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In a peal of helpless laughter, the Armament Haki covering Garp's body rapidly receded. His body shrank back to its normal size, and he fell backward with a smile.
Ten days and ten nights of fierce battle had left him utterly exhausted. Combined with the burning of his own life force, he was completely spent.
'Maybe... this is it. A pity I couldn't get rid of that damned brat Arthur for the Marines.' Garp lay sprawled on the ground, closing his eyes with a hint of regret.
The world before him grew darker and darker, as if he were sinking into a pitch-black night where he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face. In the distance, he could hear Sengoku's heartfelt cries.
He had truly given it his all, fought with his life on the line. Even in death, he had not failed the Marines. He had no regrets.
That last punch... it was undoubtedly the strongest blow he could ever unleash in his entire life. And it still hadn't killed Arthur on the spot.
What else was there to be done?
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"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP!!"
Sengoku struggled up from the ground, a new reserve of strength erupting from somewhere deep within. He rushed to Garp's side, propping up his body.
At the same time, his eyes, from behind his still-unbroken round glasses, were locked on the slowly approaching Arthur. The killing intent within them was completely undisguised.
Whitebeard did not move to stop him. He stood quietly, holding his naginata. Although they were on different sides, there was a mutual admiration between them. He would not make things difficult for a man who could no longer fight.
"Ugh..."
Arthur, who had been exhilarated just a moment before—thrilled by that heart-stopping dance on the edge of life and death—suddenly paled.
He opened his mouth and vomited a large mouthful of blood, the crimson liquid mixed with dark red pieces of his lung. His entire body trembled, unable to even remain standing.
Garp's punch had dealt him an unprecedented, crushing blow. Even with his immense physical strength, he couldn't recover. He couldn't even use his lightning to stimulate the healing process.
If his body had been even a fraction weaker, he would have been killed on the spot.
He fell to one knee, clutching the wound in his chest, his face deathly pale. Waves of excruciating pain washed over him, and it felt as if even breathing had become difficult.
"Cough, cough, cough..."
Forcing his body upright, he staggered to his feet.
Every movement pulled at the injury, triggering a violent cough.
The wound was too severe. Without immediate treatment, an injury that deep, that had reached his very bones, would drag him straight to hell.
Powerless. Utterly powerless. It wasn't that he didn't have the strength to do anything, but the feeling of helplessness a man faces when he is truly staring at death.
Only when you have truly experienced that fear do you understand how wonderful it is to be alive.
Life is a difficult word to understand. It is incredibly heavy. And every person has a reason for their existence, a meaning to their life. Life isn't just about winning and losing; there are many things more important than that.
Garp had been willing to sacrifice his life to protect justice and the stability of the sea. That iron fist had completely shattered the confusion that had shrouded Arthur for all the years he had been in this world.
'This insane pursuit of strength... wasn't it just to gain a foothold in this Great Age of Pirates, to take my own life into my own hands?'
It was a sign of deep-seated insecurity.
Many people lived painful, miserable lives, even groveling and licking the mud from another's shoes, just to keep living, to find a reason to exist, to achieve their dreams.
Arthur had, from the bottom of his heart, looked down on such people. To live by bowing and scraping—what was the difference between that and being dead?
But now, this helplessness made him understand a simple truth—in living, there may not be hope, but in death, there is absolutely no hope.
Perhaps... Blackbeard was the one who had truly achieved great enlightenment.
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"Cough, cough... Pure Gold!"
Arthur coughed violently, a powerful desire to live suddenly surging within him.
He raised a trembling hand and, with his remaining strength, used his body's heat to melt the special mineral covering his Pure Gold bracelet.
The heat melted a tiny hole in the barrier, and the light from the Pure Gold—the light that could infinitely slow down time for oneself—shone on his hand, temporarily halting the progression of his injuries.
Anything that affected the body, whether beneficial or harmful, would be "frozen" in that moment.
In all the years since he had obtained this divine object, aside from crafting the storage bracelet, Arthur had never used it, nor had he planned to use it so early.
Because that light, that slowing of time, would extend the time it took for him to reach his peak by an infinite amount.
His life force would almost completely stagnate.
How could he accept that? He had planned to accept its light only when he reached his absolute prime—in his thirties or forties.
But now, there was no time to consider such things. If he didn't use it, this one punch would drag him to his death. If he used it, it would only delay his entry into his true peak state.
As expected, the wound, which had been expanding with every passing moment, was no longer worsening. It had been suppressed by this miraculous power.
"Cough, cough!"
He let out a long sigh of relief. Although the pain had not stopped, the fact that the injury was no longer getting worse had temporarily restored his ability to move, saving him from being a sitting duck.
The decisive battle that would affect the future of the seas had finally, after ten days and ten nights, come to a close.
Arthur painfully scanned the area.
Redfield had finally defeated his lifelong rival—Kong. He was now lying on the ground, completely drained of strength, exhausted, not saying a word.
Kong had been knocked unconscious. Both had lost the ability to move.
Just as Arthur had said, when a man roams the seas alone, if he runs out of strength, the consequences are unimaginable. Redfield's fate was sealed.
Garp's breathing was faint, he was not far from death. Sengoku, who could barely still move, was supporting him, his eyes, filled with murderous intent, locked on Arthur.
On the battlefield, only Whitebeard still had any strength left.
"Don't look at me like that. It makes me want to... cough, cough!" Arthur wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his voice weak.
"The Marines are never afraid of sacrifice!"
Sengoku's anger flared, but the moment he tried to stand, he collapsed again. The injuries Whitebeard had given him were beginning to surface.
"Hmph." With a disdainful sneer, Arthur ignored Sengoku completely and sighed.
"What do you want?"
"What do I want? The old man is not far from death. I don't have a habit of attacking a dead man." Arthur waved his hand and turned to leave, staggering, looking as if he would fall at any moment.
It would take a long, long time for him to recover from his injuries. That one punch had not only nearly pierced his chest, but his internal organs had been violently shaken, even slightly displaced.
He turned his back. Just as he was about to leave, a massive shadow suddenly fell over him, as if it would block out the sky. A powerful aura, capable of crushing the will of a lesser man, descended upon him.
So, what was bound to happen has finally come.
Arthur looked up indifferently, his eyes meeting those of the towering, indomitable Whitebeard.
When he had first entered the New World, he had killed a man whom Whitebeard had personally acknowledged as his son.
A grudge like that... could never be erased.
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