The deep sea—within the waterless cavern, in the City of Fangs, inside the council chamber.
The Davy Jones Pirates were gathered together.
Upon the round table before them lay nautical charts, newspapers, teacups, pastries, and flower vases. True to pirate fashion, their arrangement was crowded and utterly disorderly.
The raven-haired beauty Alvida sat with her head bowed over the newspaper, as always taking charge of distilling key phrases and passages from the reports.
"…For this reason, the world has dubbed the battle the 'War of the Best.' Although the Navy claims total victory, rumors from every quarter strongly suggest that the truth is not so simple…"
She paused, flipped a page, and continued reading:
"…And yet, less than a week since the 'War of the Best,' the struggle for Whitebeard's former territories has already reached a fever pitch. Most of his domains have fallen into the hands of the remaining Yonko…"
Finally, she lowered the paper onto the table and looked toward Davy Jones, seated at the innermost position.
He held a long-stemmed pipe that trailed smoke in one hand, while the other hand idly caressed the coarse, yellowed surface of a sea chart.
After a long silence in the chamber, Davy Jones raised his head. Beneath his squirming visage, his gray-blue eyes gleamed cold and merciless.
"Alvida," he asked, "how stands the situation on Fish-Man Island?"
Alvida immediately replied:
"The Ryugu Palace is still hiding like a turtle in its shell, pretending we're not there. I'm working with Hachi to gather some fish-men to our side—it shouldn't be too difficult. Also, the 'Supernovas' are arriving one after another. In two or three days, they'll be moving on."
Fish-Man Island was practically the only gateway for pirates entering the New World. Neither the Red Line nor the Calm Belt was a feasible option—without official permission, or else far too dangerous.
With Whitebeard's death, countless pirates eager to carve out a share of the New World were practically bursting Fish-Man Island at the seams.
Of course, the seas were vast; a coated ship could bypass Fish-Man Island entirely, but that came with risks. The most reliable route was still to stop there and let the log pose reset.
The Supernovas were doing just that.
Buggy wrinkled his red nose and proposed:
"If you ask me, we should just storm Fish-Man Island outright, topple Neptune, and seize the throne for ourselves!"
But Kuro pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
"No. Fish-Man Island will be our first foothold, our future stronghold. It's too important. We've already established intimidation through the New Fish-Man Pirates. The next step must be winning the people's hearts."
Buggy scowled, unconvinced.
"And how do you plan to do that? The people trust Ryugu Palace a hundred times more than they'll ever trust us—and the palace has made it clear they'll just keep stalling, refusing contact."
"Through those pirates, of course." Kuro adjusted his glasses and glanced sidelong at Davy Jones. "What do you think the Captain has been waiting for these past few days?"
"Ohh…" Buggy's eyes went wide in realization. "You're pulling that trick again."
"Tried and true. If it works, why change it?"
At that moment, Crocodile shifted slightly forward, leaning toward Davy Jones. From the stitches across his eyes gleamed a fierce and swelling ambition.
Everyone noticed and turned their gaze to him.
"Captain," Crocodile began, "Whitebeard's territories have already been divided up among Kaido, Charlotte Linlin, Shanks, and the remnants of the Whitebeard Pirates. Not much remains unclaimed."
When a whale falls, countless creatures feast. The scene was much the same: hordes of lesser pirates had seized abandoned scraps of territory, growing stronger almost overnight.
Davy Jones looked to him. "And what are you suggesting?"
"I believe we must dispatch an advance squadron into the New World," Crocodile declared, "to seize an island—an outpost to complement Fish-Man Island. In time, we'll connect every stronghold into a unified domain."
His reasoning was hard-won. The wars of the New World dragged on for years; without territory as a foundation, one remained at the mercy of others.
He himself had been utterly crushed by the Whitebeard Pirates, his crew annihilated. The memory remained vivid and bitter.
That was why he urged early preparation. Build the foundation now, and future storms would be weathered with strength.
"An advance squadron?" Davy Jones's eyes narrowed. The raven on his shoulder fixed its own beady stare on Crocodile. "And who, in your mind, should go?"
Crocodile had already planned it out.
"Other than yourself, Alvida, and Hachi—who should remain on Fish-Man Island to consolidate support—the rest should advance into the New World."
His words carried calculation. Porche was their navigator; Mikita's ability was invaluable for intelligence; the rest were strong enough to topple an island. Even Buggy, unreliable in appearance, now possessed the strength to stake a claim in the New World.
Leaving Alvida and Hachi behind was a practical matter—they would rally manpower and win the hearts of the island's people, cementing it as the crew's core stronghold.
Davy Jones pondered, set down his pipe, and asked:
"Then who shall lead this force in my stead—securing new lands, repelling all challengers?"
Crocodile bowed his head slightly, his voice steady:
"Captain Davy Jones, entrust this mission to me. I will win you a foothold in the New World."
"Why should I trust you?" Davy Jones asked with a smile. "Why should I place nearly all my elite fighters in your hands?"
The true test had come.
Crocodile had already steeled his resolve during the War of the Best.
He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. Then, before all assembled, he sank to one knee before Davy Jones—a gesture so uncharacteristic it left the pirates stunned.
"Please believe in my ability," Crocodile said, lowering his golden hook and raising his intact right arm. His eyes burned with conviction. "And believe in my loyalty. I willingly offer you my soul, to serve as your crewman for a hundred years—only to help you conquer this sea."
He raised his right arm high above his head, offering it before Davy Jones.
Davy Jones chuckled softly. This time he did not even call upon his trident.
"Your vow is sealed."
A sudden heat coursed through Crocodile's body. He felt his hand sear, and when he glanced down, the Mark of the Pact was already branded upon his skin.
A smile curled his lips. He could hardly wait to wield its power—granting him command of his Suna Suna no Mi even amidst rain and surf. The flaw that had once crippled him was now erased.
"The task of seizing territory in my name is yours," Davy Jones declared. "You'll take the ship abandoned here by the New Fish-Man Pirates."
"I will not fail you," Crocodile said as he rose. "I swear within three years—no, within two—I shall help you become the ruler of the New World."
And not Pirate King in Roger's sense.
Roger's crown had been that of a navigator, an adventurer. Not truly a sovereign of all pirates.
Crocodile would raise Davy Jones to that true throne—the supreme ruler of the New World—while carving his own name in history as the most dazzling of lieutenants.
The others, seeing the matter settled, each voiced their assent, ready to march with Davy Jones's banner into the New World.
This elite squadron—commanded by Crocodile, with Kuro, Law, Buggy, Perona, Mikita, and Porche as its core—was formidable enough to plunge the New World into chaos.
Without delay, the very next day, Crocodile led his six companions aboard their ship and set sail for the New World, aiming for the nearest island from Fish-Man Island.
Davy Jones coated their vessel in a spectral green sheen, letting it rise and sink freely beneath the waves.
So long as they avoided the full might of Kaido, Big Mom, Shanks, or Donquixote Doflamingo, they could handle any other pirate crew they encountered.
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