The Redfield's corpse dangled from the walls of Alubarna Palace, a grim spectacle for all of Alabasta to witness. This marked the execution of a former pirate king—the second such legend felled since the dawn of the Great Age of Pirates. The first, Golden Lion Shiki, rotted away in Impel Down. News of the Redfield's death, amplified by Saint Ross's subtle nudges, rocketed across the seas like a cannon shot.
Aboard the Moby Dick in the New World, Marco couldn't hold back a chuckle as Vista bolted toward him, face pale with urgency. "Hah, you're the captain now, Vista. When are you gonna act like it?"
"Something awful's happened!" Vista blurted, sucking in a breath to steady himself. "The Redfield's dead!"
"Who?" Marco waved it off. "People die all the time. Big deal."
But Whitebeard, lounging nearby, caught the weight of it. A shadow crossed his rugged features. "That old bat Redfield's gone too, eh?" He shook his head, voice like rumbling thunder. "Fewer old rivals left these days."
Marco's eyes widened as it clicked. "Wait—you mean the Redfield? No way. A legend like that, just... gone?"
"Who took him down?" Whitebeard pressed, though he already suspected.
"Marines," Vista replied grimly. "It started with the final Buster Call on Ohara. That Celestial Dragon—Saint Ross—and Admiral Sakazuki finished him off together."
Vista's voice cracked with frustration. As a swordsman through and through, he'd looked up to the great bladesmen of the old guard. Roger had been his first idol, but the Pirate King surrendered and met the scaffold. Then came Golden Lion, only for him to get locked up right after. The Redfield had been his last beacon, a solitary force unmatched with a blade. Now he was gone too. The seas were running dry on true sword masters. If this kept up, that Celestial Dragon's woman might carve her way to the title of world's greatest.
Marco blinked, less focused on the legends than the sheer power play. "Admiral Akainu that tough already? I figured he was on our level, but killing someone who could go toe-to-toe with Pops?"
Whitebeard grunted, his quake-like grip tightening on his massive bisento. "That magma punk and the young Celestial Dragon pup—they've grown into real monsters." He saw it clearer than Marco: the Redfield wasn't the type to go down easy. Facing even two Admirals like Zephyr wouldn't have done it. No, this was Sakazuki and Ross tag-teaming a legend, both wielding top-tier strength. His gaze drifted to Vista and Marco, a flicker of concern in his eyes. At 53, Whitebeard knew his peak wouldn't last forever. The Marines held back while he breathed—for now, fearing what a cornered Emperor might unleash. But after him? What fate awaited the Whitebeard Pirates?
The Redfield's fall sent shockwaves through the world. Member nations of the World Government threw festivals, popping champagne in the streets. Pirates, though, huddled in dread. Legends like him were dwindling fast—only Whitebeard remained untouchable.
This wasn't like Roger's surrender or Shiki's suicidal raid on Marine Headquarters. Reports painted a brutal clash in Alabasta: the Redfield assassinated King Cobra, then battled Saint Ross in a savage duel from the city streets to the Sandora River. Sakazuki arrived to seal the deal with a magma onslaught.
An ambush, yet it showcased the government's iron grip. If an Admiral could smoke a living legend, scrubs like them were flies to be swatted. Even dreaming of legendary status meant living in the shadow of Marine might—no true freedom at all. Why chase the horizon when you could rule a quiet corner as a local kingpin?
Pirate crews scattered overnight. Ships turned tail for calmer waters; some ditched the pirate life entirely, swapping Jolly Rogers for bandit rags in the hills. The dream of the seas felt farther than ever.
Enies Lobby buzzed with the aftermath, but Spandam lounged in his office, grinning like a shark as he chatted into the Den Den Mushi. "See? What'd I tell you? Nothing's beyond Saint Ross. The Redfield—a beast on Roger's level—and Ross handled him like yesterday's trash."
He leaned back, puffing up. "Moria, you're a big shot on the Grand Line. You get it. Before Admiral Sakazuki showed, Saint Ross went rounds with that old bloodsucker all the way from Alubarna to the Sandora River."
Spandam chuckled at the snail's mimicking frown. "Exactly! Even a monster like the Redfield couldn't shake him off. Kaido? Pfft, small fry by comparison."
"You think Kaido's tougher than the Redfield? Dream on. Red's done—Kaido's turn next. Stick with Ross, do your part, and you'll eat good when the dust settles."
The Den Den Mushi's eyes narrowed, relaying Moria's hesitation. "Worried about your bounty? Come on. I'm CP9's chief—every pirate wash-up funnels through me for judgment, then straight to Impel Down. Three hundred million? Pocket change. I'll wipe it clean."
Spandam waved a hand dismissively, though no one could see. "Ross thinks highly of you. I'll forge papers saying you were our deep-cover guy all along. Boom—CP9 trainee, World Government insider. No one's touching that."
"Right? Smart move, teaming up with the government. You're ahead of me here—if I snag some shine from Saint Ross, I might need to call in favors from you someday."
He paused, scheming aloud. "Oh, before you link up with him, I'll hook you up with a welcome gift. Hand it over, and you're golden. Shoot for a top spot under Ross—drinks on me next time you're in the Holy Land Mary Geoise."
The snail grinned back. "Yeah, yeah—a feast! Hah!"
Spandam slammed the receiver down, bursting into laughter. He could feel it: another step up the ladder. A sharp instinct told him Ross's next play already. Geniuses like him were cut from the same cloth—loyal hounds, bred for the long haul.
"Saint Ross loves snapping up beauties and brawlers," Spandam muttered to himself, eyes gleaming with ruthless hunger. "Time to deliver the perfect prize."
Even a dog had to know its master inside out—to snag the fattest cut from the table.
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