Lucian Thorn's words—"Let's start with Pops"—were spoken softly.
But they made Whitebeard's mountain-like body tremble.
He stared at Lucian, eyes blazing with a fire so intense, even he couldn't contain the desire in it.
Marco was now fully alert.
He looked at Lucian, then at Whitebeard. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
"This room's too small."
Lucian glanced around the captain's cabin, then snapped his fingers.
"Let's go to Pops' quarters. It's quieter."
A burst of golden light exploded.
The three of them vanished from the captain's cabin—and in the next second, reappeared deep within the Moby Dick, in Whitebeard's private room.
But it didn't look like a bedroom.
It was more like a storeroom packed with top-grade medical equipment.
The air was thick with the smell of medicine that could never quite be scrubbed away.
At the center was a massive bed, surrounded by dozens of IV lines and monitoring devices.
"Gurararara... how many years has it been since I let anyone see me in this sorry state?"
Whitebeard chuckled with a touch of self-mockery. He wasn't one to hide things. Grabbing the front of his shirt with both hands, he tore it open.
Riiip!
And revealed that mighty body of his.
It should have been the most powerful chest in the world.
Now, it was covered in scars.
Blade wounds. Bullet holes. Burn marks. Every one of them was a mark left by battles that could split the heavens.
Even more glaring were the countless needle marks, and the tubes forcefully inserted into his body just to keep him alive.
His skin had turned a sickly pale. The muscles were still massive—but lifeless.
The World's Strongest Man?
What a joke.
Right now, he was just an old lion, chained to a hospital bed.
"Pops..."
Marco's voice was hoarse.
As the ship's doctor, he knew better than anyone—this body had been hollowed out by decades of war, and by the recoil of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit.
Whitebeard didn't care. He walked over to the bed and sat down.
The movement tugged the tubes, and he let out a muffled grunt.
But his gaze locked onto Lucian—without a trace of hesitation.
"Come on then, Lucian."
"Let me see if this healing of yours... is all hot air."
Lucian said nothing in return.
His smile faded bit by bit, replaced by an aura of solemnity that was hard to describe.
He walked up to Whitebeard and extended his right hand.
Buzz.
A golden flame ignited in his palm.
It wasn't hot.
It didn't even radiate heat.
It was pure light—pure life force—carrying an ancient and divine majesty.
Just looking at it made Marco's Phoenix Flames tremble in response.
It was submission. Etched into the bloodline.
"Hold still, Pops."
Lucian's voice was low and steady. He gently placed the hand wreathed in golden flame on Whitebeard's scarred chest.
No explosion. No spectacle.
The golden fire sank silently into the skin.
And then—a miracle began.
The golden flames came alive, transforming into billions of fine golden threads. They surged through Whitebeard's blood vessels, meridians, bones—rushing into every corner of his body!
All those old injuries, those chronic conditions that robbed him of sleep—against this divine power, they were nothing.
Visible to the naked eye, the lingering darkness began to melt away.
"Nngh..."
Whitebeard let out a suppressed growl of pain.
His body tightened like a spring, muscles knotting into steel. Veins bulged wildly beneath his skin.
This wasn't treatment.
This was war.
A holy war, raging within his body—divinity versus corruption.
Those old wounds were souvenirs from battles with Roger, Golden Lion, Garp, Sengoku... with the entire monster-filled era.
They had fused with his very flesh.
"Be gone."
BOOM!
The light in Lucian's palm erupted!
Blinding golden brilliance flooded the room, turning it into a realm of light.
With full support from Solar Divine Power, the flames shifted from purifying… to exorcising.
"ROAAAAR!!"
Whitebeard let out a beastly, inhuman roar.
From his pores, his scars—strands of black and gray energy were forcibly expelled, screaming as they went.
The black strands—scars from the Tremor-Tremor Fruit.
The gray strands—decay left behind by time itself.
The moment they touched air, the golden light incinerated them completely—not even smoke remained.
Marco was stunned.
Mouth hanging open, eyes bulging—his brain couldn't process what he was seeing.
'This… this was a miracle.'
His Phoenix Flames had never been able to do anything for Pops' wounds.
But Lucian—Lucian had just ripped them out by the root, with a method that defied all logic.
And then—
Crack!
Whitebeard's eyes snapped open.
What kind of eyes were those?
No more haze. Those golden pupils now gleamed like blades—burning with the aura of a king that could stir the seas.
His once-hunched back suddenly straightened.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
A series of sharp pops.
The medical lines attached to him snapped apart, torn by the sheer expansion of his muscles.
Beneath his skin, strength was awakening.
He felt it.
He felt it clearly.
That shackle that had weighed on him for decades—the withering weakness that made even swinging his blade hard...
Shattered.
A lightness he had never known before. A power he had long forgotten.
It flooded through every fiber of his being.
"Gurararara..."
Whitebeard stood up slowly. He looked down at his fists—reborn in strength—and let out a deep laugh.
It felt good. So good. Almost no different from how he'd felt at his peak!
The laughter grew louder.
And louder.
Until finally, he threw his head back—and unleashed a thunderous roar to the heavens.
"ROAR!!"
There was no weakness in that roar.
Only the thrill of breaking free.
Only the wildness of rebirth.
Only the authority of a king who ruled the seas.
BOOM!
An overwhelming wave of Conqueror's Haki burst from Whitebeard's body in every direction.
It was too pure.
Too primal.
It pierced through the room, through the thick hull of the Moby Dick, and swept across the entire sea as an invisible shockwave.
On the deck of the Moby Dick, the thousand-plus pirates' faces froze in place.
The next second—
Thud! Thud! Thud!
More than half the rookie crew collapsed in rows, eyes rolled back and frothing at the mouth.
The veteran officers and commanders turned ghostly pale, their bodies trembling.
Jozu's diamond form cracked with hairline fractures.
Vista's hand, still gripping his sword, shook uncontrollably.
All of them felt it—as if an invisible hand had seized their hearts. They couldn't even breathe.
"Th-this… is Pops' Haki?!"
"Did… did Pops just return to his peak?!"
Flower Sword Vista gritted his teeth, voice shaking.
An old veteran—one who had followed Whitebeard since the Roger era—suddenly dropped to his knees, bawling.
In the cabin—
Marco stood frozen, letting the terrifying Haki wash over him. Even his soul trembled.
He could feel it.
That man—whose name alone made the Marines and Emperors tremble.
The man who could split islands with a punch, raise tidal waves with a stomp.
The man who once held the entire sea in check—
The World's Strongest Man.
He… was coming back.
The roar faded.
Whitebeard flexed his body, turned to look at Lucian—those domineering eyes filled with gratitude, awe… and elation.
Lucian retracted his hand, smiling like it was no big deal.
He turned around and looked at the completely stunned Marco, a sly grin forming on his lips.
"Pops is done."
"Now… it's your turn, Marco."