Fleet Admiral Kong was having a headache.
Recently, the balance of the seas had slipped further and further from the Navy's control. Powerful pirate crews were growing increasingly brazen, convinced that at such a critical time, the Navy would not dare divert large forces to hunt them down.
In just a few short days, six kingdoms had sent urgent pleas for aid to Marine Headquarters. Even worse, two kingdoms had already fallen to pirate invasions—their kings captured, their lands reduced to living hells.
Pirate crews capable of threatening entire kingdoms were far beyond the ability of ordinary Marine bases to handle. Under normal circumstances, high bounties would be issued, and a Marine Headquarters admiral or Vice Admiral would personally lead a punitive expedition.
But the problem lay precisely there.
Kong had never imagined that Basorine—a pillar of the Marines, a core hawk within their ranks, a Vice Admiral who had devoted half his life to the Navy—would suddenly announce his retirement without warning.
The man was younger than Kong himself. What retirement was he talking about?
There was no persuading him. Kong had spoken with Basorine multiple times, but the man was as stubborn as a mule. No matter what arguments were offered, he refused to budge.
His reason was simple.
He was tired.
But anyone with eyes could see the truth.
During a mission, Basorine had encountered his former student—Roldy —the very man he had trained for four years. Was it realistic to expect a teacher to cut down his own disciple without hesitation?
For someone like Basorine, it was impossible.
The retirement of a Vice Admiral was no small loss to the Marines. And Kong found himself increasingly uneasy about the inhumane "grand event" that would soon begin.
Time had passed since the incident with Roldy , yet Zephyr still had not recovered. He had taken his one-month confinement literally, shutting himself inside his home. He went nowhere and spoke to no one. Even when Sengoku tried to drink with him and offer comfort, Zephyr would eventually explode in fury and throw him out.
Even his once-gentle wife had changed. The smile on her face had grown rare, and she no longer greeted visiting Marines with warmth.
Some wounds could only be left to time.
And then there was that old bastard.
Kong's gaze fell upon the report sitting on his desk. It was from Monkey D. Garp.
The document was written in an almost comically formal tone, as if Garp had tried to sound scholarly—though the result felt awkward and out of place. Its meaning, however, was crystal clear.
Garp once again refused promotion to Admiral.
Unlike his previous rejections, which had at least been relatively mild, this time the report practically tore into the Celestial Dragons from beginning to end. He stated bluntly that he would never serve as a "dog" for those scumbags.
If such words were to spread, they would amount to a charge of grave disrespect.
Buru Buru… Buru Buru…
The Den Den Mushi rang.
It was the line he used exclusively to contact the World Government.
Kong picked up the receiver. On the other end was one of the Five Elders—Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, the Warrior God of Science and Defense.
A few brief exchanges later, the line went dead.
Kong's expression darkened further.
"So… it's starting."
He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. A blood-red memory surfaced in his mind.
Wails. Curses. Sobs. Despair.
Countless emotions intertwined into a hellish tableau. He had witnessed it once before. Amid that sea of misery, he had bent the knee.
It was with blood like that that he had been draped in the cloak of a Marine Admiral.
For the nobles, it was a rare form of entertainment.
For the Marines, it was a test of obedience that cut to the bone.
The order from above was clear.
This time, Marine Headquarters was to dispatch no fewer than two Admirals and ten Vice Admiral s. At least ten medium-sized or larger warships would accompany them, all staffed by elite soldiers.
Such a formation would strip away more than half of Marine Headquarters' current strength.
With mad pirates already running rampant across the seas, this would leave Headquarters dangerously hollow.
Kong sat at his desk for a long time. The ashtray filled with cigar ash. He rubbed his aching head and took a heavy swallow of strong tea.
The Navy had less than a month.
After weighing every factor, he began issuing orders of deployment.
The two Admiral positions were effectively predetermined.
Zephyr was in no condition to be relied upon, and the World Government would not accept him anyway.
That left Sengoku and Garp.
Garp's status was special; as far as the World Government was concerned, he was effectively equivalent to an Admiral.
As for the Vice Admiral s, careful selection was required. Three elite Vice Admiral s from Headquarters, supplemented by seven regular Vice Admiral s—that was the limit Kong could afford after much deliberation.
…
With the orders issued, the vast war machine of the Marines began to turn once more.
Forces from across the seas converged toward Marine Headquarters. Along the way, they captured unlucky pirates they encountered. Ordinary civilians had no idea what the Navy was preparing for.
But on the other side—
The Rocks Pirates knew very well.
Rocks Pirates Headquarters
Hachinosu
Just like Marine Headquarters, the Rocks Pirates were gathering their strength.
More than thirty thousand pirates had assembled.
And this was not the era of the Great Pirate Age decades later. Pirates were nowhere near as numerous as they would become. In the New World especially, such numbers were staggering.
Without exaggeration, Rocks had gathered more than one-third of all the pirates in the New World under his banner.
This would be a collision between the overlord of the New World and the rulers of the Grand Line.
Its impact would encompass the entire world.
No one could escape the coming tide.
Beyond the Rocks Pirates, many powerful crews in the New World had also received word. They learned of the Celestial Dragons' grand event—and of the treasure so vast it could drive any man to madness and stake his life.
Some strengthened their forces by recruiting. Others banded together for protection.
But all of them would take part in this insane war.
New World
On an unnamed island—
The Roger Pirates' ship was anchored along the shore.
Their intelligence officer, Scopper Gaban—having just received fresh intelligence still warm in his hands—skimmed through it briefly.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Oi, Roger. We've got trouble."
He swallowed hard, already imagining the devastation that would soon sweep the world.
The crew gathered around. Roger pulled the chopsticks from his nostrils and took the report with a suddenly serious expression.
They crowded together to read it—an almost comical sight.
But as they absorbed its contents, the same unease took root in their hearts.
"Hah hah hah! Rocks finally did something I can get behind!"
Roger's eyes gleamed with excitement.
Rayleigh and the others slapped their foreheads in exasperation.
How could they forget?
Their captain had always been this kind of man—
A troublemaker who loved nothing more than diving headfirst into the biggest storm on the horizon.
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