The wax-yellow tentacles on Davy Jones' face lifted slightly. He reached out and gently stroked the raven's head a few times, soothing it until it quieted. Only then did his gray-blue eyes begin to size Shanks up.
Shanks finally came face to face with the pirate who had recently shaken the seas again and again. Under the sharp, almost devouring gaze of Davy Jones, he felt a chill in his heart.
For a moment, an urge rose within him — to unleash his Haki and shield his entire body. But Shanks suppressed it. That would be discourteous… and worse, it would show weakness. That wasn't his way.
After a pause, Shanks smiled. He stepped forward, extending his right hand from beneath his black cloak.
"'Deep Sea King ' Davy Jones," he said, "it's truly better to meet in person than to hear the tales."
Davy Jones' gaze flicked to Shanks' outstretched right hand, then down to the left arm hidden beneath the cloak — the empty stump. At last, he too smiled and clasped Shanks' hand.
"I suppose," said Davy Jones, glancing at the expressions of Rayleigh, Buggy, and Crocodile before continuing, "you must be 'Red-Haired' Shanks, am I right?"
"It seems Captain Davy Jones has even heard of my shallow reputation," Shanks replied humbly — deliberately so. "That is an honor."
The two clasped hands briefly, then let go.
Neither had released their Haki, yet the sheer pressure between them formed an invisible shell, sealing the two inside it. To everyone else on the deck, it was as though no room remained for them to speak.
Davy Jones' voice was calm:
"I wonder, what brings you aboard my Terror Ghost?"
"Other than to catch up with Rayleigh and Buggy," Shanks answered smoothly, "I came to thank you. You saved Ace, the son of Captain Roger. That debt — I will remember it."
"For me," Davy Jones said, "it was nothing more than a fair transaction."
At those words, Shanks cast a sidelong glance at Buggy, wondering what kind of bargain his old comrade had struck to bring Davy Jones into that war.
From the moment he set foot on this ship, Shanks had sensed its strangeness. He had no wish to linger. A few words of courtesy, talk of drinking together when they next met in the New World — then he prepared to leave.
"Wait," Davy Jones called after him.
Shanks paused at the rail, calm as ever. He turned back with a questioning smile.
"Is there something more you wish to say?"
Davy Jones chuckled.
"My men tell me Whitebeard was 'the world's strongest man.' Now that he is dead… the three remaining Yonko must be the strongest living men in the world, no?"
Rayleigh adjusted his glasses, a faint smile on his lips, choosing silence.
Inwardly, he thought: So Shanks has been marked as prey… how rare. Roger, you died too early. So many strange men and strange tides, and you'll never see them.
Shanks caught the implication in Davy Jones' words. Yet he dismissed it with a grin.
"There are plenty of strong men in the world. I'm just someone with a loud name. Perhaps someday, you'll see monsters not on the seas — but in the Holy Land, Mary Geoise."
The tentacles on Davy Jones' face writhed. His eyes flickered with thought, before finally settling.
"I very much look forward to crossing blades with monsters."
Shanks inclined his head politely, then vaulted back over the rail, landing on the Red Force.
By then, his crew had already finished paying their respects aboard the marine ships. They too returned across the planks, boarding their vessel.
The Red Force would not sail too far from the two navy warships.
For Shanks intended to escort Whitebeard's remnants home, and to see them safely through a solemn funeral for their fallen captain.
The Terror Ghost, however, set a different course. It would first deliver Rayleigh to Sabaody Archipelago… then dive back into the deep sea.
Before parting ways, Whitebeard's surviving crew again expressed their thanks to Davy Jones.
As for Buggy — something stirred in him. He ran to the rail, leapt onto the gunwale, and drew a dagger, pointing it at the sky.
The sudden motion drew every eye.
Buggy looked once at Ace, then turned to face Shanks. His voice rang out across the deck:
"I've proven it — there is no such thing as destiny! Mark my words — when next we meet, you will see the true great pirate, Buggy!"
His declaration still echoed as the Terror Ghost shifted course, sailing off into the distance.
On deck, Davy Jones flipped open his compass again. The needle, which had so recently locked onto Shanks, was now spinning once more, endlessly seeking.
Too many prey. Not just one, nor two.
But the slaughter would begin soon enough.
Even after the Terror Ghost vanished from sight, Buggy's passionate words echoed in Shanks' ears.
He hadn't expected his cowardly old comrade to show such boldness today.
So… Buggy too had learned Roger's will. He too knew the truth of Laugh Tale. Most likely Rayleigh had told him.
Shanks shook his head with a smile, yet his own conviction remained firm.
Roger's chosen heir — the one who would stand at the end, as Pirate King — Shanks believed without doubt that it was Luffy.
Every last bet he had was placed on that boy.
Still… perhaps his wager and Buggy's did not truly conflict.
For Davy Jones seemed uninterested in the "One Piece," in Laugh Tale, or in the title of Pirate King.
Strange as it was, his desire seemed focused elsewhere — on the strongest fighters upon the seas.
Kaido. Charlotte Linlin. Shanks himself.
Having caused such a storm at Marineford, Davy Jones would hardly remain quiet in the days to come.
Who would his next target be?
And what of those eerie powers of his? Those drifting wraiths upon the waves… they were even more chilling than Big Mom's "Soul-Soul Fruit."
Shanks, as a Yonko, had long since made peace with death — it was the only way he had survived to this point. Yet he had never before considered what might happen after death.
If I fall… and my soul ends up in Davy Jones' hands… what then?
Shanks' face betrayed nothing. But already, his mind was racing, planning how to deal with Davy Jones.
The Terror Ghost soon reached the waters near Sabaody Archipelago. From there, one could see the great groves rising, and the bubbles drifting up from their sap.
Marineford was not far from Sabaody. Though the transponder snails had been cut mid-broadcast, word of the war — in rumor and fragments — had already spread here.
The entire archipelago was in an uproar.
Some said Whitebeard's crew had been annihilated. Some claimed the navy had been destroyed, all three admirals dead. Others went further still, whispering that Davy Jones' crew was slaughtering everyone in Marineford.
Whatever the truth, Rayleigh disembarked from the Terror Ghost in the midst of this chaos.
As the ship slipped beneath the waves, he stood calmly at the shore, waving — like any ordinary, kindly old man.
A moment later, a black-haired woman strolled out from behind the trees, hips swaying, a cigarette pinched between her fingers.
"So," she asked with a smile, "that was Davy Jones' crew, wasn't it?"
Rayleigh nodded, sitting cross-legged on the ground.
"Shakky… to tell the truth, I find myself wavering."
The former empress of Amazon Lily, two generations past, raised a brow.
"Wavering about what?"
"Perhaps… the world has more than one answer. Perhaps we've been too stubborn. Too convinced in that prophecy."
"Who can say?" Shakky's wide eyes blinked playfully. "Living long has its perks. You get to see new things. Who'd have thought the 'Dark King' would ever change his tune?"
Rayleigh chuckled, shaking his head. Then a thought struck him, and he smiled.
"Your little protégé asked me to send her regards."
"Hancock, eh?" Shakky snorted. "Ungrateful brat. Can't even bother to visit me."
Still, she knew the girl wouldn't likely come. Hancock couldn't leave Amazon Lily — not with the burden she bore. Even her trip to Marineford had only been forced by the navy.
The two of them lingered at Sabaody's shore, watching silently as the ripples of the great war spread outward.
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