Tsuru parted her lips slightly.
Her voice was so faint it was almost impossible to hear; if not for the silence around them, it might have been missed entirely.
A trace of indescribable loneliness and emotion showed in her eyes.
Akainu was dead, but in the end, he had still won.
The words were quiet, yet they struck the heart like a heavy hammer.
After saying that, she slowly turned around and looked at Sengoku with a gaze that was both firm and complicated.
In her eyes flickered a mixture of emotions: nostalgia for the past, helplessness toward the present, and worry for the future.
"Look at the Marines now. Every last one of them has become a follower of 'Absolute Justice.'"
Her voice trembled slightly.
Sengoku sat silently at the table, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the Fleet Admiral's seal that symbolized supreme authority.
His thoughts drifted back to the past.
There had once been a time when he and Garp had argued until their faces turned red over so-called "radical justice."
Back then, each of them had stood by his own beliefs, refusing to yield, both convinced that the justice they upheld was the correct path to maintaining peace in the world.
Yet time passed, and the world was unpredictable.
Now, the entire Marine organization had no choice but to walk this blood-soaked, iron-fisted path.
Outside the window, the afterglow of the setting sun spread like blood, dyeing the flag of Marine Headquarters crimson.
That vivid color snapped in the breeze, as if speaking of the war and slaughter that were about to come.
The synchronized marching of soldiers sounded like dense war drums, striking the earth again and again, and striking the hearts of everyone who heard them.
That powerful, ringing cadence foretold that a bloody storm was about to sweep over the world.
And the Marines would either charge forward through that flood…
Or be swallowed by it without mercy.
...
The sea trembled.
The Marines had issued a severe directive that could only be called a "Kill Order," determined to carry out a full-scale purge of the pirates who ran rampant and brought harm wherever they went.
The news was like a bomb dropped into the sea, instantly causing an uproar across the waters of the New World.
The New World had always been a place where adventure and danger existed side by side.
But now, an unprecedented storm was sweeping across the entire sea with overwhelming force.
And the source of it all was the "Kill Order" solemnly signed by Sengoku.
With the help of the News Coo, the order spread across the world as if it had grown wings.
Whether in bustling ports or remote, lonely islands, the news caused waves as violent as a raging storm.
"Extra! Extra! Major news! The Marines have officially issued a terrifying Kill Order!"
In streets and alleys, people rushed to tell one another, their voices full of shock and awe.
"From this day onward, all pirates who dare commit crimes will face the harshest punishment! No mercy!"
Those forceful words were like a declaration of justice, echoing through every corner.
"If pirates can be captured alive, then so much the better. But if they cannot be captured, then there is no need to show mercy. Execute them all on the spot!"
That decisive, ruthless attitude displayed the Marines' determination to maintain peace.
Such a hardline method was called by the world "the bloodiest strategy in history."
And yet, it was all to protect the peace of this blue sea, to safeguard the lives and property of innocent civilians, and to let the light of justice shine upon every inch of land.
...
The next day.
The Sabaody Archipelago at dawn was still wrapped in layers of thin mist, like gauze drifting between the uneven rows of buildings.
From deep within the alleys came the slightly hoarse yet piercing shout of a newspaper boy.
"Big news! The Marines have issued a Kill Order!"
That shout was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, instantly shattering the quiet of the early morning.
Then came an even more shocking declaration, ringing out beneath the sky.
"All pirates are to be killed without exception! No surrender will be accepted!"
A young newspaper boy wearing a faded cap darted along the stone-paved road of Grove 61, waving freshly printed newspapers in his hands.
The ink on the pages had not yet dried, and the paper gleamed fresh under the morning sun.
The headline, printed in scarlet letters, was especially dazzling, like a burning flame.
Pedestrians along the road were all drawn in by the sudden news and stopped to watch.
A merchant who was unloading cargo froze in shock, the basket in his hands slipping free and falling to the ground.
Fruits, vegetables, and seafood scattered everywhere, but he did not even notice.
"Give me one too!"
Someone anxiously reached out, and coins clinked into the newspaper box.
An old man passing by adjusted his reading glasses, then read the headline word by word with trembling fingers.
He muttered in disbelief, "This… This truly isn't a joke?"
A wave of discussion broke out among the crowd.
Someone clenched his fist and shouted, "This should have been done long ago! Those evil pirates should all be wiped out!"
Others excitedly waved their arms in agreement.
"That's right! We have to support the Marines in upholding justice!"
The entire street immediately boiled over.
...
In Grove 13, where dappled sunlight spilled across the ground, the area carried a unique charm worn into it by the years.
There, Shakky's Rip-off Bar stood like a hidden pearl amid the noise.
A few slightly old but spotless wooden tables and rattan chairs were placed in front of the entrance.
The faint scent of alcohol lingered around them, along with an easy, relaxed atmosphere.
The coating craftsman Rayleigh sat lazily beside one of the tables, holding a glass of amber-colored wine.
He tilted his head back slightly and took a small sip, letting the mellow liquid slide slowly down his throat as he enjoyed the peace and comfort of the morning.
Just then, the newspaper boy's crisp, loud cry cut through the tranquility like a blade.
"Extra! Extra! Big news!"
The voice echoed down the street, startling several sparrows perched beneath the eaves. Even the calm amber liquid in Rayleigh's glass rippled because of the sudden shout.
In that instant, something unexpected happened.
There was a sharp crash.
The wine bottle slipped from Rayleigh's relaxed fingers without warning.
Like a meteor that had lost control, it fell straight toward the wooden steps and shattered instantly.
Glass fragments flew in every direction, and wine spilled freely, forming a wet stain across the steps.
The legendary man who had once shaken the seas, the one known as the "Dark King," slowly rose to his feet.
His posture was still straight.
Though the years had carved deep marks into his face, the innate dominance about him had not diminished in the slightest.
His silver-white brows knitted tightly together, like two tangled bolts of lightning, revealing the shock and unease in his heart.
With swift reflexes, he snatched the ink-scented newspaper from the boy's hand.
Those eyes, weathered by time and witness to countless moments of history, contracted violently like torches suddenly lit.
Deep within his pupils, a complicated light flickered.
"This…"
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