Uninterceptable?!
Figarland Garling felt blood surge to his head. Red veins spread across his eyes as his breath grew ragged.
As vice-commander of the Knights of God—and a firsthand witness to the raid on Mary Geoise—he knew better than anyone what would follow if the truth escaped.
This wasn’t about a few hundred dead Celestial Dragons.
He cared little for those pampered fools drinking themselves senseless in the Land of the Gods. What mattered was the inviolate prestige of the Celestial Dragon race—and the supremacy of the World Governnt.
If the world learned what had happened tonight, the seas would convulse in an unprecedented storm.
Soone had dared to strike the Holy Land—the very seat of the World Governnt—head-on.
More than half of Mary Geoise lay in ruins. Over a thousand World Nobles had died under the Flying Fleet’s bombardnt. And the Holy Land’s "impregnable" defenses had proven useless.
Once this spread, the Governnt’s eight centuries of absolute authority would suffer a mortal wound.
If the gods could bleed—if the untouchable were brought within reach—then resentnt would seed itself in every corner of the world, take root, and grow into a tempest.
If the World Governnt was not invincible—if the behemoth that ruled for eight hundred years was not as crushing as believed—then why bow to its laws? Why pay Heavenly Tribute?
The coming tide could shake the very foundations of their rule.
"Damn it!"
Garling snarled and fisted an Enforcent officer’s collar, dragging him close. His eyes burned crimson.
"Did you identify the reporter?"
The man trembled beneath that killing intent. "Y-Yes, Excellency! He’s with the World Economy News Paper! Their president is that bird—Morgans!"
Garling’s voice turned to ice. "Use any ans necessary. I authorize direct mobilization of the CP agencies. Destroy every trace of this intelligence."
"At any cost."
Cold sweat beaded on the officer’s brow. He snapped to attention. "Yes, Excellency Figarland Garling!"
---
Almost simultaneously, in the New World—on a small, isolated island—
A peculiarly built ship lay docked at the shore. A flag bearing a microphone-clutching seagull snapped in the wind; "World Economy News Paper" was stamped along the hull.
ssenger gulls swept in from every direction, alighting across the deck. Reporters in black suits spilled from the cabins, deftly collecting letters and reports, scanning contents as they moved.
A sharp, strangled gasp split the air.
A dozen gulls fluttered up, startled.
"What is this?!"
"The Celestial Dragons’ Holy Land—Mary Geoise—bombarded by a Flying Fleet?!"
"That’s impossible!"
A young reporter stared at the photos and text in his hands, jaw slack, eyes wide in disbelief.
He sucked in air, then bolted from the cabin, panic twisting his face. "President Morgans—sothing awful has happened!"
Inside, typewriters clacked and telegraphs clicked in a frantic chorus.
The birdman lounging on a leather sofa, cigar in beak, jolted upright. "Awful? What now?"
He looked like a massive, upright bird—huge beak, beadlike eyes, white feathers—his wings shaped like hands. The oddity of him clashed with the elegance of his dress: black top hat with a red-and-white feather, pale blue shirt, yellow bow tie, red-and-white plaid trousers, and a black cloak.
No one who didn’t know would guess this bizarre figure was an Underworld Emperor—the man who set the heartbeat of global opinion, president of the World Economy News Paper: "Big News" Morgans.
"Give it here!"
Morgans snatched the report and tore it open, devouring the words with ravenous focus.
He froze.
His pupils shrank, trembling as if his soul had flown.
"President... are you alright?"
"What happened?"
"Why won’t he move?"
"..."
Employees stared at their motionless chief.
Suddenly—
"Big news! Big, big news!!"
Morgans shrieked, face flushing, winged hands shaking.
"Hahahaha!! The mont I’ve been waiting for!"
"Rogers Darren... the North Blue Fleet... floating battleships... an aerial strike on Mary Geoise!"
"Hahahaha!! You’ve done it this ti, ’King of the North Blue’!"
"He actually clashed with the Gorosei! Those five codgers must be livid!"
"If that’s true, sothing earth-shattering went down on Felsek Island!"
"Maybe Rogers Darren’s already declared war on the Gorosei!"
He paced, muttering, eyes blazing.
"What headline fits a story like this?"
Click—
Sothing cold pressed against the back of his head.
"You won’t be giving it a headline at all."
A low, rasping voice spoke behind him.
"President Morgans, I’m afraid I can’t allow this to be published..."
The man in a reporter’s trench coat thumbed off the safety, finger tightening on the trigger.
"...This is an order from the World Governnt."
To be continued...
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