Dawn Next Morning — G-5 Base Training Ground
The ruined warehouse and charred remnants of the main storage stood silent in the morning glow, as if last night's thunder and flames hadn't fully faded.
The air still carried the mingled scents of gunpowder and blood.
Wind swept through broken walls, lifting scorched ledger pages that spiraled briefly before settling at the feet of silent marines.
All of G-5 resembled a slumbering beast freshly crawled from battle—still, solemn, its wounds still wet.
At the training ground's center.
An aura of lethal tension pressed down on the entire grounds.
Not a soul dared speak.
Guts spoke slowly, voice like forged steel.
"Last night's purge results."
"Smuggling ring in the tunnels, East Warehouse illicit transport group, bribed officers in Main Storage..."
"Total executions: forty-seven. Captured alive: three."
"Evidence logs, original accounts, and contraband materials have all been sealed and will be escorted directly to Marineford's Military Justice Division by warship."
His tone was steady, yet every number he cited pierced the hearts of those present like an icicle.
Below, rows of soldiers paled, cold sweat silently dripping from their brows.
Guts suddenly raised his head, his gaze sweeping across them.
He studied each face before speaking slowly.
"But—the purge is not over."
"This branch is my territory, yet—wherever rot festers and worms breed, it must be cut open and cleansed."
His eyes were cold, his voice lowered.
"You—"
"Either reform or rest in graves."
The training ground fell silent.
The soldiers collectively bowed their heads—some clenched their jaws, others felt sweat soak through their gloves.
Those who had participated in black markets, smuggling, or corruption felt as if plunged into an icy abyss.
But more who had long resented the corruption yet remained silent finally lifted their heads!
The heavily armored Bastille strode forward, kneeling on one knee and driving his greatsword into the ground with a resounding crash.
"Ruthless in justice, yet the soul of righteousness remains!"
"I pledge my allegiance to you—to follow Rear Admiral Guts in purging the filth of this world!"
His voice boomed like war drums, ringing fiercely in their ears!
Moments later, Captain Barros stepped forward solemnly.
"This is what the Marines should be."
"I've long wanted to smash those smugglers' teeth in!"
"This time—I'll stake my life on it."
Among the ranks, hesitant officers exchanged glances.
But soon, more eyes hardened, their stances subtly tightening.
They had seen the true "Blade of the Marines."
This purge wasn't just another campaign.
It was—a very real executioner's sword!
Guts stood with hands behind his back, observing the newly disciplined G-5 formation with steel-cold eyes.
He turned slowly and declared.
"From this day forth, justice will no longer be an excuse."
A fierce wind whipped the naval flag—silver wings snapping against black, the emblem of stern justice soaring like an eagle's bloodstained beak.
At this moment, G-5 was no longer the cesspool of the Marines.
It was—the first scorched earth reclaimed by the Absolute Justice Fleet!
*****
The sun had yet to rise, mist clinging to the sea like lingering gunpowder smoke.
Vergo stood in his immaculate vice admiral uniform, his badge gleaming, holding a copy of the official transfer order stamped with Fleet Admiral Sengoku's Seal.
The document was pristine, the ink still slightly damp—flawless.
Yet it was a forgery crafted to near perfection.
His steps were measured, his expression calm, as if this were merely another routine supply redistribution mission.
But the aide closely following him carried a dark golden sealed arms case—
Etched with the HQ · Top Secret insignia, containing an extremely dangerous Naval High Command Deployment Chart.
Known as—Plan B.
Vergo betrayed no excess movement, no wandering gaze, his demeanor as composed as ever.
Only he knew—in that moment, he carried not just a black case.
But an unignited bomb.
...
The Absolute Justice Fleet soldiers stood in silent formation.
Puck was already in position, his seastone knuckle dusters glinting, eyes sharp and watchful.
Vergo's steps didn't falter.
As he passed by, he gave a calm nod of acknowledgment.
Puck snorted but didn't move.
Ahead, on the steps above, Guts stood between the gangway.
Puck gritted his teeth and asked in a low voice.
"Where is he going?"
Guts answered plainly, "Marineford. Supplies transfer."
Puck's brow twitched, his voice cold with anger.
"Lies. He's a traitor—and he was carrying a black case."
"We already know the truth. Letting him leave port now—isn't that too merciful?"
"Let me handle it. Just one punch—clean and quick. Feed him and that case to the Sea Kings!"
Guts glanced back at him, "Not yet."
"A dog only gets put down when it bites."
"Acting too soon will only make the snake behind him burrow deeper."
Puck clenched his jaw, his fists cracking audibly.
"He'll run."
"Then let him run."
Guts turned away, his gaze fixed on the receding figure in the distance, his voice as soft as the wind.
"He can escape today—but not for long"
*****
Branch Communications Room.
"Requesting connection—Marineford, Fleet Admiral's Office."
Click—
The Den Den Mushi's eyes opened, and a voice, aged yet commanding, slowly came through the receiver.
"This is Sengoku."
A moment later, the Fleet Admiral spoke with a hint of gravity.
"You're planning to let Vergo go?"
Guts remained expressionless, his voice like steel scraping over ice.
"Yes."
"He's not the target."
"Our goal was never just a mole hiding in the base."
"But—the one pulling the strings behind the chair. The master of the black market."
Silence lingered on the other end for a few seconds.
Then, Sengoku sighed softly.
"...You're trying to bait Doflamingo?"
"He's not an easy man to hook."