"A bunch of useless trash!"
That voice, dripping with mockery, cut sharply through the roar of the gathered crowd. Heads turned instantly toward the speaker.
There stood a man cloaked in a dark windbreaker and hood, his face completely hidden. His posture was calm, his aura suffocating.
"What did you say!?" snarled a mercenary who, just moments ago, had been grumbling about not wanting this job. Fury flared in his eyes as he reached for his weapon.
"Hey, hey, calm down!" His companion quickly grabbed his arm, panic flickering in his expression.
"What's your problem?" the first mercenary demanded.
"Are you trying to die? That's the Grim Reaper!" his friend hissed, his face turning white.
"Grim… Grim Reaper?" The mercenary's voice trembled. "You mean the Grim Reaper—number one in the mercenary rankings!?"
Though the man's face was concealed, several veteran mercenaries immediately recognized that dark figure. There was no mistake—this was him. The legend himself.
The Grim Reaper.
Leader of the Reaper Mercenary Corps—the most feared organization in the underworld. In just a few years, they had become the number one mercenary group in existence, their reputation so terrifying that even pirates and warlords avoided provoking them.
It was said there wasn't a single mission they couldn't complete. Every member of the Reaper Corps was an elite fighter, their power rivaling even the Pirate Supernovas of the Grand Line.
The Grim Reaper finally raised his head. His face was still hidden beneath wrappings, only his eyes visible—blood-red, cold, and lifeless. He looked at the loud mercenary as if gazing upon a corpse.
Under that chilling gaze, the mercenary's entire body began to tremble. His legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the deck, drenched in cold sweat.
Fortunately for him, the Reaper didn't bother to act further. He turned away indifferently and led his corps toward the Sabaody Archipelago, his men following like silent shadows.
"Heh… we'd better move too," another voice said mockingly. "Can't let the Reaper steal all the glory."
Another group of figures leapt into motion, their movements swift as arrows.
"Th–That's the Blade Wolf Mercenary Corps!" someone gasped.
A wave of whispers swept through the ranks. The Blade Wolf Corps wasn't quite as infamous as the Reapers, but they were still one of the top ten mercenary groups—known for their deadly swordsmanship. Their leader, a master swordsman of the high-tier level, ranked fourth among the mercenary elite.
"Gahaha! What a bunch of cowards!" Another voice burst out laughing, harsh and cruel. "You're trembling over a few guns and rats hiding in the dark? Pathetic!"
He sneered at everyone present, his grin full of bloodlust. No one dared to talk back.
Because this man… was the Butcher Demon.
A mercenary whose methods were so brutal that his very name sent chills through the underworld. Those who had seen him fight said he didn't just kill his enemies—he mutilated them for fun.
The Butcher Demon's cold smirk widened when no one replied. He spat on the ground, snorted in contempt, and led his crew—each man radiating murderous intent—toward Sabaody.
Then came a single, frigid command. "Move."
The voice was so cold it seemed to freeze the very air.
A man with an emotionless face, flanked by fighters wearing coats emblazoned with the word "Oni", marched forward in silence.
"That's the Oni Warrior Mercenary Corps—the third-ranked group!" someone whispered.
"The Lord Fosfite really went all out," another muttered. "Half of the top ten mercenary groups are here!"
"And I heard the rest would've come too if they weren't busy with other contracts."
"Come on, what are we waiting for? If they're going, we can't stay behind!"
One by one, the mercenary groups began to move.
"That's right! Their guns might be strong, but they're only good for shooting slaves. We're mercenaries—we eat, sleep, and bleed with death!" someone shouted.
Cheers and roars spread through the ranks.
By the time they reached Sabaody, the lawless zone was already teeming with people—tens of thousands of mercenaries and rebellious slaves, packed shoulder to shoulder. The sheer number was overwhelming—seventy to eighty thousand strong.
Seeing this, the remaining mercenaries' fear melted away, replaced by bloodthirsty confidence.
Seventy, eighty thousand men—even if they were pigs, such a force could flatten anything in their path.
And these weren't pigs—they were killers, slaves turned madmen, and mercenaries who lived for battle.
The thought of it filled them with savage glee.
"Kill! I'll take the Dragon King's head myself!"
"Gray Country, your end has come!"
That was the nature of mercenaries—brave when the odds favored them, broken when they didn't. And right now, with their numbers swelling like a tidal wave, their morale reached the heavens.
"Hyahaha! One trillion Berries, huh? Count me in!" a raucous voice shouted suddenly.
Everyone turned toward the sea—where dozens of pirate ships, each flying their own jolly roger, came slicing through the waves.
"It's the pirate crews from the first half of the Grand Line!" someone cried.
"Ghost Blade Kwesi—bounty, forty million!"
"Hound Zakari—fifty-seven million!"
"Cutter Brown—seventy-six million!"
The names of notorious pirates were shouted one after another as the ships closed in.
Then, from the distance, a shrill, eerie laugh echoed across the sea. "Fufufufu… so many people!"
A massive ship loomed into view, its sails casting a shadow over the water. On its deck stood a towering man—six or seven meters tall—with an absurd, onion-shaped hairstyle and a grin full of sharp teeth.
"Fufufufu… one trillion Berries… that's an awful lot of money, isn't it?" the giant chuckled. "My crew tells me if I want to challenge the New World and become Pirate King, I'll need that fortune. My Thriller Bark needs repairs—expansions—fufufufu! So I've decided… that one trillion Berries will be mine!"
"Moria…" Doflamingo's grin spread wide as he watched the newcomer approach. "Fufufu… even he's come. The Warlord of the West Sea—Moonlight Moria. Now this is getting interesting. I wonder how Rosinante plans to deal with him."
"Moria's crew too!?"
"The pirate Supernova himself showed up?"
"Ha! Just one Supernova? He dares to compete with Lord Fosfite for one trillion Berries!?"
"Charge! Kill the Dragon King, Rosinante! Take the prize!"
"Once I grab that golden ticket, I'll finally be free!"
"One trillion Berries… if only it were mine! What a fool that Dragon King is—to flaunt such a fortune so openly! Of course everyone's going to come for it!"
The slave army and the mercenaries surged forward in a frenzy, storming into the lawless zone like a flood.
"Kill! Take the one trillion Berries!" pirate captains screamed, waving their weapons.
"Fufufufu! That money belongs to me!" Moria roared with manic laughter.
"So many of them," Enel said coldly as he looked down from above, lightning crackling faintly around him.
"The slave army, the mercenaries, and now the pirates," Laki said, her face grim. "This time… their combined numbers have reached one hundred thousand."
The island trembled. The storm was here.
...