He transmigrated as the most useless Celestial Dragon, exiled by the Five Elders, mocked, and publicly doused with wine.
Donquixote Veyce merely wiped his face and pulled a scroll of parchment from his clothes.
It contained no laws, only three statements: Order is divinity. Contracts are the path. Backlash is purification.
Then he cut open his own heart and embedded a fruit that could control time. The sea could no longer harm him, and time became his plaything. The chief justice of Enies Lobby was reduced to ash by backlash. The Blackfish Kingdom was razed by seven volleys of cannon fire. The Worst Generation on Sabaody Archipelago was slaughtered in droves. Everyone thought he was a madman.
Until three hundred Seastone alloy explosive rocks cleared Marineford in a single strike, and he cut the Knights of the Holy Land of Mary Geoise in two with one slash. At last, Imu spoke from the Empty Throne: “What are you?”
Veyce sheathed his sword. Silver hair fell to his shoulders, and his tricolored eyes reflected a world that had been burning for eight hundred years.
“I came to burn the old book.”
