Three days of earth-shattering chaos had finally come to an end.
The battle between Roger and Garp had left half of the island sunk beneath the waves, crushed by the unimaginable aftershocks of their duel. Mountains had been leveled, rivers diverted, and the very terrain seemed to bear scars from the clash of titans.
The two combatants themselves, utterly exhausted, lay sprawled on the beach like bulls sated of battle. Panting heavily, covered in bruises and dust, they were finally forced to a draw.
Under the watchful, exasperated eyes of their crews, both men abandoned pride for hunger, devouring the scattered provisions. Moments later, their heads lolled to the side almost simultaneously, and they fell into deep, snoring slumber—a sight that was now familiar to anyone who had sailed with them for years.
"Alright, that's a wrap!" Rayleigh clapped his hands, his voice calm amid the aftermath.
"It's this routine again…" Spencer sighed, organizing the newcomers with practiced efficiency. "Carry the Captain onto the ship, and be careful not to let him roll into the sea."
On the other side, the Marines mirrored this choreography, haphazardly lifting Vice Admiral Garp onto the dog-headed warship with equal familiarity.
The two vessels eventually parted in the bay, crews standing at attention and waving with unspoken respect. Between pirates and Marines, a peculiar camaraderie lingered, like old friends bidding a temporary farewell.
"Next time we meet, we'll be enemies!" Jabba shouted toward the departing ship.
"Next time, we'll capture all of you!" a Marine Rear Admiral shot back, their voices mixing with laughter and lingering adrenaline.
With the Marines gone, a brief, serene quiet settled over the Oro Jackson. But peace, as usual, was fleeting.
The sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sea in brilliant gold and crimson. From the distant horizon, a small boat appeared, its bow slicing through the waves with a menacing grace. A tall figure stood alone, exuding an almost suffocating aura of power simply by existing.
From his posture alone, it was clear that this man was terrifyingly strong. Golden hair gleamed under the setting sun, framing a face marked by a distinctive crescent-shaped white beard.
Edward Newgate.
The future "Strongest Man in the World," known to all as Whitebeard.
No, Kyle mused with a wry smile, aren't you only in your thirties? What's with the theatrical beard?
Without warning, Newgate leapt onto the deck of the Oro Jackson, his landing shaking the ship as if it had been struck by a small earthquake.
"Where is Roger?" His deep, resonant voice carried across the deck, and all eyes instinctively turned toward him.
He scanned the crew, finally resting on Rayleigh, Jabba, and Kyle, whose aura seemed steady and measured.
"I heard he was here," Newgate continued, "and I came specifically to learn from him."
The sheer presence of the man caused some of the crew to tense, hands instinctively gripping weapons. The weight of his reputation, his past battles, and his dominance across the seas made even seasoned pirates uneasy.
Kyle stepped forward calmly, arms crossed, a faint apologetic smile on his lips.
"My apologies, Newgate," he said smoothly. "Our Captain just completed a high-intensity… 'pre-meal exercise,' and is currently catching up on sleep. I'm afraid he cannot respond to your challenge right now."
Newgate's brow twitched slightly, clearly surprised by this answer. His gaze flicked to Kyle, noting the young man's composed stance and subtle aura of power.
Kyle gestured toward his naginata, the weapon behind him radiating latent battle energy. His golden pupils shone with determination.
"However," he said, voice steady, "since you've come all this way, leaving empty-handed would be… boring. We both wield naginata, correct? Allow me to be your opponent."
The announcement stunned the crew.
"Be careful, Kyle-san!" Ellio exclaimed, worry etched on his youthful face.
"Whoa… that's Newgate!" Nozdon whispered, awe and fear mingling in his tone.
Newgate's eyes widened slightly at the boldness of the young pirate. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, full of confidence, audacity, and the undeniable thrill of battle.
"Gurara-ra-ra! Very well! Let me see the strength of the monster aboard Roger's ship!"
The massive naginata Murakumogiri materialized in Newgate's hands, gleaming like polished steel under the setting sun. Kyle drew his own weapon, the familiar weight reassuring against his back.
The two stood in the center of the deck, facing each other. No Devil Fruit powers, no flashy tricks—just a pure contest of skill, strength, and Haki.
Then, with lightning speed, both figures vanished from sight.
Clang!
The sound of metal meeting metal erupted, sparks dancing like fireworks. Invisible Haki swirled around them, whipping the air into violent currents that made the surrounding crew stagger and duck.
Too fast… too fast!
Every swing, block, and thrust was so fluid and precise that the weapons seemed extensions of their bodies. Afterimages flickered across the deck as the naginata cut through the air, whistling sharply with each swing.
Newgate's power was overwhelming. Each strike carried the weight of mountains, every movement exuding the authority of a king in full command of his battlefield. Kyle, smaller in stature but no less agile, relied on his mastery of vibration techniques learned from the Boba Fruit, his footwork fluid, constantly redirecting immense force into precise counters.
Seizing an opening, Kyle slashed diagonally upward, black-and-gold naginata streaking across the air. The strike tore through the wind, a sharp crack following its path.
Newgate, unmoved, let out a low roar. His Murakumogiri, coated in a thicker layer of Armament Haki, met Kyle's strike head-on, halting it completely.
"A good move!" Newgate praised with a deep chuckle.
Yet, the veteran pirate's counterattack was brutal. He stepped forward, the deck quaking beneath his power, and swung Murakumogiri downward with unstoppable force. Kyle's horizontal block barely held, the impact sending him to one knee, pits forming in the deck beneath his feet.
One move short.
Despite his skill and Haki mastery, Kyle recognized the gap in raw strength. Newgate's power, even without his Tremor-Tremor Fruit, was a mountain in motion.
"Kuhahaha! That was a good fight! Kyle!" Newgate's voice rang out, warm and appreciative.
At that moment, a familiar laugh cut through the air. Roger had emerged from the cabin, shirtless and grinning, eyes sparkling with excitement. He had been watching the duel, letting Kyle showcase his skill.
Kyle retreated, flexing his numb arms with a wry smile.
Roger approached Newgate, slinging an arm around his massive shoulder. "No more fighting, no more fighting! It's rare to meet—let's feast!"
Newgate shook his head, lowering Murakumogiri. "A banquet can wait. I am still searching for the meaning of sailing," he said, his gaze sharp. Then, looking at Kyle, he added, "You are strong, young man. I look forward to our next encounter."
With that, the giant leapt onto his boat, landing effortlessly. In moments, he sailed off, leaving a wake of silent awe behind him.
Kyle lowered his weapon, replaying every strike in his mind. No Devil Fruit powers had been used—this was a pure test of skill, strength, and Haki. He knew that if he had employed his Boba Fruit abilities, victory over Newgate—pre-Tremor-Tremor Fruit—would have been achievable.
Yet, he recognized the future challenges. Once Newgate possessed the Tremor-Tremor Fruit, outcomes were uncertain.
Still… Kyle smiled faintly.
Youth was on his side. Time, experience, and growth were advantages he could leverage. One day, he would surpass these legendary figures of the present.
A single thought seized him: God Valley.
The legendary stage where heroes and villains converged—the culmination of an old era and the birth of a new one. Where the Rocks Pirates fell, where Whitebeard would rise, and where history itself was reshaped.
How could I be absent?
Kyle's golden eyes reflected the crimson sea and burning sky. A light flickered within them, burning with ambition, excitement, and an unwavering resolve.
He licked his lips, whispering to himself with a tone of unshakable determination:
"On that day… we will turn the world upside down."
Ãdvåñçé 60 çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)