Chapter 45

Rossi slowly shifted his weight on the rooftop.

The conversation beneath the tiles had already outlined a clear enough picture-an organization lurking in the shadows, an assassination targeting a ruler, and a boy pushed into the spotlight as a pawn.

He needed more details: the exact time, the method, the people providing support...

But footsteps suddenly sounded below.

"Stay here tonight."

The older man's voice moved toward the door. "Someone will deliver your equipment early tomorrow morning.

"Remember, this is your final test."

The hinges turned, footsteps descended the stairs, and finally came the faint thud of the inn's front door opening and closing.

Only one person's breathing remained in the attic.

Rossi waited thirty heartbeats, then slipped down from the edge of the eaves like quicksilver, hooked his fingertips over a window frame, and swung silently into the second-floor hallway.

Light spilled beneath the door at the end of the hallway. He approached along the wall and pressed his ear against the wooden door.

Fabric rustled inside, followed by the soft clink of metal-probably the sound of weapons being removed and set on a table.

Then came a long silence, so complete that he could hear the hiss of the candle flame licking the air.

Just as Rossi was considering whether to risk a peek, an extremely quiet murmur came from the room.

"I'm sorry..."

Two words, as faint as a sigh.

At the other end of the city, crystal chandeliers spilled light across the marble floor of the Lord's Mansion banquet hall.

Jora Poliziano stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, the red wine in her glass rippling gently.

Out in the courtyard, the guards were changing shifts, their armor clanking in a dull, steady rhythm.

"Madam, you should rest."

The head maid offered the reminder softly.

"A little longer."

Jora did not turn around. "I want to see tonight's moon."

In truth, there was no moon outside.

Dark clouds rolled in from the horizon, swallowing the stars and leaving only darkness as thick as velvet.

She merely needed a little time to piece together the fractured images in her mind-the figure she had seen at the docks that afternoon, standing far away in the shadow of stacked cargo, as though separated from the entire world by a pane of glass.

At the time, she had thought she was imagining things.

Looking back now, perhaps it had been some kind of omen.

"Send someone to the Bull's House."

She spoke suddenly. "Find a guard named Pica. Tell him... tell him I left a document with him."

The head maid froze for a moment, but quickly bowed. "Yes, madam."

The wineglass was set on the windowsill.

Jora turned toward the stairs. Her skirts swept across the floor, stirring a faint draft that fluttered the tassels along the carpet's edge.

She did not know whether this decision was right, but her intuition pricked beneath her skin like a fine needle, warning her that something was veering off course.

Just as it had on that rainy night three years ago, when she had found that battered boy in the alley behind the orphanage-he had been clutching a damaged badge, its back engraved with a number that had long since been erased.

She should have understood then that once certain fates stained you, they could never be washed away.

Inside the inn room, Pica sat on the edge of the bed, wiping a short blade.

The blade reflected half his face. A fresh bruise was slowly forming beneath his eye.

A city map lay spread across the table, several locations circled in charcoal: the side gate east of the Lord's Mansion, the ** square's clock tower, the third warehouse at the docks... Each circle represented a possibility, a staged setting that would make death look like an accident.

His fingertips brushed over the Lord's Mansion.

When the queen had visited the orphanage last week, she had crouched down to straighten his collar.

The old woman's fingers were rough, callused from years of holding a pen, yet her movements had been as gentle as if she were handling fragile porcelain. "You're a good child."

She had said, "Protect this city when you grow up."

The charcoal drew a crooked line across the map.

An owl suddenly called outside the window: two short hoots, one long.

Pica froze, then quickly rolled up the map, tucked it beneath his pillow, and blew out the candle.

In the darkness, he heard footsteps on the stairs at the end of the hallway-not the innkeeper's shuffling tread, but trained steps, each footfall placed with precise control.

They're here.

He tightened his grip on the short blade, pressing its edge against his palm. The pain made his thoughts exceptionally clear.

The doctrines drilled into him for three years churned through his mind: the mission came before everything, emotion was weakness, mercy meant death.

But the laughter of the orphanage children surged through him too, along with the hymn the old nun hummed while serving soup, and the warmth of the queen's palm as she stroked his hair...

The footsteps stopped outside his door.

Three knocks sounded, evenly spaced.

"Mr. Pica?"

It was a woman's voice. "Lady Jora sent me to collect a document."

The boy held his breath.

Sweat slid down his spine, soaking the back of his shirt.

In the attic crawlspace, breathing was kept very quiet.

Rossi did not need to look out. The sounds below had already pieced together the scene in his mind-it was the familiar routine of superiors putting a newcomer in his place.

The one enduring it all was undoubtedly the boy named Senor Pink.

An icy air seeped up through the gaps between the boards.

The two men dressed entirely in black carried the wariness found only in those who had spent years lurking in the shadows, like iron on a winter night.

Rossi knew where they came from.

That intelligence agency answering directly to the world's highest authorities had eight numbered branches in the open, with unknown blades concealed in the dark.

Wherever these people appeared, they never brought good news.

A flat reprimand came from beneath the boards, every word as hard as stone.

"We placed you beside her so you could monitor every slightest movement.

"You should know the consequences if you fail."

There were no additional threats in those words.

Everyone who had spent time there understood that if those interrogation methods were turned on them, their quickest escape would be to beg for a swift death.

"Yes."

The boy's voice was rigid with tension. "The target rises at seven in the morning and leaves for White Sand Orphanage at seven thirty... At four twenty in the afternoon, she enters the Celia Opera House to attend a charity auction, returning to the lord's residence at six sharp."

The report came to an end.

Senor Pink straightened again, as though the heavy blow to his abdomen had never happened.

"Good.

"Our queen living in her dreams still hasn't opened her eyes, it seems."

"Even if she does, it's already too late."

Another black-clad figure wearing a top hat lowered his brim, speaking at an unhurried pace.

"The pawns planted aboard the Bull, the Blade and Rose... and more than a dozen other ships have all begun to move."

"Those bone-gnawing beasts of the sea will leave a deep enough mark on this city.

"They're led by 'White Dragon' Baruf Tani."

"How could..."

Pica's stifled gasp sounded in the room.

Up in the attic, Rossi etched that name into his memory.

"Sir, why?"

The boy asked the question after all.

He did not understand why they were targeting this city, targeting the woman named Jora, even going so far as to activate agents planted years ago and unite those outlaws of the sea.

"Pica."

The captain in the top hat exhaled, as though in regret.

"The moment they secretly formed that Entregri Alliance, their fate was sealed."

"We are the eyes, ears, and ** serving the pinnacle of the world.

"Anything that might shake those foundations is a sin that must be erased."

"Acanlia secretly allied itself with four other nations.

"Three coastal kingdoms serve as shields, while the other two hide behind them, enjoying the peace provided by the Navy yet refusing to pay the tribute they owe."

The cold voice echoed through the room like metal scraping against stone.

"This tramples upon the rules, covets sacred authority, and ** the wealth belonging to the entire world."

The black-clad leader who had punched Pica earlier made the declaration in an utterly flat tone.

"Therefore, this city must pay the price."

"And our actions now are justice itself."

Yes, even those provisions written on paper had now become footnotes to the "justice"

in their hands.

"Go carry it out, Pica."

"Fulfill your duty.

"Once the mission is over, your position will be adjusted."

"Yes, sirs."

The hinges gave a faint **, followed by the dull thud of the door closing.

Once Pica's footsteps had vanished at the end of the hallway, the black-clad man who had just promised an "adjustment"

raised a hand to press down his hat brim, his lips curving into a cold smile.

"This pawn has lost his value.

"Dispose of him when the plan begins."

"Showing emotional weakness after a single mission. Useless."

The other black-clad man, who had remained silent throughout, closed his eyes.

"After witnessing Acanlia's fate, surely no other nation will dare challenge the authority of the Reverie-"

"Why be so harsh?"

The man in the top hat chuckled, a certain amusement in his voice.

"Without these fools daring to provoke us, how would our Cipher Pol agencies demonstrate the necessity of their existence? How would we find a ladder to climb higher?"

Once this operation to erase a nation ended, they, as its chief planners, would probably be able to enter the higher-ranking Cipher Pol No. 9.

As for Cipher Pol Aigis Zero, which appeared only in ** rumors, that was not a realm they could hope to reach.

To serve the Celestial Dragons, one needed strength worth at least several hundred million Beli as the price of admission.

"Because the five kingdoms formed an alliance and reduced their payments, they angered the members of the Reverie?"

On the street leading to the harbor, Rossi swept his gaze around.

Streetlights coming on one after another softly traced the outlines of buildings, while people out for a stroll after dinner filled the spaces along the street.

Gentlemen with coats draped over their arms, ladies walking arm in arm, young men and women huddled together in quiet conversation and laughter, children chasing one another at play...

Countless families blended with the artistic gardens and buildings around them, weaving a peaceful, harmonious cityscape. For a moment, it almost gave Rossi the illusion that he had returned to some familiar era in his past.

"What are you spacing out for, Rossi?"

A call pulled him from his thoughts.

Doffy's voice came from the side.

Hm?

Only then did Rossi realize he had unconsciously walked all the way to the docks.

The dim yellow halo of a streetlight covered a barbecue stall, where several figures sat gathered, some tall, some short, some broad, some thin.

They were Doffy, Pica, Vergo, Trebol, and Diamante.

How...

"Why are all of you gathered here?"

As he walked toward them, his gaze involuntarily settled on Pica.

"Behehehe, don't worry.

"We left all the loading and unloading to the port officials. They guaranteed ten times the value in compensation if anything went missing!"

"I say, I say, if something really did go missing from our ship..."

"Don't stir up trouble."

Rossi sat in an empty seat beside the stall. After hearing only half a sentence, he already understood that Trebol was plotting to "have some fun" with the local officials.

Rossi had no intention of staying any longer.

Danger permeated this place. There was no need to linger.

"Have you heard of 'White Dragon' Baruf Tani?"

The moment he spoke, Trebol's and Diamante's expressions changed sharply.

Trebol even forgot his habitual catchphrase.

The others had yet to react.

"Someone important?"

Rossi pressed.

Diamante lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. "Important doesn't begin to cover it-that woman is the biggest pirate headache in the North Blue right now."

"She's the captain of the White Dragon Pirates, a Devil Fruit User.

"Some say she can turn into a huge white dragon more than ten meters long, with strength no different from a real monster's."