"Remember, Alcaster, today is about observation, not participation," Saint Dominus Reed instructed as their palanquin was carried up the grand staircase leading to Pangaea Castle. "You're too young to contribute to the discussions, but not too young to learn how power truly functions."
Alcaster nodded solemnly, the picture of an attentive son. "Yes, Father. I'll watch and listen carefully."
"Good." His father straightened his elaborate robes, ensuring every element of his appearance was perfect before meeting with the other power brokers of the World Government. "The Reed family has maintained influence for generations by understanding which battles to fight openly and which to win through subtler means. Today, you'll begin to see the difference."
The palanquin came to a gentle stop at the summit of the stairs. Slave bearers, breathing heavily from the exertion but careful not to show discomfort, lowered the conveyance to the ground. A CP0 agent in the distinctive white uniform and mask stood waiting to escort them into the castle proper.
"Saint Reed," the agent bowed with perfect precision—just deep enough to show respect without suggesting subservience. "And young Saint Alcaster. The Elders are pleased you could join today's general assembly."
"Gratitude is appropriate," Dominus replied with the casual arrogance typical of Celestial Dragons. "Come, Alcaster."
As they proceeded through the massive entrance hall, Alcaster maintained a carefully neutral expression despite his inner excitement. After months of planning and preparation, he was finally gaining access to Pangaea Castle—the nerve center of the World Government and home to its most closely guarded secrets.
The timing couldn't have been better. Fisher Tiger's escape was scheduled for next month, taking advantage of the seasonal guard rotation Alcaster had identified. Once the fishman made his move, security throughout Mary Geoise would undoubtedly tighten. This visit might be Alcaster's only chance to gather intelligence from within Pangaea Castle before circumstances changed dramatically.
The enormous building unfolded before them like a labyrinth of power and prestige. Marble hallways stretched in all directions, adorned with tapestries and artifacts that chronicled the World Government's sanitized version of history. Elite guards stood at attention at key junctions, their eyes constantly scanning for threats that rarely materialized in this most secure of locations.
What struck Alcaster most was the atmosphere—a strange blend of reverence and fear that seemed to permeate the very air. Even the Celestial Dragons who passed them, normally the embodiment of entitled arrogance, appeared slightly subdued within these hallowed halls, as if remembering that even they answered to some higher authority.
His father was led toward the main assembly chamber, where the day's discussions would take place. Alcaster followed dutifully, absorbing every detail, memorizing the layout, noting which corridors were more heavily guarded than others.
This wasn't just a tour—it was reconnaissance.
The general assembly was held in a vast circular chamber with tiered seating, reminiscent of an amphitheater. At the lowest level, a central podium faced five ornate chairs—currently empty—that were clearly reserved for the Five Elders.
Celestial Dragons occupied the highest tier, physically above all others in keeping with their perceived divine status. Government officials, high-ranking marines, and kingdom representatives filled the remaining spaces according to their importance in the World Government hierarchy.
As Alcaster settled beside his father in the Celestial Dragon section, he took in the gathering with careful attention. Most of the major noble families were represented, their distinctive family crests incorporated into their elaborate attire. The Roswards, the Charloss family, the Camels, and others—each maintaining a careful distance from their peers, competition and disdain evident in their body language despite their shared status.
"The Elders approach," his father murmured, as a hush fell over the assembly.
Five elderly men entered through a private door, their combined presence immediately commanding the room's attention. Though advanced in age, each moved with the confidence that came from wielding absolute authority. They took their seats at the chamber's focal point, and the assembly began.
What followed was, on the surface, relatively mundane—reports on kingdom tributes, marine deployments, trade regulations, and other administrative matters that kept the World Government functioning. But Alcaster, listening beyond the words themselves, discerned the true purposes behind these seemingly routine discussions.
Resource control. Population management. Information suppression. The machinery of global domination disguised as governance.
"The kingdom of Alabasta has requested additional drought relief," one official reported from the podium.
"Approved, contingent on increased tribute next season," replied the Elder with the longest beard, his tone making it clear this was less aid than opportunistic leverage.
"Regarding the Eastern Islands rebellion," another official began.
"Admiral Zephyr has been dispatched," interrupted a different Elder, the matter considered closed with those five words. No further explanation was necessary—everyone understood what happened to those who openly defied the World Government.
Throughout the proceedings, Alcaster noticed his father exchanging subtle nods or meaningful glances with certain officials—connections being maintained, alliances being silently reaffirmed. This, too, was part of the Reed family's survival strategy—relationships cultivated over generations that ensured their position remained secure regardless of which faction held sway within the Government.
The assembly continued for hours, with periodic recesses allowing the attendees to refresh themselves and engage in the private conversations that often proved more consequential than the formal proceedings. During one such break, Alcaster followed his father into an adjacent reception hall where refreshments were being served to the Celestial Dragons and highest-ranking officials.
During the midday recess, his father was engaged in conversation with several other Celestial Dragons, leaving Alcaster momentarily to his own devices. Taking advantage of this freedom, he wandered through the reception hall, observing the various dignitaries and officials.
"Quite the tedious affair, isn't it?" came a voice from behind him.
Alcaster turned to find a boy perhaps two years his senior, dressed in the elaborate robes of a Celestial Dragon but with a significantly more restrained aesthetic than most—quality materials without excessive ornamentation.
"Saint Marcus Locke," the boy introduced himself with a slight nod. "You're Alcaster Reed, aren't you? I've heard about your interest in combat training."
Alcaster returned the nod, quickly placing the family name in his mental hierarchy of Celestial Dragon houses. The Locke's were an old family, not particularly powerful in current politics but respected for their lineage and traditional connections to the scholarly branches of the World Government.
"News travels quickly," Alcaster replied. "Yes, I find martial studies complement intellectual pursuits effectively."
Marcus smiled slightly. "A balanced approach. Unusual among our peers, who typically prefer either brutal indulgence or complete detachment from physical matters." He gestured around the room. "Most of these children will never develop beyond throwing tantrums when their desires are thwarted."
It was a surprisingly candid assessment from another Celestial Dragon child, revealing a perspective that aligned somewhat with Alcaster's own observations. He studied Marcus more carefully, wondering if he might have found another potential ally—or at least, someone not entirely corrupted by their privileged upbringing, a possible friend on the surface.
"You speak as if you're not one of them," Alcaster noted cautiously.
"Aren't we all somewhat apart?" Marcus countered. "Each family cultivates its own approach to maintaining position. The Reeds through strategic diplomacy, the Lockes through knowledge curation." He lowered his voice slightly. "Though I suspect you've developed some personal adaptations to the standard family methodology."
Before Alcaster could respond to this intriguing statement, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of several other noble children—members of the Rosward and Charloss families, whom Alcaster recognized from various functions in Mary Geoise.
"Locke, Reed," acknowledged the Rosward girl—Shalulia—with the bare minimum of courtesy. Her eyes, cold despite her youth, assessed them as one might evaluate livestock. "Discussing something of interest?"
"Merely comparing notes on the assembly proceedings," Marcus replied smoothly. "First-time attendance can be overwhelming."
Shalulia sniffed dismissively. "Politics is tedious business. That's what servants and officials are for—handling tedium while we focus on proper pursuits."
"And what do you consider proper pursuits, Saint Shalulia?" Alcaster asked, adopting a tone of polite interest while inwardly recoiling at her obvious disdain for governance.
"Entertainment. Collection. Refinement of taste." She smiled thinly. "My father recently gifted me a mermaid for my personal aquarium. They're quite rare, you know. Do either of you have anything so exotic in your collections?"
The conversation had rapidly devolved into the typical Celestial Dragon competition over possessions—living beings reduced to status symbols and objects of curiosity.
"The Reed family preferences run toward practical acquisitions rather than decorative ones," Alcaster replied diplomatically.
"How utilitarian," sneered the Charloss boy—Theodore—who had remained silent until now. "Though I suppose that's why the Reeds have always been considered somewhat... provincial in their tastes."
Marcus Locke intervened before the exchange could become more pointed. "Speaking of collections, I recently had the opportunity to view some of Pangaea Castle's historical artifacts. The western gallery has some fascinating ancient murals that were preserved from the previous structure. Have any of you seen them?"
The deflection worked—Theodore and Shalulia had no interest in historical artifacts and soon drifted away to torment some other unfortunate noble children.
"Thank you," Alcaster said quietly once they were alone again.
"No need," Marcus replied. "Self-preservation benefits us both. Those two take particular pleasure in creating problems for anyone they consider beneath them—which is essentially everyone." He glanced around to ensure they weren't overheard. "You mentioned you haven't seen the western gallery murals? They're quite remarkable. We have some time before the assembly reconvenes."
Alcaster considered the offer. His father had instructed him to remain in permitted areas, and a public gallery would certainly qualify. Moreover, the implied knowledge sharing suggested Marcus might indeed be someone worth cultivating as a connection.
"I'd appreciate that," he agreed.
The western gallery of Pangaea Castle was a long hallway lined with artifacts and artwork spanning the World Government's history. Unlike the main reception areas, which featured primarily triumphant depictions of the Government's founding and expansion, this gallery contained older pieces preserved for their historical significance rather than propaganda value.
"Most visitors never bother with this section," Marcus explained as they walked. "They prefer the grand narrative in the main halls—simplified history that reinforces current power structures. But the real story is always more complex, isn't it?"
Alcaster studied his companion with new interest. Such perspectives were surprisingly nuanced for a Celestial Dragon child, suggesting Marcus had either been educated differently or had developed his own critical thinking despite his upbringing.
"History written by victors is rarely complete," Alcaster agreed cautiously.
Marcus smiled slightly. "Precisely. Ah, here we are."
They had reached a section of the gallery where the decorative style shifted notably. The artwork here was ancient—faded murals preserved behind protective barriers, their style distinctly different from the more modern pieces elsewhere in the castle.
"These date from shortly after the Void Century," Marcus explained, his voice taking on a scholarly tone that suggested genuine interest rather than rehearsed information. "They were preserved from the original structure that stood here before Pangaea Castle was built. Most visitors assume they're merely decorative, but they actually contain significant historical information—if you know how to interpret the symbolism."
Alcaster moved closer to examine the first mural, which depicted a massive ship unlike any vessel still in existence. Its scale was enormous—capable of carrying what appeared to be an entire civilization—and its design incorporated elements that hinted at advanced technology far beyond current shipbuilding capabilities.
"Impressive craftsmanship," Alcaster commented neutrally, though his mind was racing with the implications. This could only be Pluton—one of the Ancient Weapons in his memory which was mentioned in the fragmentary records he'd discovered in Mary Geoise's library.
"Indeed," Marcus agreed. "The ancient civilizations had shipbuilding techniques lost to modern knowledge. Some scholars suggest vessels of this scale could actually destroy entire islands, though that's considered speculative."
They moved to the next mural, which showed what appeared to be an enormous cannon or weapon aimed toward the heavens. Figures prostrated themselves before it, suggesting either worship or terror.
"Another lost technology," Marcus commented. "The records are unclear about its purpose, though it was clearly a weapon of considerable power."
Uranus, Alcaster thought but didn't say. The most mysterious of the Ancient Weapons, with powers still largely unknown even in the scattered references he'd found.
The third mural sent a chill down Alcaster's spine. It depicted a vast sea filled with enormous serpentine creatures—Sea Kings, hundreds of them, surrounding a small island. At the island's center stood a solitary figure, arms raised, seemingly commanding these leviathans.
"The most fascinating of the three," Marcus said quietly. "A power to command Sea Kings—imagine what that could mean for maritime dominance."
Poseidon—the power that legend said resided within the Mermaid Princess of Fish-Man Island. Alcaster had heard references to this in his previous life but seeing it depicted so clearly was jarring.
"These murals," Alcaster said carefully, "they seem to depict weapons or powers that could challenge even the World Government's authority if they existed today."
Marcus gave him a measured look. "An astute observation. And perhaps why such knowledge is carefully controlled. The official history insists these are merely artistic representations of myths, not historical realities." He paused. "What do you think, Alcaster Reed?"
It was a test—though whether Marcus was testing Alcaster's knowledge, his discretion, or his political alignment wasn't immediately clear.
"I think," Alcaster replied equally carefully, "that history contains many truths that become inconvenient for present powers. Whether these depictions represent actual weapons or merely symbolize concepts of power, they're clearly significant enough to preserve but not to prominently display."
Marcus nodded, seemingly satisfied with this diplomatic answer. "Well reasoned. The Locke family has maintained records and artifacts through many generations. We've found that knowledge—properly managed—can be more valuable than mere political position. The question is always who deserves access to which truths."
Before Alcaster could respond to this intriguing statement, a chime sounded through the gallery, signaling that the assembly would soon reconvene.
"We should return," Marcus said. "But I've enjoyed our conversation, Alcaster Reed. Perhaps we might continue it on a future occasion."
"I'd welcome that," Alcaster replied sincerely. Despite the careful dance of words and implications, he sensed that Marcus Locke might be someone with views not entirely aligned with typical Celestial Dragon ideology—a potential resource, if not an ally, for the future.
As they walked back toward the assembly chamber, Alcaster mentally cataloged what he had learned. The murals provided visual confirmation of the Ancient Weapons' existence—information that aligned with but expanded upon what he had gleaned from the hidden library in Mary Geoise. And in Marcus Locke, he had potentially identified another player in the complex game of World Government politics who might not be fully committed to the corrupt status quo.
Small victories, but significant ones in his long-term strategy.
The afternoon session of the assembly proved less informative than the morning's proceedings, focusing primarily on administrative matters and kingdom tributes. However, Alcaster's attention was drawn to the interactions between the key players rather than the content of the discussions.
The Five Elders, while presenting a unified front to the assembly, displayed subtle signs of internal disagreement. The swordsman and the youngest Elder with the blond beard seemed to form one faction, while the bald Elder and the one with the longest beard constituted another. The fifth Elder, who walked with a cane, appeared to shift his support between the groups depending on the topic.
Similarly, the Celestial Dragon families maintained their own complex web of alliances and rivalries. The Roswards and Charloss families clearly commanded significant influence, with others arranging themselves in relation to these dominant powers.
The Reed family occupied an interesting middle position—not the most powerful, but respected for their longevity and strategic marriages over generations. His father, Alcaster noted, was particularly adept at navigating these waters, maintaining cordial relations with multiple factions without fully committing to any.
This political landscape was as important as any physical map. If Alcaster was to effect change from within, he would need to understand not just the World Government's structure but the personal dynamics that truly determined how decisions were made.
As the assembly concluded, attendees began mingling for final conversations before departing. Alcaster followed his father through these social interactions, observing the subtle signals exchanged beneath the surface politeness.
"Saint Rosward," his father acknowledged as they approached one of the most influential Celestial Dragons. "A productive assembly, would you agree?"
Saint Rosward—a corpulent man whose elaborate robes barely contained his girth—nodded condescendingly. "As productive as these formalities ever are, Dominus. The real decisions happen elsewhere, as we both know."
"Indeed," Alcaster's father agreed smoothly. "Though appearances must be maintained."
Rosward's gaze shifted to Alcaster. "Your youngest attends already? Starting him early on the tedium of governance?"
"Alcaster shows unusual promise in understanding complex systems," his father replied. "I believe in nurturing such talents from an early age."
"Hmm." Rosward examined Alcaster with new interest. "My daughter Shalulia is of similar mind. Perhaps they might find common ground in their studies."
It was a significant overture—an invitation for future connection between the families. Alcaster bowed respectfully, recognizing the political importance of the moment even as he inwardly recoiled at the thought of spending time with Shalulia Rosward, whose cruelty to slaves was already legendary despite her youth.
"I would be honored to exchange perspectives with Saint Shalulia," he replied diplomatically.
"Good, good," Rosward nodded, apparently satisfied. "Youth with proper understanding of their divine station—that's what ensures our continued dominion."
The conversation continued briefly before the Roswards moved on, replaced by a succession of other nobles and officials paying respects to the Reed family. Alcaster maintained his role as the attentive son, speaking only when addressed directly and providing appropriately modest responses that nonetheless demonstrated his intelligence.
It was exhausting but necessary—establishing his place in this hierarchy while gathering information that would one day help him dismantle it from within.
As the gathering thinned, Alcaster noticed a small commotion near one of the side entrances. A Celestial Dragon family he recognized as the Mareeds was departing, their procession including several slaves carrying luggage and gifts received during their stay.
Among these slaves was a young girl—perhaps seven or eight years old—with light brown hair and an expression of such fixed terror that it stood out even among the generally fearful demeanor of slaves. She moved mechanically, carrying a small case while keeping her eyes downcast, her entire body trembling.
What caught Alcaster's attention wasn't just her obvious fear, but her appearance. Unlike most slaves who bore the obvious marks of their status from birth or capture, this girl seemed to have been enslaved relatively recently. Her small hands, though dirty, lacked the calluses of long-term servitude, and her movements suggested she was still adjusting to her role.
More disturbingly, she smiled. Constantly. Even as tears leaked from her eyes, her face maintained a rigid, unnatural smile that spoke of profound psychological trauma.
Alcaster recognized the signs immediately—the terrified smile of someone who had learned that any expression other than happiness could result in punishment. It was a common conditioning technique used by particularly cruel masters.
"Father," Alcaster said quietly, "who are they?" He gestured subtly toward the departing family.
"The Mareeds," his father replied. "Minor nobility, though they've improved their standing recently through shrewd investments in East Blue shipping."
"The girl slave with them—she seems recently acquired."
His father glanced over, mildly surprised by Alcaster's observation. "Likely from their recent vacation. Many nobles bring back souvenirs from their travels." He studied his son's expression. "Why do you ask?"
Alcaster had already formulated his approach. "She seems to lack training. My current attendants are adequate for basic needs, but I've been considering acquiring someone specifically assigned to assist with my studies. Someone who could be molded to anticipate my specific requirements."
It was the perfect rationale—entirely in character for an ambitious young Celestial Dragon while serving his true purpose of helping the clearly traumatized child.
His father considered this, then nodded slowly. "A dedicated personal servant is appropriate for your station. And starting with one young enough to properly train is sensible." He seemed pleased by Alcaster's apparent embracing of Celestial Dragon customs. "Shall I approach the Mareeds about a potential purchase?"
"If you wouldn't mind, Father," Alcaster replied, careful not to appear too eager. "Though of course, we would need to examine her capabilities first."
"Naturally." His father gestured to one of their attendants. "Arrange an introduction to the Mareed family before their departure. Express our interest in potentially acquiring one of their slaves."
The attendant bowed and hurried off to fulfill the instruction.
Alcaster maintained his composed exterior while his mind raced with implications. He hadn't planned this intervention—it was a spontaneous response to witnessing obvious suffering. But if successful, it would serve multiple purposes: removing the girl from a clearly abusive situation, providing him with a potential ally who owed him her improved circumstances, and further establishing his cover as a Celestial Dragon with typical interests in personal ownership while actually subverting the system.
Within minutes, they were approached by the Mareed family—a husband, wife, and teenage son who appeared slightly flustered by the attention from a more established noble house.
"Saint Reed," the father bowed deeply. "It's an honor. I understand you have some interest in one of our servants?"
"My son has expressed interest in acquiring a personal attendant of similar age for his scholarly pursuits," Alcaster's father explained. "The young female your family brought today caught his attention as potentially suitable."
"The girl?" Lady Mareed looked surprised. "She's quite new—captured during our vacation in the East Blue. Some disgusting fishing village. She's still being broken in, I'm afraid."
"Her training status is of no concern," Alcaster interjected, adopting a tone of casual entitlement. "I prefer to establish my own methods with personal servants. What matters is her potential for obedience and quick learning."
The Mareeds exchanged glances, clearly seeing an opportunity to curry favor with a more powerful family.
"We would be honored to consider such an arrangement," Lord Mareed said smoothly. "Perhaps a brief demonstration of her current capabilities would be appropriate?"
At his gesture, an attendant brought forward the small girl, who kept her eyes downcast and her smile fixed despite visible trembling.
"State your name and origin for the young master," Lady Mareed commanded sharply.
"K-Koala, mistress," the girl stammered, her fixed smile never wavering. "From Foolshout Island."
"And what are your duties?" Lady Mareed continued, her tone suggesting there would be consequences for an incorrect answer.
"To serve without question, to obey without hesitation, to exist only for my masters' convenience," Koala recited, the words clearly drilled into her through repetition and punishment.
Alcaster felt a surge of anger beneath his carefully maintained expression. The girl had been thoroughly terrorized, her natural responses crushed under the weight of slavery's psychological torture.
"She seems adequately prepared for basic instruction," he said neutrally. "What price would you consider appropriate?"
Lord Mareed adopted a thoughtful expression, though his excitement at the potential transaction was poorly concealed. "Given her youth and potential for lengthy service, perhaps 50 million bellies would be fair?"
"Twenty million," Alcaster's father countered immediately. "She's untrained for scholarly assistance, and resources will be required to develop her properly."
A brief negotiation followed, with the price settling at thirty million bellies—a fortune by outside world standards but a trivial amount for Celestial Dragons. Throughout the exchange, Koala stood perfectly still, her fixed smile never faltering, though fresh tears leaked from her eyes.
"Very well," Alcaster's father concluded. "The transfer will be arranged before our departure. My son's attendants will collect her then."
The Mareeds bowed deeply, clearly pleased with both the financial transaction and the potential connection to the Reed family it represented.
As they departed, Alcaster allowed himself a final glance at Koala. Soon, she would be removed from her current abusers—though from her perspective, she was merely being transferred from one Celestial Dragon to another. She had no reason to expect her circumstances would improve.
But they would. Alcaster would see to that, though the process would need to be gradual and careful to avoid raising suspicion.
One more soul to save, one more piece in the long game he was playing against the World Government's cruelty.
The journey back to the Reed family compound was conducted mostly in silence. Alcaster's father seemed lost in thought, processing the political implications of various interactions during the assembly. For his part, Alcaster was mentally organizing everything he had learned during this pivotal day.
The Ancient Weapons depicted in those murals. The power dynamics among the Five Elders and Celestial Dragon families. The continued hunt for the Ohara survivor. And now, the acquisition of Koala—a responsibility he hadn't anticipated but couldn't ignore once he'd seen her condition.
"You were observant today," his father finally remarked as their palanquin approached the Reed family gates. "What did you learn?"
It was a test, Alcaster realized—his father evaluating whether the day's education had been worthwhile.
"The Elders present unity but are divided on certain matters," Alcaster replied carefully. "The Roswards and Charloss families command the most influence, but their alliance is one of convenience rather than trust. And information flows upward through carefully controlled channels, with the most sensitive matters never reaching the general assembly."
His father nodded, a hint of approval in his expression. "Good observations. And what of the castle itself?"
"Designed to reflect hierarchy at every level," Alcaster said. "Even the architecture reinforces who may access which spaces and what knowledge."
"Very good." His father seemed genuinely pleased. "And your interest in the slave girl? A sudden decision, unlike your usual calculated approach."
Alcaster had prepared for this question. "Efficiency, Father. My current attendants serve multiple functions and are divided in their attention. A dedicated personal servant, young enough to be properly conditioned to my specific requirements, will save time and increase my productivity."
"Hmm." His father studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "A reasonable investment, then. She'll be delivered to your quarters tomorrow after the necessary paperwork and processing."
"Thank you, Father."
As they disembarked from the palanquin and entered the Reed compound, Alcaster allowed himself a moment of private satisfaction. The day had been productive beyond his expectations—intelligence gathered, connections established, and an unexpected rescue initiated.
And all just in time. In less than a month, Fisher Tiger would make his escape attempt, potentially changing Mary Geoise forever if his subsequent raid succeeded as the plot suggested it should.
Alcaster needed to be prepared for that chaos, to use it as cover for further actions while maintaining his own precarious position. And now, he had an additional responsibility—helping Koala recover from her trauma while keeping both their true natures hidden from those who would punish them for any deviation from their assigned roles.
The game was becoming more complex, the stakes higher. But with each small victory, each life potentially saved or improved, Alcaster's resolve only strengthened.
Change was coming to the Holy Land, one carefully orchestrated step at a time.