Sengoku let out a sigh.
The resolve that had always defined his expression had begun to waver, revealing the fear and unease buried deep within him.
Vice Admiral Tsuru slowly crouched down.
Her movements were sluggish and heavy, as though each one drained what little strength she had left.
She carefully gathered the scattered documents from the floor one page at a time, her eyes carrying a rare trace of confusion and helplessness.
Those files contained all kinds of intelligence regarding the Eternal Divine Kingdom.
Yet now, they looked less like useful reports and more like a pile of disordered puzzle pieces, leaving her utterly lost.
"Should we… reassess the Eternal Divine Kingdom's threat level?"
Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, like a breeze brushing across the surface of water, yet it left ripples in the air all the same.
Though quietly spoken, the words struck like a hammer.
Sengoku suddenly turned around, his Fleet Admiral's coat whipping up a gust that made the documents on his desk rustle.
His eyes flashed with fury and determination as he tore a wanted poster from the wall.
On that poster, Ron's excessively young face looked especially glaring beneath the light.
His gaze in the photo was calm and deep, as though hiding countless secrets.
"Contact the Science Unit immediately!"
Sengoku's roar shook the windows like thunder, making the entire room tremble faintly.
"I want every weapon Vegapunk has recently developed! All of them!"
His voice was filled with urgency and expectation, as if he hoped to rely on science to fight this enemy that was growing stronger by the day.
The news spread across Marineford as if it had grown wings.
For a time, the entire base sank into unprecedented panic.
Everyone felt the crisis rushing toward them, yet no one knew what kind of future awaited them.
On the wall of the Fleet Admiral's office, Ron's calm gaze on the torn wanted poster seemed to pierce through all limits of time and space, silently watching the old era as it began to collapse.
...
Loguetown.
There was a fairly famous tavern here called The Voyager, a place like a hidden pearl in the darkness, giving off its own strange charm.
At that moment, dim lights swayed lazily inside the tavern like ghosts, casting every face in shifting patches of brightness and shadow.
Five pirate captains sat around a heavy oak table.
Their figures looked particularly imposing beneath the flickering light.
Spread across the broad table was a finely drawn nautical chart. Its edges had curled slightly from age and repeated use.
On top of the chart lay several unsheathed daggers, their cold blades gleaming, silently hinting at the bloodshed and conflict to come.
"Bloodblade" Jackson from the West Blue had just finished laying out a detailed plan for dividing the profits after their alliance.
Every clause had been carefully calculated.
The tavern owner, sharp-eyed and tactful, immediately caught the signal and quietly pulled the curtain to the inner room shut, giving this secret meeting a deeper layer of privacy.
"Then it's settled!"
"Iron Hook" Morris from the South Blue slammed his hand down on the table, his rough voice echoing through the tavern.
He raised his cup high, his mouthful of gold teeth flashing brightly under the lamplight.
"With the five of us joining forces, using our strength and brains, we can at least seize one rich island in the New World! When that happens, gold, treasure, rare resources—they'll all be ours for the taking!"
Yet before those passionate words could fully fade, the tavern's heavy front door was suddenly slammed open.
The huge crash struck like thunder, shattering the tense but excited atmosphere inside.
A young newspaper boy, his face still childish but full of energy, rushed in while holding up an extra edition that still smelled strongly of fresh ink.
His clothes were somewhat disheveled, and fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Clearly, he had run here the entire way.
"Big news!"
The boy shouted at the top of his lungs, unable to hide his excitement.
"The Big Mom Pirates have been absorbed into the Eternal Divine Kingdom!"
The news exploded through the tavern like a bomb.
Everyone's eyes snapped toward him at once.
The cup slipped from Morris's hand, and ale spread across the sea chart in a dark yellow-brown stain.
Jackson snatched the newspaper away.
When he saw the front-page photo of Charlotte Linlin standing behind Ron, all color vanished from his scarred face.
"What alliance?!"
Jackson suddenly erupted.
The heavy oak table was flipped into the air by him, sending bottles and daggers crashing and scattering across the floor.
His roar made the chandelier above them shake violently.
"Even the Emperors have surrendered! How the hell are we supposed to play this?!"
"One-Eye" Sam from the North Blue sat numbly on an overturned chair, mechanically repeating to himself.
"Impossible… That's Big Mom… She even dared to kill Celestial Dragons…"
In this world full of uncertainty and danger, the strong ruled, while the weak could only be butchered.
And now, even one of the once-lofty Emperors had chosen to surrender.
To the entire sea, this was an enormous blow.
Jackson's fury was understandable.
After all, he had always seen himself as one of the strong. How could he possibly accept a reality like this?
But he also had to understand that strength alone could not solve every problem in this world.
Sometimes, surviving a complicated situation required more than brute force.
It required strategy.
As for Sam, his disbelief only reflected just how powerful Big Mom had been in people's minds.
After all, anyone who dared kill even Celestial Dragons could never be considered ordinary.
And that only made everyone even more curious.
What kind of power could make an enemy that terrifying choose to surrender?
In the corner, where the yellow light flickered unsteadily as though it might be swallowed by darkness at any moment, a rookie captain from the East Blue was curled up alone.
His face was filled with terror and exhaustion.
He had already torn his pirate flag to shreds.
That once-bright banner, which had flaunted all his ambition, was now nothing more than a pile of ragged strips scattered beside his trembling feet.
His fingers shook violently, as if he had caught a fever, while he desperately tried to rip the skull emblem—the symbol of his endless ambition—from the hat on his head.