Clang! Clang! Clang!
On the far side of the highland, the rhythmic scream of metal on metal was incessant.
Jeno moved through the graveyard of scrapped artillery like an enraged, iron-clad bear. His sturdy mechanical exoskeleton was a map of jagged slash marks and deep dents. Several exposed hydraulic pipes hissed violently, venting plumes of white steam that smelled of scorched oil.
"Too slow! A brute who only knows how to swing a hunk of iron will never touch the hem of my coat!"
The Marine Commodore was a blur of white and blue, using Soru to weave a chaotic web around Jeno. His saber, coated in obsidian Busoshoku Haki, flashed repeatedly, each strike leaving a blinding spark on Jeno's armor.
"Stop buzzing in my ear like a damn fly!" Jeno roared. He swung his hydraulic warhammer—a monstrosity modified from a warship's main cannon—in a brutal, wide arc.
The hammer pulverized a stone pillar with terrifying wind pressure, but it struck only air. The Commodore had already leaped into the sky with predatory agility, looking down at the lumbering mechanic.
"RANKYAKU: WHITE STORM!"
The Commodore kicked the air, sending a razor-sharp vacuum blade whistling directly toward Jeno's unprotected neck.
"Not a chance!" Jeno sank his broad shoulders, rotating his torso to catch the slash on the thickest Stellar Obsidian plate on his back.
BOOM!
The impact nearly drove Jeno to one knee. He groaned, a trickle of blood escaping his lips, but he held his ground.
"Still standing? Just how thick is your hide!" The Commodore's eyes flashed with disbelief. His proud Rokushiki combos felt like he was trying to scrape through a mountain; this pirate's durability was more monstrous than most Zoan users he'd encountered.
"I live with steel every day!" Jeno spat a mouthful of blood, lifting his hammer once more. His mechanical arm emitted a guttural, metallic roar. "As long as you can't break my bones, I only need to hit you once to turn you into meat paste!"
The Commodore's face darkened. He prepared to condense Haki into his fingertips, aiming a Shigan at Jeno's vulnerable hydraulic joints.
But as his feet touched the ground, a wall of manic orange flames swept in from the flank, cutting off his path. He threw himself into a desperate Soru retreat.
As the smoke cleared, a dark blue tailcoat fluttered in the breeze. Sabo adjusted his top hat, his alloy staff held loosely in one hand.
"Good work, Mechanic," Sabo said, his back to Jeno. "You played the tank perfectly. Leave the rest to me."
"Tch. Don't go stealing my spotlight, First Mate." Jeno grunted, though his muscles finally relaxed. He propped his hammer against the dirt, chest heaving. Against such a high-mobility officer, his heavy gear had been a liability.
"S-Sabo?! Weren't you fighting Vice Admiral Momonga?!" The Commodore's voice cracked with horror. If the First Mate was here, it meant Momonga had been...
Sabo didn't answer. He curled his fingers into a claw, obsidian Haki flooding the limb. After his life-and-death struggle with the Vice Admiral, his control over Haki had touched a new threshold. It was time to strike while the iron was hot.
"DRAGON CLAW."
Sabo ignited. His speed eclipsed the Commodore's Soru. The officer raised his saber in a frantic block, but the Dragon Claw crushed the steel like dry rot and hooked fiercely into his chest.
BANG!
With a dull crack of ribs, the Commodore was launched backward like a broken sack of grain, losing consciousness before he hit the ruins.
The Center of the Crater.
With the fall of the last officer, the highland fell into a heavy silence. Ace stood at the edge of the massive crater. At his feet lay the charred, unconscious form of "Black Arm" Zephyr.
The old legend's chest rose and fell in shallow, weak rasps. Without intervention, the internal damage from the Advanced Ryuo and the searing heat of the Vermilion Bird would have caused organ failure within hours.
Ace looked down at the man who had dedicated his life to a rigid sense of Justice. He slowly knelt and extended his hand. A cluster of gentle, reddish-gold Nirvana Fire ignited in his palm.
Without hesitation, he pressed the flame against Zephyr's bloodied chest.
Hiss—
The divine fire submerged into Zephyr's body. The majestic vitality of the Phoenix-like flame enveloped his shattered organs and ruined arm, forcibly pulling his life back from the brink. It wouldn't wake him, but it saved his life—and his limb.
Ace withdrew his hand, looking at the aged, resolute face of the man who would eventually become "Z."
"By my count, you haven't become that madman who wants to burn the New World yet," Ace murmured, his voice lost in the cold wind. "Stay alive. Keep watching the real scum of this world. Consider it a favor to old man Garp—I'd hate to see him lose another friend."
Ace stood up, his trench coat snapping. He turned toward the main road leading to the port. Thousands of Marine soldiers, having finally rallied, were surging up the heights like a black tide.
"PROTECT INSTRUCTOR ZEPHYR!"
"DON'T LET THE PIRATES ESCAPE!"
The roar of thousands filled the air. Sabo, Leona, and Jeno gripped their weapons, bracing for a final, bloody breakout.
"Don't worry about them," Ace's steady voice cut through the tension.
He walked to the edge of the cliff, looking down at the massive force below. He didn't draw his blade. He didn't summon his fire. He simply stood there.
In his deep, dark eyes, a terrifying will—the born right of a King—erupted like a silent tsunami.
An invisible, crushing weight centered on Ace and poured over the highlands and the road below.
The air itself seemed to freeze. This kingly aura, baptized in blood and high-tier combat, was denser and more irresistible than it had been back in Loguetown.
Thump... Thump... Thump...
Thousands of charging Marines felt as if an iron cudgel had struck their brains. Their eyes rolled back. No matter their training, their spirits could not withstand the absolute pressure. They collapsed in droves, falling like mown wheat.
In less than ten seconds, the mountainside was carpeted in unconscious bodies. Not a single Marine remained standing. The noisy battlefield plummeted into a deathly, absolute silence.
Haoshoku Cleanup.
Ace retracted his aura. He turned to his crew—bloody, battered, but their spirits higher than ever.
"The trial is over. Good job," Ace said, his voice echoing in the stillness. "Grab the loot. We're going to the ship."
Ace took a steady step forward, stepping over the fallen Marines.
"Next stop: a quiet island. We have a ship to upgrade."
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