Chapter 149: The Spy (Patreon)

Chapter 149: The Spy

The Royal Palace.

Doflamingo leaned against the carved railing, his pink feather coat fluttering in the wind. A golden coin spun between his fingers as his gaze, hidden behind dark sunglasses, lingered on the distant horizon—as if weighing some intriguing stakes.

Viola approached in her high heels, stopping three paces away. Her crimson eyes held their usual aloofness, but her tone carried a barely perceptible tension. "You summoned me. What are your orders?"

"Fufufu... My little beauty, you're becoming more and more obedient," Doflamingo turned slowly, the coin halting between his fingers. His lips curled into that trademark mocking smile as his voice dropped low. "You're to follow Bahr."

"Follow him?" Viola's pupils contracted sharply, and she instinctively took half a step back. Her red eyes widened in shock. "Why?"

"Since when do you ask so many questions?" Doflamingo's tone brooked no argument. "You go where I tell you. That man has too many secrets—someone needs to keep an eye on him. And tell me, who could be more suitable than you?"

"I refuse." Viola's face paled instantly, her nails digging so deeply into her palms they nearly drew blood.

"Refuse?" Doflamingo laughed, the sound dripping with undisguised cruelty. "Fufu... Seems you've forgotten your place. Your father's 'vacation'... is almost over, isn't it?"

Wasn't he turned into a toy? Even Sugar doesn’t remember who he is anymore, let alone Doflamingo.

"You—!" Viola's head snapped up, fury blazing in her scarlet eyes—only to be doused by fear the next second. All these years of enduring humiliation had been for nothing more than keeping her father alive one more day.

"Fufufu... A wise man knows when to yield." Doflamingo savored the struggle in Viola's eyes. "All you have to do is watch him. Note who he meets, what he does, and report to me daily. As long as you behave, your father stays safe."

He turned back to the railing, tossing the coin again. His tone was light, but the threat beneath was unmistakable. "If anything goes wrong... you know the consequences."

Viola stood frozen, staring at Doflamingo's back. This demon, who had dragged the entire country into hell, was now forcing her to sign yet another humiliating contract—using her only weakness as leverage.

After a long silence, she finally forced out two words, so soft they were almost a sigh. "...I understand."

Doflamingo didn’t turn around. The coin between his fingers spun faster, and behind his sunglasses, a glint of calculation flashed.

Bahr was a sharp blade—useful, but dangerous. Sending Viola to tail him not only utilized her abilities but also kept her leashed through her father. Best of all, a woman who had once been intimate with Bahr would find it easier to lower his guard.

As for whether Viola would betray him? He couldn’t care less. In the face of absolute control, all resistance was futile struggle.

The night hung heavy over Dressrosa's port. Gladius sat atop an empty cargo wagon, idly spinning a grenade between his fingers. He watched as his soldiers loaded the last crate of weapons onto a trailer, his boot heel tapping impatiently against the wooden planks. "Hurry it up!"

As an executive of the Donquixote Family, personally overseeing this shipment for "Bahr" already made him feel it was beneath his dignity. To make matters worse, these useless fools were dawdling, staggering even while carrying boxes.

The soldiers didn't dare slack off, quickly hoisting the wooden crates with renewed speed. Once the loading was done, they drove the carriage toward the warehouse. Just as they turned onto the street, a small, slender figure darted out from the alley behind them, her pink hair tousled by the sea breeze.

The figure ran swiftly—it was Rebecca, who had just escaped from under the guards' noses.

"Grab her! She's a royal remnant!"

Three soldiers immediately burst out from the alley entrance, their uniforms torn in several places, faces scraped and bruised, clearly having had a rough time.

From the corner of her eye, Rebecca caught sight of Gladius on the carriage, and her pupils shrank instantly.

She recognized that face—he was an executive of the Donquixote Family. The soldier had once told her these men were demons a hundred times more terrifying than ordinary guards.

But the footsteps behind her were closing in, leaving no retreat. Gritting her teeth, Rebecca could only dive under the carriage.

"Hmm?" Gladius raised an eyebrow, and the moment he caught sight of that flash of pink hair, a cruel smile curled his lips. He leaped down from the carriage, landing with a tremor that shook the ground, blocking Rebecca's path.

"Run," he taunted, cracking his knuckles with a series of pops, his gaze fixed on Rebecca's face. "Scarlett's little brat. You run better than your mother did."

Of course he recognized her—Scarlett's daughter, the remnant who should have died in the ruins like her mother.

Originally disgruntled about this errand, he now felt it might not be so bad after all.

Rebecca skidded to a halt, her back pressed against the cold wheel of the carriage, her palms slick with sweat. She clutched the short knife hidden in her sleeve, its blade trembling against her forearm, her courage to draw it nearly crushed by his oppressive aura.

The pressure felt like storm clouds bearing down, suffocating her.

"Sir! This brat escaped from the flower field and injured two of our men!" The pursuing soldier bent over, panting, pointing at the cuts on Rebecca's arm, his tone eager to claim credit.

Gladius ignored them, stepping closer instead. He watched as Rebecca's pink hair half-covered her face, her exposed eyes filled with fear yet tinged with stubborn defiance. He scoffed. "Hiding all these years, and now you finally dare to show yourself!"

Rebecca tightened her grip on the knife, recalling the swordsmanship the soldier had taught her. Even if it was just the basics, it was her only lifeline now. The moment Gladius lifted his foot, she suddenly ducked and lunged, the short knife tracing a thin silver arc in the moonlight, aimed straight for his knee.

"Oh?" Gladius raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it turned to mockery. Without even moving his feet, he merely flicked a small iron pellet wrapped in gunpowder.

Bang!

A faint explosion erupted between them. The Airwave struck like an invisible hand, slamming hard into Rebecca's chest. Her organs seemed to twist out of place, the knife flying from her grip as her body was hurled backward like a broken kite, crashing heavily into a cargo crate with a dull thud.

Gladius strolled over leisurely, looking down at Rebecca. "A few half-baked tricks, and you dare show off in front of me? How utterly clueless."

He stepped on Rebecca's wrist, grinding his foot slightly as he listened to her muffled groan of pain. Then he crouched down, pinching a strand of her pink hair between his fingers. "Though, if Scarlett had half your nerve back then, she might have lived a few more days."

Rebecca gritted her teeth, struggling to pull her hand free, but he only pressed down harder. The excruciating pain from her wrist shot through her, yet the insult to her mother cut deeper than any physical wound—like a blade carving into her heart, making it bleed.

"Don’t... mention my mother—" Her voice was hoarse, choked with tears, but her glare remained fierce.

"Stubborn." Gladius released his foot, only to seize the back of her collar instead, lifting her like a kitten. Rebecca’s feet dangled helplessly in the air, her legs kicking uselessly as her pink skirt fluttered in chaotic arcs.

"Take this shipment to the warehouse first," Gladius ordered the soldiers behind him without turning, his tone brooking no argument. "Then bring her to the Young Master."

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers hurried to comply, scrambling to steer the carriage toward the warehouse district. The sound of wheels rolling over gravel gradually faded into the distance.

Rebecca’s struggles abruptly stilled, her eyes flooding with sheer terror. Doflamingo... the demon who had turned her country into hell, the murderer who had killed her mother.

The soldier had warned her—she could never fall into his hands. Death would be a mercy compared to what awaited her.

"Let me go... let go!" She suddenly thrashed with renewed desperation, kicking and flailing, but her efforts were nothing more than feeble scratches against Gladius’s grip.