Magellan's pupils shrank—he knew things had gone terribly wrong.
There was no live broadcast, but as one of the high-ranking officers of the three great institutions, he had access to intelligence. He knew full well that the Navy was already facing multiple powerful forces in this war. With the escaped prisoners heading for Marineford, the pressure on headquarters would only multiply.
His face twisted, not in pain, but in guilt.
In a low, heavy voice he said, "I'm sorry… Warden, I… I'll take responsibility. This is all my fault. I'm not fit to sit in the position of chief warden…"
Normally, Magellan would have flown into a rage at Hannibal's words. But not this time.
Hannibal had always loudly claimed he'd take over as warden, but when it came down to it, he had fought tooth and nail to block the escapees. That was the only reason so many had been delayed. Gravely wounded, yet still alive—he had already gone beyond duty.
Magellan sighed. "It's fine. Leave the rest to me, Hannibal. Just focus on recovering."
He didn't linger. His responsibility now was more urgent—to report this disaster directly to Fleet Admiral Sengoku.
If headquarters remained unaware, the Navy could suffer a devastating blow.
...
Marineford.
On the execution platform, Sengoku stood guard at the rear, his eyes fixed on the battlefield below.
The once-pristine waters were now crimson with blood, reflecting the storm clouds above. Both Marines and pirates trampled the bodies of their comrades as they pressed forward.
This was war—brutal, merciless.
Suddenly, the Den Den Mushi in his arms began to ring.
"Bilibili…"
Sengoku frowned, puzzled. He thought it would be the World Government. But when he answered, it was Magellan's voice.
"Fleet Admiral!" Magellan's voice was urgent, ragged. "Blackbeard used his Shichibukai privileges to enter through the Gates of Justice. Impel Down has fallen!"
"What!?"
The words struck Sengoku like a thunderclap.
Impel Down, fallen? That fortress of eight centuries? The very thought shook him to his core. Every prisoner in that abyss was a monster—many with the power to destroy nations.
"What's the current situation!?"
Looking over the battlefield below, Sengoku suddenly felt a rare moment of helplessness. He prided himself on strategy, on always being ten steps ahead. But this… this had blindsided him.
"A horde of the old era's remnants," Magellan reported grimly. "Roger's right hand men: Bullet, Shiki, Redfield… former Warlords Crocodile and Jinbei… and even the Supernovas. They're all headed for Marineford."
Sengoku's face went deathly pale.
Among them were beings of emperor-level strength. Even if age had weakened them, they were still like demons incarnate.
Marineford was already strained to the breaking point—Whitebeard, Red Hair, the Revolutionaries, and the Beasts Pirates had yet to arrive. And now this?
Magellan continued, his tone heavy with apology. "I'm sorry, Fleet Admiral. We can't stop them. We can't even spare forces to help. Impel Down needs stabilization before it collapses completely. Some prisoners are still bound within sea-stone cages. Without ships, they can't escape. I'll keep the damage contained as much as possible."
Sengoku clenched his jaw. He couldn't blame Magellan. After all, Blackbeard's passage through the Gates of Justice had been perfectly legal under his title as a Warlord.
"I understand. Do what you can, Magellan."
"Understood."
The line went dead.
On the platform, Sengoku longed to slump into his chair and breathe for just a moment. But this was the battlefield.
Crisis upon crisis weighed on him, and for the first time, he felt his age in his bones.
"This is bad… too bad…"
The thought gnawed at him: Today, the Navy might truly suffer a crushing defeat.
The enemy's strength had exceeded every calculation.
...
Then, just as despair pressed in, a wave of gasps rose across the battlefield. Waves surged, a thunderous crash rolling through the bay.
Sengoku's eyes snapped to the front.
Good had just drawn back his arm.
Whitebeard's massive body had been hurled backward, carving a deep scar across the deck before crashing into the rear cabins.
Good's wounds were knitting at terrifying speed, black fire burning along his flesh, sealing every cut.
The Whitebeard Pirates' division commanders—locked in combat with Akainu, Aokiji, and Kizaru—turned pale.
"Pops!?" Marco tried to rush toward Whitebeard, only to be cut off by Akainu.
The others too were blocked—each squad leader forced to fight tooth and nail against an admiral.
Akainu smirked, his lips twisting into something almost like a smile. "Heh… just as I thought. That guy won't disappoint. Even if his head doesn't work right."
Kizaru let out a lazy whistle. "Yooo… fighting three legends and still knocking Whitebeard back. That's something else…"
The truth was undeniable: if not for Good holding off three legendary pirates alone, the Navy would already be crumbling.
Ben Beckman and the Red Hair commanders exchanged grim looks.
"He's… even stronger than before," Beckman muttered.
Lucky Roo and Yasopp stayed silent. They didn't want to admit it, but they had to.
Good's strike was like a rallying cry. Marines roared his name, surging forward with renewed fury.
On the ruined deck, the battlefield narrowed. Now it was just Good against Rayleigh, Shanks, and Whitebeard—three legends, one man.
Rayleigh frowned, sweat beading on his brow. "This brat… the longer the fight drags on, the harder he gets to handle. Ridiculous!"
Shanks nodded grimly.
They couldn't deny it anymore. At first, they'd had the edge. But as the clash raged, Good's strength had grown. Bit by bit, the tide turned against them.
And his Haki…
That last punch against Whitebeard—it wasn't just Armament. His Conqueror's Haki had ascended.
Rayleigh's eyes widened. "His Conqueror's Haki… it's on par with ours now!?"
The battlefield rumbled.
Good's will burned hotter and hotter—his aura blazing like fire.
(End of Chapter)
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