The rhythmic sound of boots striking against stone echoed across the docks of G-3.
Renn Hawk stood at the front, his presence sharp as a drawn blade, leading the entire force of G-3 in formation. Every soldier stood straight-backed, eyes blazing with discipline and resolve, awaiting the arrival of the five elite Vice Admirals dispatched from Marine Headquarters.
Five colossal battleships loomed as they slowly pulled into harbor, their shadows swallowing the dock in darkness.
Vice Admirals like Doberman and Onigumo, names whispered in fear even in the turbulent waters of the New World, descended the gangplanks, their handpicked veterans marching in step behind them.
Renn's eyes narrowed. He raised his hand in a crisp, flawless salute.
Like a ripple spreading outward, thousands of soldiers behind him mirrored his movement with absolute synchronicity. The sound of thousands of arms slicing the air blended into one sharp note, like the unsheathing of a thousand swords.
That aura of killing intent cold, sharp, unflinching washed over the newcomers. Even these battle-hardened Vice Admirals and their seasoned troops faltered for the briefest moment, their boots slowing against the stone.
Almost instinctively, the five Vice Admirals returned the salute. Their gazes traveled past Renn to the sea of men and women standing like steel statues.
"This…" Doberman's pupils contracted.
Sweat still clung to these soldiers' bronze-toned skin, evidence of the grueling drills they had just endured, yet their posture was unwavering. They stood like molten iron forged into pikes, driven deep into the earth, immovable.
But more than the physical their eyes.
These were not the dulled eyes of soldiers ground down by routine discipline. Nor were they the weary gazes of veterans numbed by endless wars.
No what Doberman saw was something far more dangerous.
A focus so sharp it burned. A thirst for blood. A hunger for battle.
His chest tightened. Are you kidding me?
These were soldiers from a so-called Paradise branch?
This army could be thrown into the New World tomorrow to clash with the Four Emperors' elites and they would not falter.
No wonder Admiral Sakazuki had warned them so sternly before departure. No wonder he had spoken of Renn Hawk with that rare glint of respect in his eyes.
For if subordinates could be tempered into weapons like these, then what sort of man must their commanding officer be?
The five Vice Admirals' eyes converged on the young man standing at the very front.
Renn Hawk.
They had spoken of his name more than once on their voyage.
The young monster who had rocketed from a mere branch lieutenant colonel to a Headquarters Rear Admiral.
The "future of the Marines," personally endorsed by Fleet Admiral Sengoku and all three Admirals.
The Blood Hawk who had obliterated Mock Town with bombardment the day he took command.
But standing before him in person, the impact was tenfold. Renn stood with calm composure, yet the weight of his presence pressed down on them subtly, invisibly, like a mountain looming in silence.
The five men exchanged brief glances, finding their own shock reflected in each other's eyes.
This was no ordinary Rear Admiral. This was a man whose personal strength was terrifying, but perhaps even more frightening was his ability to command.
"Welcome to G-3, Vice Admirals." Renn lowered his arm. His voice was calm, warm, with just the faintest trace of steel beneath it.
The instant his arm dropped, thousands of soldiers did the same. No delay, no noise, no hesitation.
The oppressive killing aura vanished as swiftly as it had come, replaced by a heavy but steady calm.
"You've endured a long journey," Renn added with a smile, stepping forward.
He knew well enough. Though their official orders said assistance, in truth these five Vice Admirals and their fleets had been permanently integrated into G-3. And as the supreme commander here, it was his duty to welcome them into what was now their new home.
"It is nothing. This is our duty," Doberman replied gruffly, forcing a smile onto his stone-hard face.
The others Onigumo, Dalmatian, and their peers managed stiff expressions of their own. These were not men accustomed to polite courtesies.
"Come," Renn said, gesturing with an open palm. "Allow me to show you around."
The Vice Admirals nodded. With a wave of their hands, their troops began unloading crates of supplies. Weapons, rations, medical kits, building materials all of it essential for the expansion of G-3 into a fortress worthy of its new role.
The Vice Admirals followed Renn as he guided them deeper into the base. Their heavy steps echoed against stone walls that would soon become the beating heart of Marine operations.
Meanwhile, far away in the waters near the ruins of Mock Town.
The air cracked with frost. Bone-chilling cold spread across the waves, freezing a pirate vessel solid in seconds, trapping screaming men in a coffin of ice.
Five nameless, numberless Marine battleships stood like an iron wall, sealing this sea completely. No vessel would enter without being seen. None would escape.
At the prow of one such ship stood Kuzan. His breath fogged the air as he exhaled, the smoke-like white mixing with the sea mist.
They had been here for a day, waiting. Waiting for the Knock Up Stream.
"Man…" Kuzan scratched his messy black curls. "That makes three, huh?"
Behind him, a Marine captain stepped forward. "Yes, Admiral Aokiji. Since the news spread that Rear Admiral Hawk erased Mock Town from the map, pirates have been flocking here in droves."
Kuzan gave a lazy chuckle. "One by one, they line up to die."
But his gaze was sharp. Every pirate crew destroyed here meant less weight on Renn Hawk's shoulders back at G-3. That was enough for him.
"Admiral!" a lookout shouted from the mast. "The sea is changing! Temperature and current shifting violently!"
Kuzan's half-closed eyes snapped open, sharp as shards of ice. He turned toward the horizon.
The ocean roared.
Without warning, a monstrous whirlpool ripped into existence, swallowing the sea around it. Then
"BOOM!"
A pillar of water over a hundred meters wide exploded skyward, a liquid tower linking sea to sky.
The Knock Up Stream.
Marines gaped in awe as the world itself seemed to split apart.
"Steady yourselves!" Kuzan called calmly, hands shoved in his pockets as he stepped onto the rail of the prow.
"Ice Age."
Cracks snapped through the air. Frost burst outward from his foot, spreading in a great arc. In seconds, a massive shelf of ice thicker than a castle wall, larger than an island had formed beneath the five battleships, holding them fast as if cradled in giant hands.
The water pillar struck.
"BOOM!"
The ice continent lifted, the battleships rising with unstoppable momentum. The sea shrank below them, turning into a blue coin as they soared higher, higher.
Wind howled. The ocean fell away.
Kuzan stood unmoving at the prow, his Justice coat whipping wildly behind him. His hair lashed across his face, but his eyes his eyes never left the sky above.
The sea of clouds stretched endlessly overhead. The White Sea.
"Hold on tight," Kuzan muttered, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "We're flying."
The fleet hurtled skyward, racing toward the legendary Skypiea.
Toward the unknown.
Toward the future of the Marines.
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