At the end of the horizon, a Marine warship was cutting steadily through the waves, dragging the ruined remains of Atmos's division ship beside it with heavy tow chains.
Atmos's ship could only be described as miserable.
Its main mast had snapped in half and hung crookedly. Its huge sails were torn like strips of cloth, flapping weakly in the wind.
The side of the hull was covered in savage slash marks and charred holes, with hastily nailed emergency planks barely keeping seawater from pouring in faster than the pumps could handle.
The entire vessel looked as if it had just been dragged out of hell, barely clinging to life.
Beside it, the Marine warship looked far steadier, though not untouched.
One auxiliary mast had been hastily reinforced, the deck still bore scars from the earlier clash, and broken railings had been tied down with emergency ropes.
Even so, compared to Atmos's wrecked division ship, it looked almost arrogantly intact.
It did not look like captured spoils at all.
Instead, it looked more like a cold escort, silently watching over the dying prisoner beside it.
The sharp visual contrast was like a soundless slap across the face of every member of the Whitebeard Pirates.
The deck was so silent that one could hear a pin drop.
"Hey... that wrecked ship... that's Commander Atmos's ship, right?" a pirate asked quietly, his tone uncertain.
"Why... why is the Marine ship still moving so steadily?"
"Who exactly... won?"
The question spread through the crowd like a plague.
Teach's wild grin also froze.
He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and raised the spyglass again.
As for Ace, his pupils suddenly shrank to the extreme.
He stared hard at that Marine warship, at the blurry yet impossibly familiar figure standing at the bow.
Even before he could see the man's face clearly, Ace's body remembered that pressure.
That mad hunger was enough to make the soul tremble!
Ace gripped the ship's rail tightly, making it creak under his fingers.
It was him.
That man had come.. and he was not a prisoner.
He was the victor, escorting a commander of the Whitebeard Pirates straight into the territory of the strong.
On the wide deck of the Moby Dick, the lively atmosphere from moments ago vanished instantly, replaced by a deathly silence.
The smiles on the pirates' faces stiffened. They looked at one another, their eyes filled with confusion and doubt.
"Hey, hey, this has to be a joke..."
"Commander Atmos's ship... how did it end up like that?"
Low murmurs spread through the crowd, but no one dared speak loudly, as if they were afraid of alarming the Marine warship approaching in the distance.
"Pops."
At some point, First Division Commander Marco had arrived beside Whitebeard.
The usual laziness in his expression was gone, and his sharp eyes were fixed on the Marine warship and the ruined division ship being towed beside it.
"Something's wrong. Should we strike first?"
"Gurararara..."
A low laugh rumbled from Whitebeard's throat.
He remained seated steadily on his throne, his enormous body unmoving like a mountain.
"What are you panicking for, sons? What your eyes see may not be the whole truth. Maybe Atmos is pretending to be weak on purpose so he can lure that Marine brat over and serve him up as an appetizer."
Pops's words carried a reassuring strength, instantly calming much of the unease on the deck.
That was right.
This was Water Buffalo Atmos, the Thirteenth Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, a great pirate with a bounty worth several hundred million. How could he possibly lose so easily?
It had to be a trap.
Everyone's heart settled a little, but Ace's heart only beat faster.
'No.'
'It was not a trap.'
...
The ships drew closer and closer.
The miserable state of Atmos's division ship became clearer and clearer.
The vessel looked as if it had been torn apart by some giant beast.
A massive slash mark ran across its hull, the emergency patching around it strained almost to breaking under the pull of the tow chains.
The cannons had melted into twisted iron, the deck was covered in charred craters, and the torn sails made a piercing sound as they flapped weakly in the wind.
At last, with several crewmen desperately controlling the wreck's remaining balance, the ruined ship staggered alongside the Moby Dick.
Several thick cables were thrown over, linking the vessels together.
A figure leapt down from the ruined deck and landed heavily on the Moby Dick.
It was Atmos.
His signature great cloak had been reduced to rags. His whole body was soaked, his face and arms covered in wounds.
None of them were fatal, but they made him look utterly battered.
He supported himself with a curved blade that was close to breaking, breathing heavily as his chest rose and fell.
"Commander Atmos! Are you all right?"
"What happened?!"
The crowd immediately surrounded him, throwing questions at him all at once.
"Zehahahahaha! Atmos, you're finally back!"
Teach shoved through the crowd and rushed to the front.
His eyes were filled with greed as he stared fixedly at the Marine warship beside them, asking impatiently, "So? Where's that War Demon called Zaraki? Did you beat him half to death and lock him up in the cabin?"
His voice was loud and grating.
However, Atmos only slowly raised his head. His exhausted gaze moved past Teach and landed on Whitebeard behind the crowd.
He did not answer Teach. Instead, in a hoarse yet incredibly clear voice, he said each word slowly.
"Sorry, Pops. I lost."
Those four simple words made everyone's heart sink.
"Not only did I lose, I also brought him here myself."
There was bitterness in Atmos's voice. His gaze shifted toward Ace.
"Because he said he came looking for you, Ace."
"It's all right, Atmos."
Marco stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder, his tone gentle.
"You're alive. That's what matters! No one wins forever on the sea. Go rest first."
"Gurararara... As long as you came back, my son."
Whitebeard lifted his liquor gourd and took a long drink.
"Still, I'm curious. Just how capable is that brat named Zaraki, if he could beat a stubborn bull like you into this state? Tell us. Let the brats learn something."
Pops's words once again drew everyone's curiosity.
Right.
Losing was not shameful, but they wanted to know exactly how fierce the battle had been for their commander to lose so badly.
Everyone's gaze gathered on Atmos. The deck fell silent again, waiting for him to describe the fight.
Atmos took a deep breath, as though trying to steady his emotions.
He looked around at the expectant and concerned eyes of his companions, then spoke in a hollow voice, almost as if he were talking in his sleep.
"Three exchanges."
The air instantly froze.
The deck suddenly became silent. Even the sound of the sea wind and waves seemed to vanish.
Time itself seemed to stop.
"What?"
Diamond Jozu, who was closest to him, asked instinctively, thinking he had heard wrong.
Atmos raised his head and repeated it again.
This time, his voice was perfectly clear, each word stabbing into everyone's heart like a blade.
"From the moment he drew his sword to the moment I fell into the sea, it took three exchanges."
Silence.
The expressions of hundreds of pirates on the deck froze. Their eyes widened, their faces full of disbelief.
Even Whitebeard, who had remained calm the entire time, slowly lost the smile on his face.
His fingers tightened slightly around Murakumogiri, and for the first time, his body leaned forward.
In those sharp eyes, a trace of surprise flashed—so faint that even he himself might not have noticed it.
"Atmos."
For the first time, Whitebeard's voice carried a hint of gravity.
"You... what kind of joke are you making?"