Morgan's words hit the air with a chilling finality.
He took a step forward, his expression frozen in a mask of cold arrogance.
CRACK!
The sheer force of his footfall shattered the wooden floorboards of the tavern. Splinters of wood sprayed into the air as a gaping hole opened beneath his boot. The shockwave of his presence sent Rowan's silver hair dancing wildly.
Ever since a year ago—the day he had "captured" the 16-million-Berri pirate, "Captain Kuro of a Hundred Plans," and earned his promotion to Colonel of the 153rd Branch—Morgan's creed had boiled down to a single word: Power.
To him, power was the only absolute. Whoever held the highest rank was, by definition, the greatest man alive. And as the supreme commander of the Shells Town Marine Base, Morgan believed he was the undisputed god of this island.
Now, some decrepit old man had crawled out of nowhere, not only daring to lay a finger on his son but having the gall to lecture him on morality. It was a direct assault on his status. It was an insult to his divinity.
It was unforgivable.
The Marines who had entered with Morgan wore sneering grins as they looked at Rowan. To them, these two strangers were already dead men. They weren't like the regular rank-and-file soldiers outside; they were the sycophants who had ridden Morgan's coattails to rapid promotions. By catering to the Colonel's every whim and embracing his brutality, they had climbed the ranks.
The highest among them was already a Lieutenant. Meanwhile, the rigid, old-fashioned soldiers who dared to question Morgan's methods remained stuck in their posts. In fact, the most senior Major at the base had held that rank since before Morgan was even promoted to Lieutenant Colonel.
"Judge your crimes? What kind of 'something' am I?"
Rowan took a slow drag from his pipe and let out a light chuckle.
"In the past, I suppose I was a Marine officer of some standing. But today? I'm just a meddling old man of little consequence."
"As for judging you?" Rowan's eyes sharpened. "You are the commander of this base, yet you have committed such atrocities. Any commoner, any passerby, has the right to judge you—let alone an old veteran like me who once carried the weight of Justice on his back."
"Having once worn the uniform, I cannot stand by and watch a piece of trash like you drag the name of the Marines through the dirt!"
Rowan suddenly slammed his hand onto the table, his voice rising in power.
"If you chose to shoulder the burden of Justice, then it was your duty to use your strength to protect the weak! Not to use a shred of petty authority to play the tyrant and terrorize those you were meant to serve!"
Morgan's face twisted with rage. He had heard enough. Just as he was about to bark the order for his men to seize the old man, Rowan let out a sharp command.
"Luffy!"
Luffy, who had been waiting for the word, burst into motion the instant Rowan spoke. He blurred across the room, closing the distance to Morgan in a heartbeat. Behind him, his leg retracted from a long stretch.
Luffy's lips curled into a wide grin as he looked the towering Colonel in the eye.
"Gomu Gomu no... Stamp!"
Meanwhile. Outside the tavern.
The small restaurant was already surrounded. Over a hundred Marine soldiers had formed a tight perimeter, their ranks thick and unyielding.
The local residents hadn't even needed to be told to scatter. Upon hearing that Helmeppo had been beaten and that Colonel Morgan was on the warpath, everyone had fled as far as their legs could carry them. Those living nearby didn't even dare stay in their own homes, dragging their families to find refuge with relatives, terrified that Morgan's displeasure might spill over onto them.
At the very front of the encirclement, under the command of a Major in a standard-issue Justice vest, over thirty Marines stood in a disciplined line. Their flintlock rifles were raised, black barrels leveled at the tavern door with grim solemnity. Behind them, those without firearms had drawn their sabers, poised to strike.
The Major at the head of the formation listened to Morgan's muffled, furious roars echoing from inside, his face tight with conflict.
The truth was, he—and the vast majority of the men behind him—had no desire to be here. They knew exactly what kind of person Helmeppo was: a spoiled, arrogant brat who did nothing but hide behind his father's shadow. The tyrannical Morgan had let the boy run wild, and frankly, hearing that the brat had finally been thrashed brought a secret sense of relief to many of them.
Yet, orders were orders. They were bound by the chain of command to capture the assailants.
Suddenly, the Major heard a sharp shout from within. As he moved to observe, a scream pierced the air.
A massive black shadow suddenly burst through the tavern's entrance, smashing the doorframe to splinters. The shadow showed no sign of slowing down.
The startled Major dove out of the way. He and the surrounding Marines watched in stunned silence as the shadow streaked through the air.
"Major... was that... Colonel Morgan?" someone whispered nearby.
The Major, having served under Morgan for years, recognized the figure instantly. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. No... it can't be. The brutal, invincible tyrant of Shells Town had just been sent flying.
Every Marine present wore an identical expression of slack-jawed disbelief.
"Gomu Gomu no... Rocket!"
Before they could recover, another shout rang out from the tavern. A red blur shot out after Morgan's retreating form.
"Quick! Help the Colonel!" someone finally managed to yell.
The perimeter dissolved into chaos as the Marines scrambled to give chase. Regardless of how the Colonel had been defeated, if Morgan found out they had stood by and done nothing to save him, their lives would be forfeit.
"So, you still intend to serve under a man like that?"
A resonant, magnetic voice cut through the air, stopping the Marines in their tracks.
The Major was the first to halt. One by one, the other soldiers followed suit. They turned to see the speaker standing in the doorway of the tavern.
The man had snow-white hair and a matching beard. He wore simple, casual clothes and held a long tobacco pipe. A polished wine gourd hung from his waist. He looked like an ordinary elder.
And yet, in the eyes of the Marines—especially the veteran Major—the old man radiated an indescribable aura of nobility. If the Major had to compare it to anyone, he could only think of Vice Admiral Garp or Fleet Admiral Sengoku, whom he had seen from a great distance at Marine Headquarters years ago.
In fact, this old man's presence seemed to eclipse even theirs.
The Major realized that the ones who had attacked Helmeppo were likely this extraordinary elder and the youth who had just chased after Morgan. Though every fiber of his being was reluctant, the Major took a deep breath and let out a command.
"All units, battle stations!"
Cling! Clack!
In mere seconds, the Marines snapped back into formation. Thirty rifles were aimed at Rowan, their muzzles dark and threatening. Behind them, dozens of sabers glinted in the light.
"My apologies, sir, but I must fulfill my duty," the Major said, his voice heavy with regret. As much as he despised Morgan, the man was his superior officer.
"Duty?"
Rowan looked at the disciplined soldiers, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. Despite Morgan's corruption, these men still held onto their military spirit. They hadn't fully fallen into depravity alongside their leader.
Rowan lowered his pipe and gave a light chuckle. He reached into his robes, pulled out a metallic insignia, and tossed it toward the hesitant Major.
The Major caught the object with a confused frown. As his eyes fell upon the emblem, his breathing suddenly hitched. A flush of heat rushed to his face.
"This is..."
Beneath the familiar Marine anchor, two golden stars shimmered brilliantly.
Two stars. A Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral!
He flipped the medal over. Engraved on the back was a name that was synonymous with legend in the Navy.
Rowan.
The Godfather of the Marines, Rowan?!
The Major's mind went blank. In a trance-like state, he let his saber clatter to the ground. He snapped into the most perfect, respectful salute he had ever performed in his life.
"Major Loska of the 153rd Branch, reporting for duty! Salute to Vice Admiral Rowan!"
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