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Chapter 452: Resurrect, My Love
The salty morning sea breeze swept across the nameless, deserted island in the East Blue.
From the expansive training grounds, the rhythmic, synchronized shouts of soldiers already echoed through the air. This was the new Marine Headquarters, established after their unprecedented global relocation.
A heavily built, purple-haired old man stood atop a high platform, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore thick, oversized sunglasses, and his right arm was replaced by a massive, intimidating Seastone smasher.
Former Marine Admiral, Zephyr "The Black Arm." He was now serving as the Chief Instructor for the Marine recruits.
"Too slow! Can you bunch of spineless shrimp not even beat a Lord of the Coast?!" Zephyr's gruff voice boomed over the training field. "When you throw a punch, focus every ounce of your strength into a single point! Haki isn't something you can just scream into existence!"
Below him, hundreds of exhausted recruits were drenched in sweat, yet none dared to pause. Gritting their teeth, they pushed through the grueling, high-intensity weighted cross-country run. Each of them carried a massive boulder weighing hundreds of pounds on their backs.
Zephyr looked down at the young faces, his hidden eyes harboring a mix of sternness and deep-seated hope.
Ever since Marine Headquarters relocated next to Foosha Village, the entire atmosphere within the Marines had undergone an earth-shattering shift. That old bastard Garp was flying around the sky every single day. Sengoku kept terrifying people by manifesting a wooden Buddha hundreds of meters tall. Even the three Admirals had become unfathomably powerful.
The pressure this placed on the new recruits was unprecedented. They trained like absolute madmen, driven solely by the hope of one day saving enough money to buy a ticket at that miraculous tavern in Foosha Village.
Zephyr kept his opinions on this phenomenon to himself. He firmly believed that a body tempered through hellish trials and pure Haki was the only true path. However, his convictions had begun to waver recently.
Training continued until dusk, the setting sun dyeing the ocean bloody crimson. Zephyr waved his remaining left hand, dismissing the troops.
The recruits collapsed onto the dirt like deflated balloons, gasping heavily for air.
Zephyr turned and descended the platform. Instead of heading to the mess hall, he followed a narrow dirt path behind the base, leading up into the hills. Along the way, he passed several patrolling Marine officers.
"Instructor Zephyr," Smoker greeted, walking toward him with his signature cigars clamped in his teeth. The Marine Vice Admiral stopped and delivered a sharp salute.
Zephyr nodded, evaluating his once most rebellious student. Smoker's aura was far more grounded and steady than before. Word was that the kid had recently scraped enough money together to visit Foosha Village and buy a low-tier ticket.
"You seem a bit different lately, kid," Zephyr noted, shooting him a sidelong glance.
Smoker exhaled a thick ring of smoke. "Learned a few new tricks in the dungeon. A technique called 'Full Body Armament Haki Hardening.' It's pretty handy." He couldn't entirely mask the thrill in his voice.
Zephyr didn't pry further. "Don't slack on your physical training. Don't think you can neglect your martial arts just because you picked up some flashy abilities."
With those two brief instructions, Zephyr continued up the mountain. Smoker watched his old instructor's back, a slight frown creasing his brow. There was something different about Instructor Zephyr today. His back usually carried an unshakable aura of heaviness and tragedy. But today, his broad shoulders seemed lighter, his footsteps almost brisk.
The rear slope of the mountain served as the new Marine cemetery. The relocation of the Headquarters had been a monumental undertaking, and Sengoku had weathered immense pressure to ensure the families and graves of fallen Marines were moved with them.
The cemetery was carpeted with white daisies that rustled softly in the sea breeze.
Zephyr walked to a secluded corner deep within the grounds. Two gravestones stood side by side. The photographs set into the stone depicted a gentle, smiling woman and a brightly beaming little boy.
This was the eternal agony of Zephyr's life.
He once had a beautiful, happy family. It was all violently ripped away from him years ago by ruthless pirates. Since that day, the man known as Admiral 'Black Arm'—who once firmly believed in a 'No Killing' justice—had died inside. What remained was nothing but a walking corpse, clinging to life only to forge the next generation of Marines.
Later, even his training ship was ambushed by a pirate. His entire class of recruits was slaughtered, save for Ain and Binz, and his own right arm was severed. The world had played one cruel, twisted joke after another on him.
Zephyr slowly sat down before the two graves, resting his heavy mechanical arm on the grass. With his left hand, he pulled out a bottle of fine, aged liquor he had been saving for years.
"Marie. Son." Zephyr's voice was incredibly raspy and tender—a stark contrast to the terrifying instructor on the training grounds.
He popped the cork with his teeth and poured the clear liquid onto the soil before the graves. The sharp scent of alcohol mixed with the fresh fragrance of daisies, drifting into the air.
"A lot of crazy things have happened at Headquarters lately," Zephyr muttered, leaning against the cold stone. "We moved. Left Marineford in the Grand Line for this remote corner of the East Blue. That old geezer Sengoku bickers with Garp every single day now. It's like they've both reverse-aged. You'd never guess why."
Zephyr took a heavy swig straight from the bottle. The burning liquid surged down his throat.
"A young man named Blake showed up on the seas. He opened a tavern. Inside, he sells these things called 'dungeons.' They let you cross over into other worlds. Win, and you bring back their powers."
Zephyr spoke calmly, recounting events that would shatter an ordinary person's worldview. He reached out with his rough, calloused left hand, gently tracing his wife's photograph on the gravestone. Her smile remained just as gentle as the days she would wait for him to come home to a hot dinner.
"I didn't believe a word of that nonsense at first. I thought it was some elaborate scam run by a Devil Fruit user. That is, until I saw that old bastard Garp shatter space with a single punch. That's when I knew... the world had truly changed."
Zephyr paused. The sea breeze tossed his purple hair. He looked down at his severed right arm.
"You both know me. I've spent my entire life teaching Marines to uphold Justice. I even taught them not to kill lightly. But... I couldn't even protect you." Zephyr's voice began to tremble. This iron-willed man, who wouldn't bat an eye in the face of countless life-and-death battles, now had eyes so bloodshot they looked ready to weep blood.
"I hate pirates. But I hate my own useless self even more. I had planned to retire after this final batch of recruits graduated. Find some isolated place to wait for death. Then, I'd come down to the underworld and apologize to you both."
He threw his head back, downing the rest of the bottle in one long gulp before tossing the empty glass aside.
"But a few days ago, that little brat Borsalino came looking for me. He shoved a black card into my hand. Said Sengoku, Garp, and the others pooled their money to buy it for me. A ticket for a high-tier dungeon."
Zephyr recalled the scene. Kizaru's usually punchable face had carried a rare trace of profound seriousness. He had told Zephyr that the tavern held every possibility in the universe. As long as one could conquer the most grueling challenges, even feats reserved only for the gods were not entirely impossible in those alternate worlds.
"I went to the tavern," Zephyr whispered, his voice hushed as if sharing his most precious secret. "The owner, Blake, looked at me. He didn't ask a single question before sending me to a place called the 'Ninja World.' It was a world entirely consumed by war, fought by people called ninjas. They could breathe fire, walk on water... their power system was completely alien to everything I knew."
A proud smirk tugged at the corner of Zephyr's lips. "But I am Marine Admiral 'Black Arm' Zephyr. Even if I'm old, even if I'm missing an arm, no flashy 'ninjutsu' could ever scratch me through pure Haki and martial arts."
He didn't elaborate on the hellish experience. He didn't describe how he had single-handedly turned the tide of a massive war involving tens of thousands of combatants. He didn't mention how his fists, coated in pitch-black Armament Haki, had relentlessly pulverized legendary warriors brought back by the Edo Tensei, returning them to the dust. He simply brushed past the carnage.
"I completed the most difficult quest in that world. And that owner, Blake, told me that as my reward, I could take away a single forbidden jutsu from that universe."
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