"Hurry, load it up!"
"We're about to fight the White Wolf Pirates—don't drop the ball!"
"Hey, you over there—move!"
...
At Marine HQ, a Vice Admiral shouted orders as soldiers hauled supplies. All of Marineford was packed with elite troops drafted from around the world.
Yet you could see it plainly—many Marines' morale sagged.
After all, they were about to face the White Wolf Pirates.
Sphinx.
Elbaf.
Sabaody.
After three major clashes with the White Wolf, many Marines no longer had their early confidence.
Their first reaction to the news was:
We're finished.
Through those three great battles, the Marines lost dead and wounded by the thousands, and even their poster-child Admiral defected.
And the White Wolf Pirates?
Their power only swelled—bold enough now to provoke a war on their own terms.
Yes.
What was coming was war.
Compared to the coming battle at Akropolis Port, Sphinx, Elbaf, and Sabaody were small fry.
How many years had it been?
The Marines could barely remember the last time they launched a war of this scale; even the Sphinx encirclement had been the largest muster in nearly a century.
This time,
the scale would be several times larger than Sphinx.
No wonder so many felt bleak.
With a few exceptions.
"Haha—this time I'm taking top honors and passing you!"
"Hmph. You?"
One with a close crop, one with a fluffy mop—both much taller than when they'd joined—Garp and Sengoku trotted along the docks with crates several times larger than themselves.
Without noticing, they'd been Marines for three years.
Ordinary recruits would still be swabbing decks now—at best Third or Second Class.
But they'd come at the right time.
In the old days, not even an Admiral could fast-track two rookies; you had to grind seniority and pile up merit.
Now the Marines were thin in the middle, a whole generation missing, desperate for fresh blood.
Anyone with talent got heavy investment.
A year ago Garp was a Second Class; now he was an Ensign, while Sengoku was one step short of Lieutenant—skipping Corporal, Sergeant, and Master Sergeant in a single sprint.
Both had already begun learning Rokushiki.
"Still too slow."
Unlike the boys' optimism, Kong couldn't help sighing.
Garp and Sengoku—
they were the finest Marine recruits Kong had seen in years.
Even stronger than he'd been at their age.
Which meant that if they grew steadily, both were very likely to become Admiral-class fighters, perhaps beyond the norm.
But the White Wolf Pirates weren't giving them time.
Kong even regretted not teaching Rokushiki sooner; by now they might have mastered it and started Haki.
Once they learned Haki, their odds of surviving the coming fight would tick up.
Kong's face was heavy.
Since Rona defected, the weight of the Marines had fallen on his shoulders.
Ortega had the seniority and the power, but spent most of his time at Mary Geoise.
In the end, it was always Kong out front.
Especially now, with Ardent's condition clearly slipping, the Marines couldn't pin hopes on Portman, the half-retired chief of staff, and Hines Oran, the freshly elevated Admiral.
Akropolis Port.
A harbor once bustling was now cold and empty.
Everyone knew it would soon be a battlefield.
Even the fearless don't linger at a time like this.
Those who could run, ran; those who could sail, sailed.
So when Lucas Saint arrived, all that remained in Akropolis were Marines throwing up fortifications and CP agents racing back and forth.
"That pirate knows how to pick a spot."
Everyone knew the makeshift works wouldn't matter much.
Still—if you could nudge enemy losses up and yours down even a little—
then today's sweat wasn't wasted.
"That damned pirate—this time I'll make him pay!"
The God's Knights' vice-captain, Granreed Saint, ground his teeth. He would never forget the humiliation Magnus gave him.
After his head was plunged underwater, every moment until the Marines hauled him out was choking, drowning terror.
"I only want that woman."
Claude Saint's face was equally dark.
At least Granreed had lost after facing Magnus head-on before being frozen.
Claude had simply been blindsided.
Who would have guessed that the Admiral they treated like a dog would one day turn and bite them?
"Don't let anger cloud your mind."
Lucas Saint snorted at his two foolish sons.
"Our target is White Wolf Magnus. The whole world will be watching this war, so neither the Five Elders nor Imu-sama can act. Even without them, we must take this victory."
"In the name of the God's Knights."
Imu's existence was the world's greatest taboo. When Magnus struck the Holy Land, Imu hadn't wanted to move at all, given the damage it would cause.
And even then, before acting, Imu knocked every king in Pangaea Castle unconscious.
This time,
the White Wolf would feed the news—exposing the entire battle. Not only could Imu not act, even the Five Elders were unwilling to reveal their transformed visages to the world.
So Magnus had guessed right.
Those who would fight were the Marines, CP, and the God's Knights.
Even sending the Knights was something the Five Elders did while pinching their noses.
They had no choice.
Counting generously, the Marines had three Admiral-class fighters. Add Ardent and Portman—
that made four and a half.
Ardent plus Portman was about one and a half on their own.
Given the White Wolf's current strength,
Magnus wouldn't even need to move; he could have the top Marine force carved up.
CP also had two Admiral-class.
But after Mary Geoise, they knew: ordinary Admiral-class meant nothing before Magnus.
You could pin him—not finish him.
And they had to beware: if Magnus used Pure Gold to reel in a few more apex fighters from nowhere, the situation could collapse instantly.
"There aren't that many hidden top-tiers. Those old fossils at death's door—even if they regain youth—how much of their former spirit do they have left?"
In this world, Haki sets the ceiling.
And Haki's strength comes from spirit.
The fiercer your spirit, the stronger your Haki.
Lose your will,
and your Haki withers beyond belief.
Ardent was the example now.
He was braced by pride alone. He'd never crossed blades with Magnus; how could a top fighter accept defeat without a fight?
For Ardent, this would be decisive.
Win—
and his spirit returns; he can lead the Marines for another decade.
Lose—
and that last breath leaks away; he may retire.
So—
he needed not just a win, but a crushing win.
Year 1465, September.
One hundred thousand Marine elites split in two: one force to block the White Wolf landing at Akropolis, the other entrenched at G-1 Branch, forming a pincer.
To be frank, when G-1 was founded no one imagined someone would attack the neighboring port; it mostly served as an outpost to watch rookie pirates.
Which meant
Akropolis lacked strong fortifications. If it fell, it would serve as a springboard to strike G-1.
In that case, holding G-1 meant little; once Akropolis fell, anyone could sever G-1's supply lines with ease.
The soldiers inside would be left to die.
Still, they couldn't leave G-1 bare—no one knew whether Magnus would hit G-1 first or Akropolis.
A hundred thousand Marines,
plus five thousand CP operatives presented as special forces, with the God's Knights mixed among them.
"We need to be careful. Rumor is White Wolf Magnus has a way to kill us now."
"You serious?"
"True or not, the captain and vice-captain will handle him."
...
Though the Knights' captain and deputy both ate losses at Sabaody, the rank-and-file still believed in them.
The Commander-in-Chief with the captain and deputy—
the three pillars of the Figarland line stood together.
Lose? Impossible.
"Hey, Gunko, you think we win too, right?"
A Knight glanced at the cloaked girl beside him—face veiled, her features still youthful.
She was new; most weren't familiar with her.
"Mm."
She nodded.
She carried a task different from the others.
Imu-sama had said:
if Magnus knew of her, someone had leaked it.
Among the Five Elders—or within the Knights—
there might be a spy.
So she had to hide—let no one know her true purpose.
A war of over one hundred thousand—
in any world, that could decide an era.
White Wolf Magnus was a threat.
If he were just another pirate—even one capable of shattering "immortality"—Imu would have ignored him.
That would still be only a man.
And men are fragile; none can resist the erosion of time.
However radiant a champion,
measured in centuries, he is just a capering clown.
Not worth notice.
Magnus was different.
He had touched the peak—and possessed Pure Gold, the power to resist time's poison.
In a few short years, he had rebuilt a force shaking the Government's foundations.
Even Imu could not ignore him.
"In eight hundred years, you are the first threat worth killing with my own hands."
Though seated in Mary Geoise,
Imu watched the coming war through another's eyes.
Reporters were already in place.
Though the Marines had tried to clear the area, plenty of fearless journalists still chased first-hand scoops.
Some were even annoyed:
why would the White Wolf Pirates bring reporters to stream the battle live,
while the Marines dragged their feet?
Were the Marines scared?
Lies don't cut; truth is the sharpest blade.
Even with CP and the Knights beside them, many Marines barely knew those groups.
To them, it looked like the Marines alone facing the White Wolf Pirates.
Could they win?
Many swallowed hard.
They had no idea when Magnus would arrive. In theory, a fleet that big couldn't move without leaving a trace.
Yet ever since the muster two months prior,
not a whisper of the White Wolf's movement had reached them—forcing Marine patrols onto a razor's edge.
This was war.
And in war, you do whatever it takes.
On the Government's side,
the Seven Warlords had already moved, White Wolf or not.
They would strike the Eleven-Nation Pact led by the Steel Country while the White Wolf lunged at Akropolis.
The Government had the strength to split its forces.
Did Magnus?
Magnus did—he knew they'd never spare those eleven. He left Rona in the Steel Country.
She had left the Marines—but that didn't mean she wished to fight them.
Magnus didn't force her hand.
He entrusted the eleven nations' safety to Rona and her New Navy.
Then he appeared at Akropolis.
"Ripley, ready?"
"Mm!"
"Then begin."
Before every Marine's eyes, an anglerfish as large as a small island burst from the sea and yawned wide.
Ripley stood within its mouth.
She heaved up a massive slab of rock and faced Akropolis.
With a violent throw—
the boulder, tens of meters across, swelled on the wind.
Only then did the Marines realize—
it wasn't a rock.
It was an island.
Ripley had hurled an island a kilometer wide.
Like a meteor strike,
tens of thousands of guards and pirates poured down from its slopes.
The battle began.
(End of Chapter)
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