The duel that later generations of historians and newsmen would embroider into legend raged for three days and three nights.
By day, the two pirate crews who stood at the very peak of the seas slammed into each other with the oldest, purest kind of force.
Roger's Divine Departure met Edward Newgate's Gura Gura power as equals, Rayleigh's sword light crossed with Marco's blue phoenix flame, and Scopper Gaban's twin axes rang like anvils against Jozu's diamond hide.
The aftershocks of Haki plowed the middle of the island again and again. With every clash the sky seemed to change color.
Yet when night fell, an unwritten truce settled over the shore.
The fighting stopped on a breath. Both sides withdrew to their own fires and lit the night with torches.
Enemies who had been trying to kill each other by noon now raised cups across a crater by dusk.
"Hey, Newgate. You got any wine left over there?" Roger bellowed.
"Gurara. If you want it, come get it yourself, Roger," Whitebeard roared back.
Then something marvelous happened.
A Roger crewman with his arm bandaged and cursing under his breath trudged into the Whitebeard camp, not for revenge but to swap for a clean roll of gauze.
From the other side, Thatch sauntered straight into enemy lines with a platter of perfectly charred sea-beast ribs, just to trade for a bottle of West Blue firewater that only Roger's ship carried.
By the third evening, when Roger and Whitebeard traded one more earthshaker and both skidded back laughing, the ridiculous war naturally ripened into an even more ridiculous banquet.
"Leave everything on you" turned into a full-blown gift exchange.
Six-six-six, flawless mask change, no penalties.
"Hahaha. Newgate, I am absolutely keeping this gaudy flintlock you lifted off the Marines," Roger crowed, shouldering a pistol whose muzzle was set with a ridiculous gemstone.
"Gurara. That hat is decent. I will give it to Oden to use as a bowl," Whitebeard said, dropping a captured Marine officer's cap onto Kozuki Oden's head, which earned an ecstatic "ooooh" from the samurai.
Faces were bruised and wrapped, yet grins were easy and unguarded.
Men slung arms around old rivals, traded food and booze and even trophies "borrowed" from each other's ships, bragged about the day's heroics, got called out without mercy, grappled, then were peeled apart and force-fed another pull of liquor.
Loud, chaotic, strangely harmonious.
Kael Grylls sat on a thick branch above it all, legs dangling.
He munched an apple stolen from who-knows-where and looked down on the carnival below like a theatergoer savoring a perfect scene.
This is piracy.
Strong, free, willful. Collide with the simplest honesty, make peace with the same.
That is Roger's magic, drawing in monsters just as pure, like Whitebeard.
Kael's gaze slid off the two titans howling atop a giant fungus and came to rest on a quieter corner of the feast.
There, a silent standoff.
Well now, how did I miss that. That has to be Blackbeard.
Marshall D. Teach stood at the edge of Whitebeard's circle, arms crossed and posture stiff.
His eyes never left the two across the flames, Shanks and Buggy.
"Captain Marco," Teach murmured without looking away, "those two on Roger's side, the redhair and the red nose, are they apprentices?"
Marco followed his line, yawned lazily. "Ah, Shanks and Buggy. Been aboard a long time already, practically veterans."
"I see." Teach's eyes narrowed. "They don't look that strong."
Across the crater, the mood was very different.
"Hey, Shanks," Buggy whispered, shuffling up as if leaking a state secret. "You see that guy in the cap over there?"
Shanks mumbled around his drink, "Yeah, saw him. What about it?"
"He…" Buggy's face went from sly to horrified, his red nose somehow redder. "He hasn't slept once in three nights."
Shanks shrugged. "So he doesn't sleep. Want a medal for that?"
"Idiot." Buggy stamped hard enough to squeak, voice going sharp with panic. "That's not the point. I overheard Whitebeard's men. That guy, that guy has never slept since he was born. His life is twice as long as everyone else's."
He gulped, staring at Teach like he'd spotted a cryptid. "That's a monster, Shanks."
Shanks scratched his head, unsure what part of that was most terrifying.
What neither of them knew was that on the other side of that stare-down, the future Emperor called Blackbeard, for all his mouth, was under serious psychological duress.
Marshall D. Teach kept his arms crossed while a bead of sweat crept down his temple.
His glare was glued to Buggy while a gale spun in his head.
That red nose…
Why does he keep staring at me?
First night, he stared at me.
Second night, still staring.
Tonight, night three, he is still staring like he has discovered the world's darkest secret and I am the secret.
Teach felt a chill run between his shoulder blades.
Kael nearly burst out laughing.
Buggy: That guy is terrifying, three days and nights without sleep.
Teach: That guy is terrifying, three days and nights staring at me.
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