"Don't worry, Dad, I'm not made of tofu."
Just as Marco tried to cheer himself up, a broad hand grabbed him and lifted him upright.
It was Whitebeard — thrown back by Ragnar's devastating punch, yet still standing.
"Are you okay?"
Marco asked in concern, his gaze scanning Whitebeard's body — especially the waist, where Ragnar's blow had landed.
That spot... it should have shattered him.
When he saw that Whitebeard's waist was intact, though he remained puzzled, Marco still let out a sigh of relief.
"The three-eyed boy's punch... it really landed on Dad."
After landing back on the Moby Dick's bow, Whitebeard glanced down at his blackened knee — still smoldering.
Clearly, the impact had been absorbed.
In that brief flash of crisis, the man known as the world's strongest had proven his title once again.
Despite having no time to evade, he had managed to raise his knee just in time, hardening it with Armament Haki — both external and internal — to take Ragnar's thunderous strike head-on.
It was a narrow save.
But even so, he had been knocked away — and had to rely on Marco's timely rescue to avoid crashing into the Moby Dick, potentially sinking it along with all his sons.
Embarrassing? Perhaps.
But it was far better than being pierced through or defeated outright.
"Dad..."
Marco looked at Whitebeard's knees — scorched but unbroken.
For the first time, he had seen his father forcibly overpowered in a straight contest of strength.
"Ragnar... is he really that strong?"
As those words left his lips, Diamond Jozu, Flower Sword Vista, and the others also turned toward Whitebeard.
"That three-eyed boy... compared to Kaido, he's even more worthy of the title 'strongest creature on land, sea, and air.'"
Whitebeard's voice was steady — calm in the face of power he couldn't ignore.
Not only did he acknowledge Ragnar's strength, he outright praised him, placing him above even the Beast King himself.
"Speed, power, technique, defense, physical and mental endurance... and a Mythical Zoan fruit pushed to its peak."
"I can't find a single flaw."
"Ragnar is the only king I've ever seen whose mind, body, skill, and fruit ability have all reached perfection."
A new voice joined in.
Red-Haired Shanks approached, every step weighted with grim understanding.
As he spoke, the atmosphere on the deck grew increasingly somber.
"And on top of that... he can control the sea."
"His only weakness may be seastone — but that's the flaw of Devil Fruits, not of Ragnar himself."
"Honestly..." Shanks scanned the solemn faces around him, "I suspect he's already overcome even that."
"Seastone might block his powers — but it likely can't rob him of his sheer fighting ability anymore."
It was a terrifying thought.
In all his years, Shanks had met many kings and monsters — some gifted, some forged through suffering. Even the most well-rounded of them had fatal gaps.
He, for instance, couldn't fly.
But Ragnar?
A complete warrior.
"How do you fight someone like that?"
"Can he even be beaten?"
"And how in the world did he become so powerful at such a young age?"
Marco, Jozu, Ben Beckman, and others exchanged silent glances — then turned to the sea.
There, Ragnar walked — or rather strode — across the surface, each step laced with godly might, each movement wrapped in an aura of divine dominance.
The air around him shimmered with the oppressive pressure of his Conqueror's Haki.
On the deck of the Moby Dick, the once-proud Whitebeard Pirates — the strongest crew in the world — stood silent, grim, and overshadowed.
A heavy silence blanketed everything.
Until—
"Gurarara!"
Whitebeard's booming laughter shattered the tension like a cannonball through still water.
"What's the matter, brats? Lost in your heads already?"
"The battle has just begun!"
His voice was fire — his spirit, a beacon.
"That monster isn't yours to worry about."
"He's mine."
"As your father, it's my job to deal with him."
"And as my sons — your job is to believe in me!"
He stepped forward, onto the bow once more.
Towering. Unyielding.
Then unleashed a wave of King's Haki that roared like a tempest, clashing against the divine pressure Ragnar exuded from afar.
The sea itself groaned beneath them.
The battle of kings was far from over.
"Dad!"
Marco and the others stared blankly at the towering figure before them.
They were in a trance.
The haze and heaviness in their hearts weren't dispelled—but supported—by that towering presence.
Even if their hearts were heavy, they could still stand, upheld by this figure.
"Unfortunately, today… you are destined to disappoint your son."
Ragnar stepped forward, one foot at a time.
It was as if the air had formed an invisible staircase beneath him—supporting his ascent toward the heavens.
Now, he stood higher than the world's strongest man.
Schhrrrr—
Hmmmm— Whitebeard sneered. Just as he was about to grip his naginata and charge again, a call from a Den Den Mushi suddenly rang out across the deck.
Everyone's eyes turned—whether consciously or not—toward Marco.
"Answer it… Why not?"
Even Ragnar didn't rush in. Upon hearing the Den Den Mushi, he paused and planted his three-pointed double-edged sword in the air.
The very atmosphere had become his servant.
It held the blade aloft—humbly cradling the divine weapon, lest it fall.
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL for more chapters.