Kuraigana Island.
Inside the gloomy ancient castle, candlelight flickered softly.
The world's greatest swordsman, Dracule Mihawk, sat alone in a high-backed armchair.
Before him, a visual Den Den Mushi was broadcasting the battle at Marineford.
He had only just awakened. Those hawk-like eyes still carried a trace of drowsiness.
A glass of fine red wine swirled gently in his hand, releasing a rich, mellow aroma.
But the moment the broadcast focused on the green-haired swordsman wreathed in blood-red aura,
Mihawk's hand froze in midair.
His gaze sharpened instantly, as though it could pierce through the screen and reach that distant battlefield.
A flash.
A blood-colored slash so fast it nearly escaped perception.
"Flower Sword" Vista, a renowned master swordsman, was defeated in a single strike.
Mihawk saw it clearly.
That young marine's sword was no longer mere technique.
It was a path.
A way that fused will, killing intent, and even the soul itself into the blade.
"A new-generation great swordsman of the Marines…"
A rare excitement surfaced in Mihawk's eyes.
"I wonder, do you have any interest in the title of world's strongest?"
At that moment, the screen shifted.
Renn Hawk's fist clashed violently with Shanks' blade in midair.
Mihawk slowly leaned back into his chair and drained the wine in one gulp.
"Shanks…"
"For some reason, I have a feeling you may have miscalculated this time."
...
Sabaody Archipelago.
Shakky's Rip-Off Bar.
The bar, usually lively and noisy, was completely empty.
Only the sounds of slaughter from the visual Den Den Mushi echoed through the room.
An elderly man with silver hair drank in silence.
He wore a simple shirt and shorts, round glasses resting on his nose, and his neatly groomed white beard framed a face marked deeply by time.
The scar running across his right eye added a quiet gravity to his presence.
Silvers Rayleigh.
Once known as the right hand of the Pirate King, now a humble coating craftsman.
He stared at the screen, at Whitebeard's battered and blood-soaked body, sorrow and loneliness filling his eyes.
"Newgate…"
"So even you are leaving now…"
Rayleigh emptied his glass of strong liquor in one go.
Whitebeard was about to fall.
An era truly was coming to an end.
Then the appearance of the Red-Haired Pirates sparked a glimmer of light in his clouded eyes.
It was Shanks, that kid.
He had come to stop the war.
But what followed made Rayleigh's heart sink.
That marine rear admiral, Renn Hawk, also possessed top-tier Conqueror's Haki.
Not only did he stand toe to toe with Shanks, he directly launched an assault on the Red-Haired Pirates.
Crack.
The glass in Rayleigh's hand shattered.
He slowly rose to his feet.
Roger's son, Ace, was dead.
He had been powerless to stop it.
His old rival, Whitebeard, was about to die.
And again, all he could do was watch.
But Shanks was a child he had watched grow up.
He could not sit idly by any longer.
Rayleigh's eyes sharpened to a blade's edge.
As someone who once stood at the very summit of the seas, he could see it clearly.
That marine, Renn Hawk, was incredibly strong.
His power was no less than Garp or Sengoku in their prime.
But unlike those two old men,
Renn Hawk was younger, more decisive, and far colder.
Rayleigh and the Marines shared an unspoken understanding.
He abandoned the title of Dark King and lived quietly in Sabaody, keeping out of world affairs.
In return, the Marines turned a blind eye to his existence.
But now…
Shanks was in danger.
Should he intervene?
Rayleigh struggled fiercely within himself.
Footsteps sounded.
A graceful figure emerged from the shadows of the bar.
Short black hair, sharp and neat. A slender cigarette held between her fingers.
The owner of the bar, Shakky.
She walked to Rayleigh's side, picked up the bottle on the counter, and refilled his empty glass.
"Rayleigh, according to my information," she said, eyes on the screen,
"including the 'Knight of the Sea' Jinbe just now, three Warlords have been completely erased within just a few months."
She exhaled a thin stream of smoke.
"The Whitebeard Pirates are finished."
"At the entrance to the New World, Kaido of the Beasts has been stopped by Garp."
"And Big Mom is busy claiming Whitebeard's former territories."
Shakky stubbed out her cigarette.
"Rayleigh."
"This war can no longer be interfered with by any outside force."
"So don't do anything foolish."
Rayleigh's hand paused slightly as he lifted his glass.
"Look over there."
"Hm?"
Rayleigh followed the direction of Shakky's finger.
It was a spot beneath the execution platform.
That had originally been Fleet Admiral Sengoku's command position.
But now…
Sengoku sat leisurely on a chair that had come from who knew where.
He surveyed the battlefield, which had completely tilted in the Marines' favor, and smiled with satisfaction.
Then, the supreme commander of the Navy calmly pulled out a bag of rice crackers from his pocket.
Crack.
He tore it open, took one out, and popped it into his mouth.
Rayleigh's pupils contracted sharply.
"See?" Shakky said softly.
"Other than that initial clash of Conqueror's Haki with Whitebeard, Sengoku hasn't lifted a finger the entire time."
"What difference would it make if you went now?"
Rayleigh fell silent.
An old man coating ships in Sabaody, teaching the occasional talented youngster, what else could he really do?
He sighed.
Then lifted the bottle and drank, one gulp after another.
Only alcohol could numb the ache in his heart.
Shakky watched his lonely figure and shook her head gently.
Her gaze returned to the screen.
"A new era, led by the Marines…"
"It has arrived."