Although from this single exchange Ortoren had been forced into a disadvantage, as the one who had experienced that strike firsthand, he could already sense a certain distance.
That distance wasn't exactly within reach, yet it was no longer impossibly far.
At this moment, Ortoren finally understood—he was now qualified to stand among the absolute elite: Newgate, Roger, Shiki, Garp, Sengoku, and the rest.
Even if he had only just stepped across that threshold, he had truly touched their realm.
But now wasn't the time for reflection. Seemingly oblivious to the pain in his knuckles, Ortoren grinned with fierce excitement as he clenched his fist again, sending droplets of blood flying.
His gaze once more locked onto Newgate high above the sea.
Newgate made no move to pursue. He remained on the deck, Murakumogiri planted beside him, watching Ortoren intently.
In Ortoren's eyes, he saw a clear message: one strike wasn't enough—he wanted another.
And so, a broad, satisfied smile spread across Newgate's face, his silent answer to Ortoren.
Come on, kid.
Without a word, Ortoren saw that smile and the lightning around him flared brighter. In the next instant, he vanished—reappearing directly above Newgate.
Only then did his lightning-swift movement halt. It wasn't to give Newgate an opening, but to gather power.
For the first time since the clash began, Marco and the others finally caught sight of Ortoren's form.
"So fast!!!" Marco muttered, sweat forming at his temples as disbelief filled his eyes.
If he had been standing in Oyaji's place, he likely wouldn't have even perceived that first strike.
To possess such terrifying speed and unleash such overwhelming strength—it was something even his own Oyaji couldn't replicate.
This wasn't merely a difference in strength; it was a difference in ability.
The power of the Goro Goro no Mi truly lived up to its title of "invincible." If that first punch had landed before anyone could react, what would have been the result?
Kozuki Oden had already provided that answer.
This time, it wasn't a punch—it was a downward, battle-axe-style kick.
As it descended, even from a distance, Marco could feel the overwhelming pressure rushing down like a tiger charging from the mountains.
But unlike Marco, Newgate wasn't intimidated. This time, he didn't use Murakumogiri. Instead, he coated his arm with Haki and raised it to block.
A deafening crash followed as Ortoren's ankle collided with Newgate's forearm. The deck beneath Newgate instantly splintered apart. For once, even he couldn't remain fully composed—his feet sank into the deck, braced only by the metal bulkhead below.
Even so, the entire Moby Dick tilted sharply, as if struck by a massive hammer. The ship's stern lifted slightly from the impact.
This was a pure contest of strength between two masters. If Newgate hadn't locked most of Ortoren's immense power within his own body, preventing it from spilling outward, the ship would have been torn apart.
Even a reinforced metal hull couldn't possibly withstand the force of Ortoren's battle-axe-like strike.
How had Jozu fallen into the sea before? It was because he hadn't been able to contain Ortoren's raw might—he'd been smashed straight through the warship's hull and driven into the depths below.
Newgate's expression visibly hardened, his brow furrowing as the arm blocking Ortoren's downward strike began to tremble. It wasn't the result of his own ability but the sheer clash of two overwhelming forces straining against each other.
Ortoren possessed a natural, unstoppable might, yet Newgate's physical power was no less formidable. After all, this was the man who could stop a ship with one hand even when gravely wounded, old, and sick. How could his strength possibly be questioned?
Still, even for someone like Newgate, the pressure from Ortoren's monstrous power was immense. After a few breaths of deadlock, faint tremors began to ripple through Newgate's legs.
In terms of pure strength, both men already knew the answer—Ortoren was stronger.
But the disadvantage still lay with him. Newgate had his feet firmly planted, while Ortoren was suspended in the air, striking downward. The initial burst of power might not have suffered, but in a contest of endurance, Ortoren had no leverage—and without leverage, he couldn't exert his full force.
After about seven or eight breaths of stalemate, Newgate suddenly roared, "Haaah!!!"
The power in his arms surged once more, and with a mighty push, he knocked Ortoren away.
This time, though, Ortoren wasn't sent flying far. He flipped through the air and landed firmly on the broad deck of the Moby Dick.
Unlike after their first exchange, Newgate's expression now carried absolute seriousness. His gaze stayed fixed on Ortoren as he slowly pulled his legs free from the shattered deck.
Looking closer, one could see the toll the clash had taken on him—the muscles along his arm where their powers had collided were sunken and tense, the surrounding skin flushed red, bruises already darkening to a deep violet.
"What terrifying power... truly unforgettable. Exactly the same as before." Newgate flexed his arm, rolling his shoulder twice to ease the lingering discomfort. He looked directly at Ortoren as he finally spoke his first words since their fight began.
Ortoren stared at Newgate's massive, towering frame and couldn't help but sigh.
"Indeed, I'm still not your match..."
"Gurararara! You're barely in your twenties, kid," Newgate laughed heartily. "Thinking of conquering the world already? You're still far too young for that!"
"Comparing myself to the world, huh? Well, as the strongest, you certainly have the right to that arrogance," Ortoren replied, raising an eyebrow in acknowledgment.
After a short pause, Ortoren lifted one finger.
"The final strike. This one—I've been preparing it ever since I first saw you back on Frania Island."
"Frania Island?" A flicker of confusion passed through Newgate's eyes, as though he couldn't quite recall the place. Yet Ortoren spoke as if remembering that first encounter vividly.
Newgate quickly understood, a flicker of realization lighting his eyes.
"So this is the place where you took care of that arrogant brat from Roger's crew?"
"Yeah... you mean Douglas Bullet, right?"
"That's right!" Ortoren nodded.
"Then show me!" Newgate's voice boomed with pride. "The finishing move you value so highly—let me see what kind of power it holds!"
Seeing this, Ortoren wasted no more words. The thunder within his body began to converge, gathering at his raised index finger.
As the energy focused, Newgate's already stern expression grew even heavier. As one of the strongest men on the seas, he could clearly sense the danger radiating from that single finger—a killing aura so sharp it carried the scent of death itself.
"To execute this technique," Ortoren said, his voice steady, "one must channel every ounce of strength into a single point. It demands absolute focus—no distractions. Even if hell lies ahead, one must drive straight through!"
As he spoke, he poured every bit of his spirit, will, and energy into that one strike.
As the power gathered, the lightning armor surrounding him began to fade away. Just as he'd said, to unleash this blow at full power, he needed pure, undivided focus. Defense and evasion no longer mattered—his purpose now was singular. To see it through.
Newgate, ever the proud warrior, didn't interrupt or mock him. Instead, he asked calmly, "What's the name of this strike?"
"Hell Stab · One-Point Pierce." Ortoren's lips curled into a faint smile as he answered.
The instant his words fell, he moved. His figure vanished and reappeared before Newgate, his piercing finger aimed straight for Whitebeard's chest.
That crushing sense of danger engulfed Newgate at once. For the first time, as Ortoren lunged, he chose to dodge.
A flash of crimson light exploded as their figures crossed paths. A streak of lightning—no thicker than a finger, yet blindingly bright—tore through the air, ripping open everything in its path. It shot across the sea like a meteor cutting through the night sky, carving a deep rift that stretched for hundreds, perhaps thousands of meters, before fading beyond the horizon.
"So you dodged after all..." Ortoren murmured, standing behind Newgate, his voice carrying a trace of regret.
Newgate lowered his gaze to his arm. He had avoided the fatal blow. The attack that should have pierced his chest had instead carved a slender wound deep enough to expose bone along his forearm.
He said nothing, and Ortoren made no move to continue. With a smooth motion, he flicked the justice cloak draped across his shoulders. Electricity crackled from his hands as he summoned his sunken warhammer from the depths, drawing it up from the sea where Jozu's ship had fallen.
Gripping the hammer's handle, Ortoren finally spoke with quiet resolve.
"Whitebeard... I've reached your back. Next time, when I'm certain this strike will land, I'll claim the title of the strongest with my own hands."
Though his words carried a note of challenge, Newgate's face broke into a wide, fearless grin.
"Gurararara! It's been years since anyone's dared talk to me like that. But you, kid... you've earned the right to say it."
He raised his head, laughter booming like thunder across the sea.
"Rest assured, I'll be sitting on the throne of the strongest, waiting for you, Benn... Ortoren!"