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A few days later in the New World, beneath a sky rippling with restless clouds, Ayr guided a small boat through turbulent waters, the eternal roar of the sea echoing like an ancient hymn. Originally, Nagli was meant to accompany him and handle the ship, but after much consideration, Ayr chose solitude. He preferred silence when dealing with the past — the kind that only the sea could understand. In his hand was an eternal pose pointing unwaveringly to the Valley of the Gods, its needle fixed with absolute certainty toward the resting place of legends and ghosts — the sea where one of history's most tragic and cataclysmic battles had ended in ruin.
The boat came to a slow halt atop a stretch of dark, heavy ocean. Ayr glanced at the pointer; its magnetic pull was firm, unshaking. "This is it," he murmured, his voice barely louder than the whispering waves. The eternal pose's precision left no room for doubt — this was the exact location where Rocks D. Xebec, the tyrant who once terrified the world, had met his end. Without hesitation, Ayr dove into the depths. Unlike most men, he had never eaten a Devil Fruit, so the ocean held no curse for him. He belonged to it — body, blood, and breath. Years spent traversing the Grand Line and New World had molded him into a creature perfectly attuned to the sea, gliding through the water with effortless grace.
As he descended, massive Sea Kings stirred in the murky blue, their colossal shadows moving like continents. Yet not one dared approach him. Though creatures of instinct and ferocity, they recoiled from Ayr's presence, sensing something primordial and divine. The water itself seemed to part before him as he swam deeper and deeper into the graveyard of legends.
Soon, faint outlines emerged in the gloom below — the broken remnants of an island resting silently on the ocean floor, its jagged cliffs buried under coral, sand, and time. His pulse quickened. The Valley of the Gods… Despite the years of decay, the landscape was unmistakable. Ayr had fought here, bled here, and buried someone here. Guided by memory and a strange reverence, he swam toward a familiar spot, his heart tightening with every stroke. After digging through layers of silt and sediment, his fingers brushed against something solid — a body.
It was intact, preserved by the cold abyss and sealed earth. Even death seemed reluctant to claim it. The corpse of Rocks D. Xebec, the man who once ruled the world through chaos, remained eerily lifelike — a testament to the sheer willpower that had defined him in life. Ayr stared at the face that once inspired both fear and awe, and a rare heaviness settled in his chest. "I buried you once," he whispered softly, "and now I'm the one digging you up. Time really does fly, Rocks." The memory of that day flashed in his mind — Marines scrambling to seize the body, eager to turn a monster into a trophy, and Ayr standing between them and that desecration. He had fought to keep this body from being paraded through the world, laying it here to rest in secret. Now, nearly a decade later, he returned for it, driven by a purpose that transcended sentiment.
With solemn care, he lifted the body and began his ascent. The moment he surfaced and pulled himself onto the boat, a distant Marine warship came into view, its silhouette barely visible on the horizon. On its deck, a lookout adjusted his telescope — and froze. "A small boat…" he murmured, and then his eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait... that's Ayr!" Panic erupted across the deck. Marines scrambled to confirm what they'd just heard. "Ayr?! Here?!" one shouted. "That's really him — what's he doing in this sea?!" Another officer frowned darkly. "Could he be searching for something under the sunken Valley of the Gods?" "But that place has been gone for years," someone replied. "What could possibly remain?"
Whispers spread like wildfire. After the destruction of the Valley, the World Government had quietly established a hidden base nearby, stationing a permanent garrison under strict orders to monitor the area. None of the lower ranks knew why, but the rumors were persistent. Some said a forgotten weapon lay buried beneath the seabed — Uranus, the lost ancient weapon said to command the very skies. "If Uranus was really here," a Marine scoffed nervously, "why wasn't it used against the Rocks Pirates? That power could've ended the war in seconds!" Even so, the tension was palpable.
Suddenly, one Marine gasped and shouted again. "Wait! There's someone else — on the boat! Another person!" He adjusted the lens, went pale, and screamed, "ROCKS!!!" Silence crushed the deck. For a moment, no one dared breathe. "Rocks... he's dead!" "No... that corpse... it's him!" The realization hit like a thunderclap. The Marines stood frozen, fear creeping into their bones. To them, Rocks D. Xebec was not a man but a myth — the embodiment of chaos, the shadow that haunted history. And now his body was in Ayr's possession. "What the hell is that monster planning?" a trembling voice muttered. Another Marine swallowed hard. "He's not… going to bring him back, is he?"
On the small boat, Ayr remained unaware of their distant surveillance. The warship was far beyond normal detection, and he wasn't extending his Observation Haki; he rarely wasted focus on what didn't concern him. His attention belonged entirely to one thing — the body of Rocks D. Xebec.
He knelt beside it, resting a hand over the still chest. The air thickened. Then he pressed his palms together — once, twice, then eleven precise times — each motion deliberate, heavy with ancient power. His voice, calm and commanding, carried across the sea like a divine proclamation. "Outsider — Rinne Tensei no Jutsu!"
Instantly, the world darkened. Behind him, a colossal figure materialized — the King of Hell, its face carved in divine fury, the kanji for "King" blazing on its forehead. Its presence bent the air itself, ancient and absolute. This was the true power of the Outer Path: Rinne Tensei, the technique that called the soul of the dead from the Pure Land and rejoined it with the restored flesh of the mortal world.
The King of Hell opened its mouth, and from the void emerged a stream of celestial light, bright enough to pierce the ocean's depths. It poured into the body of Rocks D. Xebec, wrapping him in divine radiance. Somewhere beyond mortal comprehension, a soul stirred — a will too fierce to fade, now being pulled back into existence.
And as the sea began to tremble, the heavens themselves seemed to hold their breath. The world — though still unaware — was about to witness the return of its darkest legend.
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