Roger's crew had been given a choice.
They could sail on a regular ship, built at their own expense—or accept the Oro Jackson for free, on one condition: they would need to find a keel made from a sufficiently massive piece of Adam Wood.
Reith was extremely curious about how Roger and his crew had managed to obtain such an enormous chunk of Adam Wood. A keel was no small thing. In the original story, Franky had spent an astronomical sum just to acquire a relatively small piece, which spoke volumes about the material's value.
Then Uncle Tom brought news.
This time, the Heavenly Tribute scheduled for transport included a trunk from the Adam Tree, large enough to serve as a keel.
The only question was whether Roger's pirates had the courage to lay hands on it.
No sooner said than done.
Sometimes, Reith had to admit—fate really did exist.
They said the weather at sea was unpredictable, especially in the New World.
As soon as the tribute ship entered this stretch of ocean, a thick fog rolled in.
On a small boat concealed within it, four figures held their breath.
Rayleigh lowered his spyglass.
Reflected in its lens was the deck of a warship: spotless white uniforms everywhere, yet the sentries were lax, chatting in groups of two or three instead of standing watch properly. Dozens of wounded figures were crammed into iron cages. Shackles rubbed their ankles raw, skin worn pale enough to expose bone. Fresh blood stained the deck, still wet. One lookout, humming under his breath, casually wiped a bloodstain away with the sole of his boot.
The sharp crack of whips echoed across the fog.
The Tenryūbito had never cared about the lives of slaves. Unless a specific slave caught their interest, neither they nor their escorts gave a damn. Most of the guards here were only trying to curry favor with the Celestial Dragons.
One of the slaves screamed as a finger was torn out with pliers.
The watch officer laughed and poured saltwater over the wound.
"Captain," Rayleigh said quietly, turning to Roger. "If we follow the original plan and take only the Adam Wood… these people might survive."
His eyes burned with naked killing intent.
The plan had been simple: seize the Adam Tree trunk, leave behind a calling card, and secretly deliver it to Water Seven. The World Government would rage—but with Marine protection, the slaves might have lived.
But no marine with even a fragment of justice left in his heart would willingly escort a Heavenly Tribute. Witnessing slaves beg and scream would shatter any conscience. That was why promising officers were never sent on such missions. The ones assigned were rotten to the core.
They weren't marine anymore.
They were no different from pirates.
The shadow of the straw hat fell over Roger's eyes.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Click.
Roger drew his sword.
His reflection—empty of any smile—gleamed in the blade.
"Kill them," he said flatly.
"Every last one."
Rayleigh adjusted his glasses, a cold glint flashing behind the lenses.
"Reith. Clear the deck. You can handle it, right?"
Gaban's eyes had been burning with barely restrained fury for a long time.
"I've been waiting for this."
Reith inhaled slowly. His mist began to merge seamlessly with the surrounding fog.
"A wise decision, Captain."
Roger rested a hand on Reith's head, his voice no louder than a breath.
"Kid… remember this."
"Some crimes can't be washed away—even by the sea."
"Where did this fog come from?" a sentry muttered, waving his hand in front of his face.
The fog thickened.
Its color darkened.
"Something's wrong—this fog is poisonous!"
Someone tried to cover his mouth.
Too late.
One by one, soldiers collapsed. Limbs went numb. Eyelids drooped. Those already poisoned had no hope of survival—they could only lie there and feel their bodies being eaten from the inside out.
The Den Den Mushi corroded and died.
"Fog Barrier: Silent Cage."
Reith stood calmly on his distant boat, a cold smile curling his lips.
There was no need for him to enter the battle. He knew his limits.
For eight hundred years, no one had dared plunder the Heavenly Tribute.
"Looks like you bastards got comfortable."
Visibility dropped to less than three meters.
World Government sentries and CP0 agents stumbled blindly, gunfire and screams echoing uselessly through the haze.
"Hold formation! Back to back!" the watch captain shouted—
—and froze.
A chill crawled up his spine.
Gaban's silhouette flickered in and out of the fog, twin axes tracing elegant, fatal arcs.
"The first to speak," he said softly, "dies first."
"There—!"
Twenty muskets fired at once.
Bullets tore through shadows.
A mirage.
Gaban appeared among them, axes crossing.
Blood bloomed.
When the last musketeer fell, he exhaled in annoyance.
"Tch. I even asked Reith to set up illusions. What a disappointment."
The CP0 lead agent raised a hand. His subordinates spread out instantly, backs together, Observation Haki flaring to life.
"Dark King Rayleigh…" a voice rasped from beneath a mask. "Didn't expect to meet you here."
No answer.
Only the sound of shifting fog—like death breathing.
Then—
The agent on the far right stiffened.
A hair-thin red line appeared across his throat.
He collapsed without a sound.
"Damn it! Where is he?!"
Another shadow flashed.
The second agent's arms were severed at the shoulders. Blood splattered across a comrade's mask. He stumbled back—
—and ran straight into Rayleigh.
"Your speed," Rayleigh said mildly, "is too slow."
His short sword pierced one heart.
His palm crushed another carotid artery.
The last agent finally saw Rayleigh move.
Too late.
The tip of Rayleigh's blade rested gently against his forehead.
"What a shame," Rayleigh murmured, "to know people like you exist."
Crack.
The mask split.
The body fell.
Roger rose into the air.
His sword—Ace—was wrapped in black-and-red Haoshoku lightning.
"Divine Departure."
The blade flashed.
The Adam Wood fastenings snapped soundlessly. The colossal trunk slid into the sea, sending towering waves skyward.
The shockwave rolled across the deck.
Eardrums burst.
Blood sprayed from seven orifices.
No one even screamed.
The Adam Tree groaned under the weight of Roger's will. The tribute ship began to sink, seawater flooding through shattered seams.
Roger smiled faintly.
He raised his sword again
"How about one more?"
BOOM.
The warship split cleanly in two.
The sea itself parted, leaving a deep, abyssal scar that took long moments to close.
"…Guess everyone's in a better mood after taking out the trash."
"We got the Adam Tree!"
(Pokémon voice)