Garp's booming laughter—"Wahahaha! Well said! Marine King!"—and the thunderous crash of his fist striking the ground seemed to still echo across the rocky shores of Foosha Village.
But three days later, at dawn, as the first salty breeze stirred the mist of the harbor, the massive dog-headed warship Dauntless Heart, clad in thick teak armor, loomed silently at the crude docks like a slumbering sea beast. The heavy rattle of its anchor chain reverberated dully. Garp, as always, acted with decisive speed.
There was hardly any time left for Luffy to say proper goodbyes.
Garp only walked him once around the village.
Makino, tears in her eyes but forcing a smile, handed over a basket of freshly baked caramel-scented apple pies. The village chief stroked his goat beard, his gaze lingering on Luffy with deep complexity. Even the children who were usually victims of the brothers' mischief now peeked timidly from behind houses, their eyes filled with envy for the unknown journey and lingering fear of that bloody battle.
Everything passed in a blur, like frames of film being flipped too quickly.
"Stop with the whining! A man of the sea has no need for snot and tears!"
Garp's thunderous voice crushed any trace of sentimentality. He hoisted Luffy as if carrying a sack and threw him aboard the massive dog-headed warship, sent specially from headquarters to fetch this Marine hero.
The black hound figurehead loomed solemn under the morning light. On the wide deck, rows of disciplined Marine soldiers already stood, their white uniforms pristine, their shoulder marks showing they were elite, well-trained men.
The moment Vice Admiral Garp's towering figure stepped onto the deck, every soldier moved in unison, saluting with a crisp "snap." The precision was mechanical, their discipline suffocating the carefree atmosphere of the little village.
"Destination! Marine Headquarters, Marineford!"
Garp roared, waving his fan-sized hand. The sails filled sharply with wind. The anchors clanked upward from the water. The bow cleaved through the blue sea, and the familiar shape of Foosha Village shrank quickly, blurred, and disappeared.
Sea and sky fused into endless openness. Only the sound of the wind howling through the rigging, waves slapping against the hull, and the rhythmic commands and footsteps of Marines filled the air.
The strict discipline stood in stark contrast to the lively freedom of the Red-Haired Pirates in Luffy's memory.
He stood alone at the stern deck, leaning against the cold railing, the wind lifting his dark hair. Away from all that was familiar, surrounded by steel and order, he felt a heavy strangeness and faint isolation.
Yet beneath it all was a stronger, deeper thrill.
"Zangetsu…"
Luffy lowered his gaze to his palm. The same hand that days ago had unleashed that terrifying strike beneath the sea now looked childish and ordinary.
But beneath the skin, deep in his muscles, the cold, heavy, razor-edged rhythm still pulsed. Like a river locked under ice—silent, restrained, but never gone. He tried to catch it.
Closing his eyes, he gathered his spirit, shutting out the howling wind, the marching soldiers, the crashing waves. He sank inward, searching the deepest corner of his soul.
Bmmm…
Not sound, but a frequency, deep and resonant, like a giant's heartbeat.
Luffy's spirit jolted—he focused everything!
The world of his mind shifted. No longer sky and sea, but an endless void, absolute silence.
At its center, a massive shadowy outline emerged, edges distorted and writhing.
Clearer than what he saw when he was near death, yet unstable, like a flickering projection. Its jaw was broad and plain, its body extending upward into an impossibly massive blade, ending in a crescent edge of destruction.
But it lasted only a moment. A surge of dizziness, a ripping pain tore through his mind!
"Ugh!" Luffy grunted, snapping his eyes open, staggering against the railing, sweat breaking cold on his brow. The colossal sword vanished, leaving only the foamy trail carved in the sea behind the ship.
"Power…" Luffy clenched his fist, nails biting into his palm.
Not enough. He needed more silence, more focus. He gave up trying to reach the immense being, instead channeling his awareness into the cold pulse within his palm. Slowly, carefully, he guided it—not releasing, but coaxing it to flow.
(End of Chapter)
[50 Power Stones = 1 Extra Chapter]
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