Chapter 56: The Emperor's Gambit
The audacity of the move was breathtaking. In the entire history of the Marines, no one—not even the most arrogant Emperor—had ever launched a direct, preemptive assault on Marine Headquarters before a declared war had even begun. The logic was unfathomable. Ace was in Impel Down. Rayleigh and Luffy were in Impel Down. The public execution was over a week away. Why strike now? Was it sheer madness?
But Shanks was not mad. He was precise.
He had chosen the perfect moment. The Marine war machine was still booting up. Elite forces were in transit, completing handovers at their home bases. Only two of the Marines' ultimate combatants were definitively present: the Fleet Admiral and the Hero.
Sengoku stared down from his ruined office wall, his strategic mind reeling. This was the variable. Not Impel Down. Not an alliance. A direct decapitation strike. Every profile, every prediction, had been wrong.
"RED HAIR!" Sengoku's transformed voice, that of the Golden Buddha, boomed with a mix of fury and cold realization.
Below, the plaza was a scene of controlled chaos giving way to sheer terror. Marines who had been confident moments ago now faced the living legend of a current Emperor. Red-Haired Shanks, the man who had killed the previous Emperor to claim his throne, stood casually in the scar his sword had carved into their very heart.
Garp landed beside Sengoku, his usual joviality gone, replaced by the granite-hard focus of a man who had fought legends. "Red hair!! What's your game? Come here to die? You're the one who set that brat Luffy on his path!" His voice was a low growl, accusation and warning mixed.
Shanks didn't flinch. He rested a hand on the hilt of his named blade, Gryphon. "Vice Admiral Garp," he said, his tone calm, almost conversational. "A man's choices are his own. I've always believed that. Today, I'm here for… justice. For the balance of Sabaody, and for the precedent your new Admiral has set for all Emperors."
He looked every bit the wandering swordsman, but his presence dominated the shattered square.
"Justice?" Sengoku scoffed, the golden light around him pulsing. "You expect us to believe that? You're here for Silvers Rayleigh."
Shanks gave a slight, acknowledging smile. "Since you refuse the polite fiction, Fleet Admiral, then let us speak plainly. Sabaody has been a neutral ground for decades. A pipeline. Your 'Black Crow' didn't just capture pirates; he severed the artery to the New World in a single afternoon. He declared that no pirate, no matter how promising, is safe from the Admiralty's absolute reach. Do you think we," he gestured vaguely, implying the other Emperors, "would simply allow that precedent to stand? Allow you to strangle the next generation before it can challenge us?"
He framed it not as a personal rescue, but as a geopolitical necessity. An Emperor defending the ecosystem that bred emperors.
"Enough talk, Sengoku," Garp grunted, cracking his knuckles, the sound like pistol shots. "He's itching for a fight. Let's give it to him. Taking down a Emperor at our doorstep would be one hell of a statement before Whitebeard arrives."
Sengoku's golden eyes narrowed. Garp was right. The time for diplomacy was over. Shanks had thrown the first, earth-shattering blow. The response had to be absolute.
"Very well," Sengoku intoned. "If it's a fight you want, Red-Hair, you shall have it. But you have gravely miscalculated."
As they spoke, the Marine response was mobilizing. Dozens of Vice Admirals, Rear Admirals, and countless captains were converging on the square, surrounding the small but impossibly dense knot of the Red Hair Pirates. Benn Beckman lit a cigarette, unperturbed. Lucky Roux grinned, hefting a massive leg of meat. Yasopp adjusted his goggles, scanning the rooftops for snipers.
Shanks watched the encirclement tighten, a faint smile still on his lips. "Crowds," he murmured, almost to himself. "I've never been fond of them."
Then, his eyes changed.
It wasn't a release. It was a condensation. The air around him seemed to warp, pulling inwards for a fraction of a second before—
BOOM.
A shockwave of Conqueror's Haki, visible as a rippling, golden distortion, exploded from him in a perfect, expanding sphere. It wasn't the wide-area knockout blast of a rookie; it was a targeted, crushing pressure that swept through the ranks of the approaching Marines like a psychic tsunami.
THUD. THUD. THUD-THUD-THUD.
As far as the eye could see, Marines—seasoned veterans, promising officers, even a Rear Admiral who had been leading the charge—collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. They didn't just faint; they were hammered into the ground by the weight of a king's will. In an instant, the tactical encirclement was reduced to a ring of unconscious bodies, leaving only the strongest Vice Admirals and the two legends standing.
The plaza, moments ago teeming with reinforcements, was now eerily still, save for the Red Hair Pirates and the apex of Marine leadership.
A Vice Admiral who had just arrived from a distant base stared, his face pale. "What… what kind of Conqueror's Haki is that?!"
Shanks slowly drew Gryphon, the ring of the blade the only sound in the sudden silence. He pointed the tip not at the masses, but directly at Sengoku and Garp.
"Your move," he said.
The war for the future hadn't begun at Marineford with Whitebeard. It had begun right here, right now, with an Emperor's sword pointed at the Marines' throats.
(End of Chapter)
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