Wicked_Fiction
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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #65
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 23:56:00 +0000 UTCThe clunk-hiss of pressurized gates echoed as the Bondola doors slid open, releasing its high-profile cargo onto the immaculate stone path beyond.
A moment later, Gale, Poqin, Admiral Kizaru, and a dozen Marines stepped out alongside King Cobra, Wapol, and the rest of the royal parade. If anyone had a personal space bubble, it was being popped like soap foam in Sabaody.
Beyond the final gate—one of four, all of them looking like they belonged on the cover of a fantasy novel written by someone with too much time and too many dragons—was something that made Gale pause.
“What the hell is this?” he muttered, feeling something off about the ground.
The answer came with a soft whir and a subtle vibration beneath his boots.
A moving road.
A long, flat, conveyor belt-like stretch of polished stone that carried everyone forward at a slow but steady pace toward the towering silhouette of Pangaea Castle in the distance.
It was huge. Monolithic. A hodgepodge of Victorian architecture, classical symmetry, and “just a little bit of evil lair” energy. Massive iron spires, countless tall windows, and more towers than Gale could count—all gleaming under a fake sun in a fake sky, maintained by technology and arrogance.
The castle loomed like a stern headmaster waiting to ruin everyone’s good mood.
“Fancy,” Poqin said, looking around, adjusting his sunglasses. “You think they got snacks in there?”
“If they do, they’re probably made of gold and powdered guilt,” Gale muttered.
He was trying to act unimpressed, but… well. Even he had to admit it was all kind of breathtaking. Artificial rivers cut through pristine lawns.
Carefully groomed forests rustled in a manufactured breeze. Birds chirped in choreographed harmony, probably paid union wages. It was beautiful. It was surreal. It was like—
—being watched.
A lot.
Gale’s attention snapped to the edges of the road where dozens—maybe hundreds—of heavily armed guards stood, lined up like chess pieces. They didn’t move. They didn’t talk. They didn’t blink. Just stared, every single one of them, like they were waiting for someone to sneeze out of turn so they could legally commit murder.
Yup. Definitely feeling welcome.
Still, the weirdest thing had to be the conveyor road itself. It was smooth, fast enough to make walking unnecessary, but slow enough to feel like an awkward escalator ride at the mall.
Except instead of being surrounded by bored teenagers and aunties with shopping bags, Gale was flanked by an admiral, multiple kings, and at least one guy who could legally demand human furniture.
He looked down at the moving platform again.
It was clean. Too clean. Not a single scuff mark. Not even a bird dropping. How was it moving, anyway? Magic? Science? Oda-brand nonsense?
Gale squinted at the seams in the stone, then glanced around at the perfectly trimmed hedges and sparkling fountains. Something didn’t sit right.
Poqin noticed him looking around with an expression that was far from comfortable. “What's wrong? Is it that time of the month?”
“I dunno…” Gale muttered. “Feels like there’s a secret dungeon under here where thirty poor bastards are chained to gears just to keep this thing running.”
Poqin blinked. “What?”
“I mean, come on,” Gale continued, gesturing subtly at their surroundings. “The Holy Land? Celestial Dragons? You really think they’ve got a clean energy plan? Nah, this whole setup screams ‘built on suffering and bad decisions.’”
Poqin looked down at the stone road. “...You think they let ‘em unionize?”
“I think they let ‘em suffer and die.”
And just like that, the conveyor belt continued humming along, silently gliding the royals, guards, and Gale’s mounting existential dread closer and closer to the gates of the world’s most exclusive jerk club.
He wasn’t sure if he was more worried about the Celestial Dragons or about getting assigned to seating arrangements later.
...
The grand doors creaked open with the kind of heavy drama usually reserved for ancient temples or really bougie weddings. The Empty Throne Room stretched out ahead of them, massive and cathedral-like, with high arched ceilings and ornate pillars that probably cost more than entire kingdoms.
Gale stepped inside and slowed down, craning his neck upward.
“…Damn,” he whispered, his voice echoing just enough to make it sound reverent. “Somebody really wanted to flex.”
At the center of the room—on top of a three-level platform that screamed “main character walks up here in the finale”—sat the Empty Throne. Majestic. Grand. And about as subtle as a punch to the face.
Its dark frame loomed over the space like a warning and a promise all at once.
The first level of the platform was lined with swords and axes, ancient weapons planted in the floor like metal roses. The third level had a few more for good measure, just in case anyone missed the symbolism.
Gale found himself staring.
And of course, King Cobra noticed.
“You’re curious,” Cobra said, stepping closer with the slow, patient gait of a man who spent half his life explaining things to people too young to remember history.
Gale cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how visible he was in a room full of royalty and literal symbols of world domination. “Just admiring the decor.”
Cobra smiled faintly, and gestured toward the weapons. “Those twenty weapons represent the founders of the World Government. The original monarchs who came together to end centuries of war.”
He glanced back up at the throne.
“That seat represents peace. A declaration that no single person shall ever rule the world. It is kept empty to remind us all that power must be shared, not hoarded.”
Gale nodded, slow and thoughtful on the outside.
On the inside?
'Buddy, that throne is radiating Chekhov’s Gun energy.'
He grimaced subtly, arms crossed, eyes flicking back to the throne like it was about to start humming the Imperial March.
'I don’t even know what happened post-Dressrosa, but I swear, if this isn’t setting up a twist, I’ll eat Wapol’s tin jaw.'
You don’t put a fancy throne in the middle of the entire world, call it “Empty,” make people swear not to sit on it—and then expect people to believe it’s going to stay empty.
That’s like taping a cookie to a fridge and telling a toddler it’s “symbolic.”
Sure enough, the process began—one by one, the royals approached the platform, bowed, muttered their oaths, and filed to the side like obedient students at a graduation ceremony none of them wanted to attend.
Gale watched as King Hamburger of the Ballywood Kingdom gave the throne the stink eye like it owed him money, while Queen Morelle from the Fillet Empire curtsied so low Gale thought she was about to throw her back out.
He turned to Poqin and whispered, “Hey, you think if someone sat down real quick and shouted ‘dibs,’ they’d own the world?”
Poqin raised a brow. “You wanna try?”
Gale shook his head. “Absolutely not. I'm still recovering from Elbaf wine PTSD. Also I’d rather not get vaporized by the literal sky laser I’m pretty sure this place is hiding.”
Cobra didn’t react, but Gale could’ve sworn the old man’s mouth twitched like he’d heard that. The king’s gaze drifted to the throne one last time before he turned away, his expression unreadable.
The ceremony carried on, ceremonial and tense, like everyone in the room was trying to look dignified while secretly wondering who was going to snap first.
And the throne?
Still empty.
Still waiting.
Still very much giving off “final boss cutscene” vibes.
'Yeah… totally normal peace symbol. Nothing ominous about it. Nope. Not at all.'
...
The garden of Pangaea Castle was beautiful in that overcompensating, “we definitely don’t have skeletons buried under this hedge” kind of way. Perfectly trimmed trees, glittering fountains, imported flowers from every Blueside boutique nation—honestly, it looked less like a garden and more like a royal Instagram backdrop.
Gale stood beside Poqin near one of the less crowded buffet tables, casually munching on some unnecessarily fancy hors d'oeuvres that he couldn’t pronounce. “I think this one’s goat cheese,” he muttered, chewing. “Or… cloud?”
Poqin popped a shrimp in his mouth whole. “Tastes expensive.”
“Yeah. My tongue’s going into debt.”
While they tried to make the most of the catering, the rest of the royals were in full-on Game of Thrones mode—either arguing in stiff diplomatic tones or slithering from one clique to the next, trading smiles and fake laughs like poker chips.
Gale didn’t have haki, but he didn’t need it to feel the occasional glance cutting through the air like a thrown dagger.
They were staring. Whispering. Glancing again. At him.
And Poqin.
Oh joy.
'Guess Cobra really kicked the hornet's nest back in the bubble elevator, huh?'
Gale sipped some overly sweet juice through a straw. One noble, an especially shiny fellow in layered silk robes and a crown so big it made him look like he was trying to compensate for something, had been making very aggressive eye contact with them for the past five minutes.
It was the kind of eye contact that said “I have plans for you,” and not the fun kind.
Then, just like that, Silky Robes turned and bee-lined toward King Cobra.
Gale watched with thinly veiled suspicion as the two men exchanged polite chatter, the occasional chuckle—and every now and then, another sideways glance at him.
'Uh-oh. I know that look. That’s the “how do we weaponize this guy” look.'
Cobra just nodded along, hands folded, doing that wise-old-king thing like he wasn’t actively stirring a political pot.
A few minutes later, Shiny Robes wandered off, only for another royal to sidle up to Cobra—also glancing at Gale between sentences.
And that’s when it hit him.
Hard.
'Oh you sly, sly old man. You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You dropped my name in front of all these crown-obsessed weirdos just to make me seem valuable.'
Gale narrowed his eyes as another noble walked past and gave him a nod. The same guy hadn’t even looked at him before the elevator ride.
He turned to Poqin and muttered, “I think Cobra’s playing chess and I’m the shiny new pawn.”
Poqin blinked. “You? A pawn? Nah, you talk too much to be a pawn. Maybe a really chatty rook.”
“Thanks. That’s... comforting.”
Still, as annoyed as he was, Gale couldn’t deny it was smart. Kind of scummy, sure, but smart.
Cobra probably wanted to gather influence for whatever proposal he was planning to throw into the Reverie blender, and what better way than to be the first king who “discovered” some up-and-coming Marine prodigy with a mysterious backstory and a possibly promising future?
Gale scowled into his juice.
It probably wasn’t even working that well—half these guys would sell their own grandmothers for a slice of territory—but Cobra had cracked open the door.
And now they were curious.
He sighed and leaned against the table, watching Cobra across the garden as the king nodded sagely to yet another royal.
'Man, I remember you as that goofy dad from the anime... now look at you. Pulling political stunts like it’s your second job.'
Gale took another bite of his whatever-it-was and grumbled under his breath, “Can’t even eat cheese in peace without getting turned into a campaign poster.”
Comments
Wicked_Fiction
No. Just fixed it. Thanks
Timothy
Is #64 supposed to be locked?
Wicked_Fiction
I don't remember writing that his reason for not wanting to join the marines is because of the celestials or specifically mentioning that they hunt people for sport... even so, it wouldn't be strange or surprising to anyone who has ever watched one piece if the celestials did just that. It wouldn't be hard to assume or imagine the celestials doing that either, even if you didn’t the god valley flashback.
Deep sea enjoyer
I have a question didn’t he mentioned in the first five chapters never wanting to join the Marines because he knows the celestial dragons hunt people for sport and that information came out around 2024 now he saying he doesn’t know anything that happens pass Dressrosa which ended in 2015 so what is it?
