The monolithic vessel, born from the sea's iron, did not sail; it glided. With Kelean standing at the prow, the ship—which he named the Crimson Monolith—carved a silent, unnaturally fast path through the turbulent waves of the New World. Its structure seemed to absorb light, looking less like a boat and more like a colossal, mobile graveyard of solidified destiny.
Kelean didn't need a log pose or a map. His power, the ultimate expression of life's essence, allowed him to sense great concentrations of will and conflict. Following the faint, scattered echoes of the World Government's panic and the residual power of the Yonko, he steered directly toward the largest, most vibrant center of freedom and Haki he could detect: the domain of the Red-Haired Pirates.
The Red Force
On a small, rocky island used for temporary feasting, the Red-Haired Pirates were mid-celebration, their laughter echoing across the vast sea. That laughter died instantly.
Shanks, his arm resting on his legendary sword, Gryphon, was the only one who didn't drop his cup. He simply looked up, his singular, sharp eye fixed on the horizon where the sun was being devoured by an unnatural shadow.
"That presence," Shanks murmured, his voice tight. "The one from Impel Down. It found us fast."
Benn Beckman, always observant, lit a cigarette, his expression grim. "It's not just the Haki, Captain. Look at the ship. It's impossible. It's alive."
The Crimson Monolith appeared over the water line, stopping a mere hundred yards from the Red Force. It was so large that it created its own weather pattern, a small, humid vortex of red air surrounding the black vessel.
Kelean stepped off the prow and onto the deck of the Red Force in a single, silent phase of movement, bypassing the space between the ships entirely. The Red-Haired crew, the most battle-hardened force in the New World, immediately froze, their hands instinctively flying to their weapons.
Shanks, however, stood his ground, offering a cautious, almost reverent nod. "Welcome to the New World," he said, his voice surprisingly level. "I am Red-Haired Shanks. We felt your presence when you woke up. You are... unprecedented."
Kelean looked at him—a man who had stood on the Oro Jackson, clashed with Mihawk, and stopped wars. Yet, Kelean saw only a glimmer of the original power.
"You possess the purest Haki I have sensed in this era, Emperor," Kelean observed. "It is uncorrupted by the traitors' influence, unlike my descendant Garp. But it is still contained."
Kelean took one step forward. It was not a physical threat, but a spiritual one. He focused his Conqueror's Haki not as a wave, but as a pinpoint concentration of pressure aimed at the deepest part of Shanks's will.
The air between them did not just crackle—it turned opaque. The Haki was so dense it looked like polished brass. Shanks's one good arm, wrapped in the strongest Haki in the current world, rose to shield his face, but he was instantly forced to a knee. The pressure felt like the crushing gravity of the planet itself suddenly focusing onto one man.
Shanks fought it. His eye glowed fiercely, his own Conqueror's Haki rising in a magnificent, desperate shield. The collision was silent, invisible, and absolute. The resulting shockwave didn't shatter the island; it bent the ocean around it, creating a deep, kilometre-long trench in the water that remained still for a terrifying moment before collapsing back.
Kelean immediately relaxed his will, lifting the impossible pressure. Shanks remained on one knee for a moment, sweat pouring down his face, his breathing labored. The entire Red-Haired crew was on the ground, having been collateral damage to the exchange of wills.
"You survived," Kelean noted, a faint, metallic scent of iron filling the air from the strain. "Your will is true, Emperor. But you are a vanguard, not the weapon required."
Shanks slowly stood, gripping Gryphon. He knew he had been tested and found wanting—not for courage, but for raw, foundational power. "What is it you seek?" he asked, his voice now serious.
"I seek the true weapon," Kelean replied. "My bloodline is scattered, fighting over remnants. Garp, the strongest, serves the enemy. But Garp spoke of two sparks: his grandsons, the ones who carry the burden of the D. name and the fire of the Pirate King."
Kelean stepped closer, his shadow falling over Shanks. "I know you were Roger's apprentice. And I know you met the young one, the one with the hat. Monkey D. Luffy. Tell me, Emperor, is his will truly boundless? Or is he merely another bright light destined to burn out against the Red Line?"
Shanks lowered his sword slightly, recognizing the sheer authority in Kelean's demand. This man was not a pirate, nor a Marine—he was an observer of history, and the ultimate judge of the Will of D.
"Luffy's will," Shanks replied, a true, warm smile finally breaking through his fear, "is not boundless. It is ridiculous. He is the freest man on the sea. And he is the man who inherited everything from Roger."
Kelean studied the genuine hope in the Emperor's eyes, and a single, sharp nod broke his stoicism. "Ridiculous freedom," he repeated. "A concept only a D. could truly wield. Tell me where I can find him. If he is the one, the judgment of the Ancestor must be made."
Kelean has found his first clue and is heading straight for the man currently disrupting the world balance: Monkey D. Luffy.