewd old man, also nodded in greeting. His eyes held a trace of warmth at seeing an old friend again, along with a hint of admiration that said, "You really pulled it off, kid."
Vinsmoke Judge of the Germa Kingdom in the North Blue sat ramrod straight, his golden hair gleaming under the lights. As he looked at Boer, his heart filled with complicated emotions-his former ally had now left him far behind, becoming an existence in a class of his own in this world.
The three nodded slightly.
Boer returned their greetings with a slight nod.
But something else entirely was on his mind:
Odd-looking old men... Their life force is generally pretty weak, too.
Indeed.
Within the view of his electromagnetic extrasensory perception, the life magnetic fields of the vast majority of these kings were pitifully faint. Years of pampered luxury and decadent indulgence had long since stripped them of any qualification to be called "strong."
The only one who stood out at all