"Someone is calling you!"
"Marco, what are you waiting for?"
"If you don't answer, the Den Den Mushi will hang up."
Ragnar crossed his arms and looked down at Marco. His usually cold face showed a rare hint of amusement.
However—
This abnormal behavior from Ragnar, who always held nothing back against enemies, sent a chill through Marco. His face darkened as he hesitated to answer the Den Den Mushi in his hand.
It felt like—
The Den Den Mushi had become Pandora's Box.
Once opened, it could unleash a nightmare upon the Whitebeard Pirates.
"Answer it, Marco."
"The three-eyed boy already said so. You can't let others look down on you."
Though a subtle tension stirred in Whitebeard's heart, his voice remained composed, even generous.
"Okay..."
Marco nodded reluctantly.
To be honest—
He really didn't want to answer the call.
Though his Kenbunshoku Haki (Observation Haki) hadn't reached the level of future sight, an unsettling premonition had lingered in his chest since the Den Den Mushi began ringing.
"Wait!"
"Don't answer it!"
Just as Marco moved to answer, Red-Haired Shanks and Ben Beckman stepped forward—one grabbing Marco's wrist, the other swiftly taking the Den Den Mushi from his grasp.
Strangely, Marco didn't resist.
He stood still, dazed, as Shanks took the receiver.
"Red-Haired!"
"Beckman!"
Marco wasn't angry—just deeply uneasy.
He had known Shanks since the days of Gol D. Roger, and understood the man well.
Their actions only confirmed his worst suspicions.
This call… must not be answered.
"What is this farce now?"
A thundercloud drifted closer.
Charlotte Linlin (Big Mom) stood on Zeus, wielding Napoleon, and shrouded in flames from Prometheus, observing the commotion on the Moby Dick with morbid interest.
"What a load of fuss."
Kaido snorted from his perch on a Flame Cloud, glaring at Whitebeard.
"Old man, have you declined so far you can't even answer a call?"
"This is my business, Red-Haired."
Whitebeard's tone was firm—even with Shanks, his words brooked no objection.
Beckman didn't speak. He just shook his head subtly at Shanks, silently expressing disagreement about returning the Den Den Mushi.
"Hey..."
Shanks sighed.
Though conflicted, he eventually handed the Den Den Mushi back to Marco.
As a fellow Emperor of the Sea, he understood.
A king must bear the pride of a king.
Before so many sovereigns—Kaido, Big Mom, even Ragnar—if Whitebeard flinched from a mere phone call, could he still call himself Whitebeard?
"Ragnar..." Shanks muttered, turning away as Marco took the receiver. He couldn't bear to witness what was coming.
He had seen it already—in a future vision.
"Hello..."
Marco paused for a few seconds before answering with clenched teeth.
Clang!
Clang!
"Ahhhh—!"
The moment the call connected, the deck rang out with chaos—metal crashing, cannons roaring, and screams so harrowing they froze the blood.
The captains and crew of the Whitebeard Pirates turned pale.
"Rakuyo... Rakuyo..."
Marco's pupils shrank, and his body tensed as he called out the name of the Seventh Division captain again and again.
"Hurry... Marco, we can't hold on much longer!"
"It's Plague Queen and Drought Jack. They led the charge and launched a surprise attack on us!"
"Muir already sent word to the other captains, but... we can't hold them off."
On the other end, Rakuyo was clearly engaged in a fierce battle.
After Marco shouted into the Den Den Mushi several times, he finally seemed to find a brief window to speak.
Marco listened, ready to ask more—
—but the voice on the other end suddenly cut off.
Cold.
A chill crept over every member of the Whitebeard Pirates, as if icy hands had gripped their hearts.
They all understood what that silence meant.
Unlike the Red Hair Pirates, who roamed freely without holding much territory, Whitebeard's crew still maintained strongholds across several key islands in the New World.
Their name alone could ward off most challengers—but not all.
And that call had made one thing clear.
War had broken out.
The frontlines were in chaos, and even seasoned captains were overwhelmed.
Had the situation not been so dire, they wouldn't have sent a distress call—let alone reach out to other division commanders before even finishing the message.
"Dad?"
Marco, stunned and uncertain, looked to Whitebeard.
So did everyone else—the captains, the crew.
All eyes turned to him.
Waiting for a decision.
To fight... or to retreat?
Suddenly, Whitebeard turned.
His voice thundered:
"Three-eyed boy!"
His face twisted into a terrifying expression, murderously cold.
"This is your doing!"
His blade-sharp glare locked onto Ragnar.
A tidal wave of killing intent surged from him—
heavy with the suffocating force of a conqueror's Haki.
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