Whoosh—!
In a flash, Galahad, Miel, and Miru crossed paths midair.
Their figures clashed and blurred—then, just as suddenly, the battle was over.
"…"
Galahad landed lightly, his expression calm and unreadable.
Miel, panting, steadied himself and muttered with awe,
"Strong… Who are you?"
It was clear he didn't know Galahad's identity. Yet that brief exchange was enough to make him realize something terrifying. Even when he and his twin brother fought together—perfectly in sync—their coordinated strength had been effortlessly deflected. The man before them fought with impossible precision and control. It wasn't just skill; it was art.
"This isn't human…" Miel thought grimly.
"This is mastery... itself."
Galahad spoke softly, his tone as steady as stone.
"Knight of the Round Table—Knight of the Holy Grail—Galahad."
He stated his name with calm simplicity, like it required no explanation.
Step.
He pressed a foot into the ground and, in the blink of an eye, launched forward once more.
Two against one—yet for Galahad, it was meaningless.
Unless someone could completely overwhelm him in strength, no combination of tactics or tricks would suffice.
During their voyage to God Valley, Galahad had mastered Observation Haki, and when paired with his serene, unwavering mind, his perception and reaction speed reached terrifying levels. His every movement carried divine precision—cold, clean, perfect.
No deception could harm him.
—
"Haah!"
Bullet roared, both fists coated in Armament Haki, charging into the ranks of Marines.
His punches cracked like thunder.
He was only seven years old—but his sheer ferocity made him seem like a beast unleashed.
One Marine after another fell before him.
Crack!
Boom!
Arthur strode across the battlefield, his coat fluttering behind him.
The twins had brought barely three hundred soldiers—advance troops, not a full army—and against Arthur's knights, it was a hopeless defense.
Between Galahad and Bullet, the entire garrison was being dismantled.
"God Valley…"
After several days, Arthur finally stood once again before the legendary island.
Hands in his pockets, he gazed over the towering mountains that ringed the valley, the waterfall roaring in front of him like nature's curtain.
A fortress shaped by the sea itself—impregnable.
But…
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "There are caves on both sides of those mountains…" he murmured. "Hidden tunnels that connect directly to the valley's interior."
Then he smiled faintly.
"As expected. This place really is perfect."
And with that, he moved.
Bullet was powerful for his age, but still too young to crush an entire Marine detachment alone.
Arthur extended a hand—and in moments, the remaining soldiers fell like grass before a storm.
Soon, only two men remained alive: the captured twin Vice Admirals, Miel and Miru.
---
Galahad dragged the defeated brothers forward, bound with rope, and threw them before Arthur.
Arthur crouched slightly, studying them with a curious glint in his eye.
"You two… I've been wondering," he said.
"Who exactly are you? You wear gray Marine coats, but your insignia isn't standard. Not World Government regulars… are you?"
He had seen this kind of uniform once before—on the Red Line itself.
The mysterious gray-clad soldiers who guarded the Holy Land of Mary Geoise.
Arthur's interest sharpened.
These two weren't ordinary Marines. They were something else—something hidden.
Miel and Miru glared back, refusing to answer.
Arthur didn't mind. He smiled.
"Fine, then. I'll just have to keep you alive until I find out."
He produced two thin silver needles and, before either man could react, injected them both. Their faces instantly drained of color.
A suppressant.
Common across the world—a chemical used to paralyze fighters without Devil Fruits.
While Sea-Prism Stone neutralized Fruit users, this serum rendered normal warriors powerless for hours at a time.
It was crude but effective.
...
After securing the twins aboard his small ship, Arthur turned back toward the valley.
"Then let's begin," he murmured.
"Yes, my King," Galahad replied solemnly.
Barrett blinked in confusion, unsure what his master meant.
Arthur raised his hand to the sky.
"Summon: Britannia."
In that instant, the air trembled.
A dragon's roar tore through the sky.
The ocean churned violently as Arthur's body flared with red light—the phantom of a colossal crimson dragon rising behind him, its wings spreading across the horizon.
The energy stored within 350 Devil Fruits burst forth.
In seconds, nearly half was consumed—150 Fruits' worth of power—pouring into a single act of creation.
The sea heaved. The sky cracked.
The earth itself answered his call.
Rumble… rumble… RUMBLE!
From beneath the shattered ruins of God Valley, something vast began to rise—an island, radiant and resplendent, forcing its way from the depths of the ocean.
Galahad lifted Bullet and the captives into the air as the ground split beneath them.
Arthur stood unmoving as the colossal mass ascended, until finally—
A new island was born.
Crimson light faded into morning gold.
Arthur could feel it—the pulse of something ancient echoing within him. His heart raced wildly.
A strange power surged through his veins, burning yet comforting.
"What is this…?" he muttered, clutching his chest. "Such strength… it feels alive."
The energy didn't fade—it settled, sleeping within him like an eternal flame waiting to be awakened.
Arthur smiled faintly.
"A strange feeling indeed…"
---
As the light subsided, the island's features became clear—mountains, glaciers, deserts, volcanoes, forests, lakes, grasslands—every imaginable landscape of the natural world fused harmoniously into one breathtaking whole.
A living paradise.
Even Bullet, standing amidst the glow, could only whisper,
"It's… beautiful…"
The sight was overwhelming.
A single island, yet home to every miracle of nature.
Miel and Miru, still bound, stared in speechless horror.
An island summoned from nothing? This wasn't the power of any Devil Fruit. It was something older—something divine.
Galahad's eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, a smile touched his lips.
"Britannia," he whispered. "It's been too long, old friend."
The island rumbled in response—as if acknowledging him.
Arthur, however, shook his head.
"It's not finished yet. This is only the surface."
And then, with another thunderous quake, the sea erupted again.
One after another, seven smaller islands rose around the main one:
a towering volcanic isle,
a frozen iceberg,
a vast grassland,
a lush forest,
a golden desert,
a shining lake,
and a colossal mountain that touched the clouds.
Two islands—ice and fire—rested below the great waterfalls, while five others floated above, encircling the main isle like jewels in a crown.
Together, they formed the Archipelago of Britannia—a vision so dreamlike it seemed torn from legend.
"Your Majesty…" Bullet asked hesitantly, "What… what is all this?"
Arthur's voice was calm and proud.
"Our home. The Britannian Archipelago. From now on, this will be our eternal sanctuary."
"Our home…" Bullet whispered, staring at the seven radiant isles.
For the first time in his life, he felt something unfamiliar—a warmth deep in his chest.
A feeling he had never known.
Belonging.
Arthur chuckled softly. "Don't be nervous, Bullet. In time, you'll understand. This… is Britannia."
Galahad knelt respectfully.
"My King, will you not awaken the sleeping City of White Chalk?"
Arthur shook his head.
"Not yet. There are things I must confirm first. Interrogate the prisoners—find out who they truly serve, and whether reinforcements are coming."
"As you command."
While his knights moved to obey, Arthur turned and walked deeper into Britannia.
Each step carried him through a different world—mountains blending into forests, forests fading into desert, desert giving way to snow and flame.
At the heart of it all lay a tranquil woodland—and at its center, a shimmering lake.
Step… step…
Arthur approached the water's edge.
The surface was still as glass, reflecting the sky above.
"The Lake of Spirits…" he murmured.
At the center of Britannia, this lake was the very heart of myth—the last echo of the ancient world.
It was said the entire island was born from divine remnants, fragments of a forgotten legend that the world itself had rejected.
The Lake of Spirits connected this world to another—Avalon, the realm of the fairies.
It was here that the Lady of the Lake once bestowed the sacred swords:
Arthur's Excalibur, Lancelot's Arondight—the shining weapons of heroes.
Now, the new Arthur—successor of the Red Dragon—stepped into those same waters.
He removed his coat and shirt, and walked slowly into the lake.
He could feel the connection awakening.
The waters shimmered like liquid light, his heartbeat syncing with the pulse of the island itself.
As his body sank deeper, his consciousness blurred—and that strange power within him flared once more, fusing with the rhythm of the lake, the island, and the world beyond.
In that instant, he understood.
The nature of the mysterious force coursing through him.
What it was.
Where it came from.
And why the world itself trembled in its presence.
------------------------///
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