Sabaody Archipelago, Grove 13.
Compared to the vibrant, bubbling chaos of the tourist zones, this area felt desolate, draped in the heavy silence typical of a lawless frontier. The wooden door of a tavern named the "Rip-Off Bar" groaned open, and the wind chime above gave a single, crisp ring.
Portgas D. Ace stepped inside, followed closely by Sabo. The other officers of the Eclipse Pirates had been dispatched across the island to secure supplies and—more importantly—to clear out the swarms of "flies" drawn by their billion-berry bounties.
The tavern was dim, smelling of old wood and smoke. Behind the bar, a woman with short black hair and sharp features wiped a wine glass, a slender cigarette dangling from her lips. In a corner sofa, an old man with silver hair and a matching beard sat holding a wine pot. Behind his round glasses, his eyes crinkled with a welcoming smile.
"Making a mess of Area 41 and then appearing in my little shop in the blink of an eye—are the youth always this restless nowadays?" Shakky exhaled a plume of smoke, her gaze lingering on Ace with professional curiosity.
"Shakky, bring out the good bottles. We have distinguished guests today."
Rayleigh set aside the wine pot and stood. Though aged, his frame held a dormant power, and his eyes remained as sharp as a hawk's as they met Ace's gaze.
"Old Crocus already reached out from Twin Capes via Transponder Snail," Rayleigh said, walking toward the bar. His voice carried a tremor of rare emotion. "I knew you were alive, but seeing you in the flesh... it's staggering. You look just like him in his younger days. Same height, same build. But your eyes... yours are much fiercer."
Ace had filled out during his half-year of grueling training, his stature now nearly mirroring that of Gol D. Roger. He moved to the bar and sat, snatching a bottle of rum and biting the cork off with a blunt pop.
Rayleigh's nostalgia met a wall of indifference. As a transmigrator, Ace's connection to the man Rayleigh spoke of was limited to flickering memories of an anime and a signature, boisterous laugh.
"I didn't come here to trade stories about a dead man," Ace said, taking a long pull from the bottle. "I'm here for advice on two fronts. First: the secret to Conqueror's Haki Infusion."
Rayleigh blinked, momentarily stunned, before breaking into a boisterous laugh. "Hahaha! An unceremonious brat, aren't you? Asking for the pinnacle of sea-faring power the moment you sit down—is this the confidence that earned you the title of 'The Outlier' from the Navy?"
Rayleigh's expression settled into a deep, focused gravity.
"Conqueror's Haki is the mark of a King. Most who possess it spend their lives using it merely to thin out the weak." Rayleigh extended his right hand, pointing his index finger at an empty glass on the counter.
Hum!
A terrifying bolt of black lightning crackled and compressed at the tip of his finger, perfectly contained. The glass, untouched by Rayleigh's skin, began to develop a web of internal fractures. Then, with a muffled bang, it collapsed into fine powder.
"Compress that kingly will just as you would Armament Haki," Rayleigh explained, withdrawing his hand. "Lock it within your frame or your blade. It delivers a blow of pure, conceptual destruction. Since you've already mastered high-level Ryuo, that final barrier is like a thin sheet of paper. You just need to feel it once in the heat of a life-or-death struggle."
"Extreme compression... the physical manifestation of will." Ace stared at the glass dust, nodding. It followed the same logic as his Suzaku Ryuo: Flame Prison Shura, but with a different engine driving the core.
"Now, the second question." Ace looked up, a sharp, cold light in his eyes. "Where is Gol D. Roger's blade, Ace? One of the Twelve Supreme Grade Swords."
Rayleigh's hand, reaching for a bottle, froze mid-air. The tavern fell into a sudden, suffocating silence.
"That sword was his constant companion for most of his life. It's even the namesake you carry." Rayleigh sighed, his eyes seemingly peering through the veil of decades. "He had it with him when he turned himself in. Where it ended up after that... I couldn't tell you."
"Is that so?"
Ace tapped his fingers on the bar, his mind working through the timeline. As a transmigrator who had spent twenty months in the womb, his soul had awakened early during those dark, stifling days. He had felt the heat of Portgas D. Rouge's life force as she burned her very existence to defy nature and keep him hidden.
To Ace, Gol D. Roger was a stranger who provided a bloodline. He was the man who had started an era and then walked away, leaving all the suffering to a frail, pregnant woman.
Rouge was the only parent he acknowledged.
"After Roger died, Garp would have been the one to claim the body," Ace said suddenly.
Rayleigh frowned. "True. Despite being a Marine, Garp shared a bond with him that transcended the law."
A thin smile touched Ace's lips. He had solved the riddle.
Baterilla Island, South Blue. Rouge had died moments after his birth. Garp had disappeared for a short time before taking the infant away—Ace deduced he had been burying her. Given Garp's character, he would never have let Roger's blade fall into the hands of the World Government. He would have planted that Supreme Grade Sword at their gravesite as an eternal, silent sentinel.
"If Roger couldn't overturn this world while he lived, then I'll use the steel he left behind to finish the job."
Ace stood up, hoisting the bottle. His voice carried an arrogance that seemed to challenge the heavens. "I'll use that blade to carve those Mary Geoise 'gods' into pieces. Call it a tribute to my mother."
Rayleigh and Shakky watched his retreating back, a flicker of shock crossing their faces. The boy held Roger's blood, but his methods were colder, his ambition more clinical. He was a far more dangerous creature than his father.
"Has the new era truly become this violent?" Rayleigh shook his head with a smile, draining his glass in one gulp.
Ace and Sabo stepped out into the dappled sunlight of the archipelago.
"Are we heading for the South Blue, Ace?" Sabo asked, tapping his pipe.
"There's no rush. The world can wait a few more days."
Ace started to walk, but his body seized up without warning.
Thump.
Thump.
In the sudden void of silence, Ace's Voice of All Things captured a rhythm. It was faint, yet saturated with an infinite, freezing greed. This was no human heart. It wasn't the breath of a beast.
It was a malevolent desire that seemed to want to devour light, life, and the very laws of the world itself. This desire was screaming—calling out to Ace, the man with the dual-fruit constitution and the soul of a King.
Ace snapped his head toward the northwest. His gaze locked onto the horizon of Grove 1—the human auction house and the heart of the black market.
"Ace?" Sabo noticed the shift in his brother's aura.
"Sabo..." Ace revealed an exhilarated, predatory smile. In the depths of his black eyes, there was a reflection of absolute darkness. "Before we leave, we have to collect a gift. The sea has just delivered the ultimate prize to our doorstep."
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