The New World.
The sea was turbulent and unforgiving as it crashed against the shores of the Whitebeard Pirates' home base.
At the main pier, a pirate ship of colossal proportions was docked, its peculiar shape resembling that of a giant white whale.
It was a vessel known and feared across the four seas, a symbol of immense power and unwavering family bonds—the flagship of the Whitebeard Pirates, Moby Dick.
'Tap, tap, tap—'
The steady footstep of Vista's boots echoed across the massive, sun-bleached deck.
He passed crewmates swabbing the planks as their laughter and sea shanties filling the air, but he paid them no mind.
His thoughts were a thousand leagues away, in the East Blue, consumed by the words printed on the newspaper tucked securely inside his coat.
As a man who had dedicated his life to the art of the sword, the article was a puzzle he was desperate to solve.
He quickened his pace, his destination the heart of the ship's interior where his captain, his "Pops,"usually held discussion.
He was about to enter the main cabin when a low, hoarse cough from within stopped him in his tracks.
"Pops, your health..." a concerned voice, familiar to all, drifted out.
Vista paused, turning toward the source of the sound.
There sat a man with a golden, pineapple-shaped haircut and a calm, weary expression.
It was Marco the Phoenix, commander of the 1st Division and the crew's de facto second-in-command, his face etched with the familiar worry he always wore when their captain's health was in question.
"Cough... cough..." the deep, rattling sound came again, a sound that sent a pang of anxiety through every crew member who heard it.
Vista's gaze shifted past Marco.
There, on a massive seat that seemed more like a throne, sat a man built like a towering mountain, his colossal body nearly filling the entire space.
He wore a black headband and a white captain's coat, the emblem of their crew emblazoned proudly on its back.
His long, curved white mustache, resembling a crescent moon, was the most iconic symbol of power in the entire world.
He was the ruler of the New World, one of the Four Emperors—"Whitebeard" Edward Newgate.
"Gurararara!" Whitebeard let out a booming laugh, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the very timbers of the ship.
"Don't worry so much, Marco, my son. I'm Whitebeard! A little sickness won't be the end of me!" He reached for a massive gourd of sake, large enough to drown a normal man.
"I'm gonna drink myself silly! Bring me more booze!"
"Pops, you really shouldn't drink anymore," Marco pleaded, stepping closer, his expression a mixture of exasperation and deep concern.
"The nurses said you need to rest."
"Marco, you fool!" Whitebeard grinned, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth.
"Booze is the best medicine for an old pirate like me!"
With a bold motion, he tilted his head back and drank deeply, the liquor sliding down his throat.
"Now that's the stuff!"
His gaze then shifted, finally landing on the waiting Vista.
"Vista, you look like you have something on your mind. You need something?"
Vista took a deep breath, his own expression complicated.
"Pops, I want to go to 'Paradise'."
After hearing the incredible news about Mike from Ace, he had rushed straight here.
As a swordsman who stood among the best in the world, he was desperate to see for himself the man who had earned such shocking praise from Mihawk.
"Hmm?" Whitebeard raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes.
"Paradise? Haven't heard you mention that place in a long, long time, my son."
"Yes, Pops. Ace found some information I need over there. I want to check it out."
"Is this... about that Captain from the newspapers?" Marco interjected, a spark of interest in his own eyes.
"The one who supposedly used a sword style even Mihawk couldn't decipher?"
It was Marco who had first brought the paper to Vista.
When he first saw the article, his immediate thought was that some unscrupulous reporter had exaggerated the story for sales.
A swordsmanship that could stump Mihawk sounded like a fairy tale.
Yet, as he read the detailed description and saw the photo of the aftermath of a duel, a strange sense of authenticity settled in.
He handed the paper to Vista, knowing his brother's passion for the blade.
Sure enough, Vista had become restless as a burning curiosity ignite within him.
"Hmm?" A glimmer of intrigue flashed in Whitebeard's eyes.
Even Marco was this interested.
He set down his drink, the jovial atmosphere in the room shifting slightly. He extended a hand the size of a small table.
"A newspaper? Let me see it."
Without hesitation, Vista pulled the folded newspaper from his coat and handed it to Whitebeard with both hands.
Whitebeard took it, unfolded it and his eyes locked onto the text.
"A Captain from Marine Headquarters?" he read aloud, his voice a low rumble.
"A swordsmanship even Mihawk couldn't see through?"
After quickly scanning the article, the light in his eyes sharpened, the casual demeanor of the old man replaced by the cold, analytical gaze of an Emperor.
His pupils contracted slightly as he realized the gravity of the matter.
"Mihawk... the world's greatest swordsman, whose skill in sword is considered unrivaled..." Whitebeard murmured, his gaze profound.
"And there's actually someone whose techniques he can't see through?"
The news sent ripples through his mind. While his sons saw a fascinating mystery, Whitebeard saw the shifting of tectonic plates on the world stage.
"A swordsman..." he chuckled lightly, a cold glint in his eyes.
"A powerful swordsman implies a powerful physique and a mastery of martial arts. And that, my sons, implies a mastery of Haki. For his skill to earn Mihawk's personal recognition, it means in the path of the sword, he has already touched the absolute pinnacle."
His voice grew heavy with strategic thought, a lesson for the commanders now listening intently.
"If the World Government gives a man like that a powerful Logia or Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit, then without a doubt, a new Admiral candidate will emerge from their ranks. A new Admiral is more than just a fighter; they are a force of nature, enough to tip the entire balance of power in the New World. For the sake of this family, we must be prepared for such changes."
Lost in thought, he looked up at Vista.
"Has Ace found any concrete information on this man?"
"Yes, Pops," Vista nodded firmly, his eyes filled with certainty. "He is Captain Mike of Marine Headquarters, the new aide to Admiral Kizaru. He's currently in Paradise, on the Grand Line, heading for the kingdom of Alabasta."
"Mike?" Whitebeard murmured the name.
"Kizaru's aide?" His brow furrowed, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes as he came to a decision.
He turned to Vista, his gaze exuding an air of absolute command.
"Vista, go to Alabasta. Make contact with this Captain. Gauge his stance—see what kind of 'Justice' he follows. I want to know if he is a mindless dog of the Celestial Dragons, or something more."
"Yes, Pops!" Vista nodded without hesitation, a resolute gleam in his eyes.
However, Whitebeard's orders weren't finished.
His gaze swept across the room before settling on a man with a stern, diamond-hard expression.
"Jozu," Whitebeard's voice grew even deeper.
"You go with Vista."
Jozu, the commander of the 3rd Division, nicknamed "Diamond," looked up from polishing his armored knuckles.
He nodded once, his expression as calm and solid as the gemstone he embodied.
"Understood, Pops."
As Vista and Jozu set off together, a new, powerful piece had just been placed on the grand chessboard of the world, its destination the same as all the others: the desert kingdom of Alabasta.
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