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Impel Down, Level Six—The Eternal Hell.
Years ago, Arthur had released all of its most vicious criminals, killing any who refused to follow him. As a result, this level of the great prison was now sparsely populated.
In the time since, only a mere handful of new prisoners had been deemed worthy of its depths.
And now, with the Golden Lion Shiki's escape, the place felt even more desolate. One or two half-dead pirates moaned weakly in the distance, their sounds swallowed by the oppressive silence.
It was a realm of complete darkness, saturated with a bone-chilling atmosphere. Redfield was here, in the deepest cell.
Heavy shackles had been placed upon him. Thick iron chains bound his hands and feet, and custom-made manacles were locked around his waist and neck, the chains stretching to the iron walls where they were welded fast.
The chains bore no trace of rust. They were new—a recent addition, a precaution to prevent one of the world's strongest men from escaping.
Arthur's escape had clearly been an inside job.
Because of this, Impel Down had remained confident in its own security, believing that without help, no one could break out. But the Golden Lion's recent escape—achieved through the brutal act of severing his own legs—had served as a grim wake-up call.
To prevent anyone from using the same gruesome method, they now employed a double insurance policy. It didn't matter if the prisoner was a master of physical combat or a Devil Fruit user who had pushed their abilities to the limit—they all received the same treatment.
Still want to escape? You'd have to not only sever your own hands and feet, but also cut off your own waist and neck.
If you could escape after that, then you were truly something special.
Without outside help, escape was truly impossible.
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"To think they would treat me like this..." A strained smile touched Redfield's lips. It was impossible to say if it was a bitter laugh, a sign of unwillingness, or simple resignation. No one could know what he was thinking.
But the twilight aura around him had grown heavier. The signs of age were now unmistakable. There was no longer a single trace of his noble, aristocratic bearing. The dark, vampiric elegance he had once possessed had been ground to dust by this filthy prison.
Redfield had well and truly entered his final years.
'Shiki has been out for a few days now. The fact that he hasn't been sent back means he's in the clear. I wonder how he's faring out there?'
'And I wonder... was rejecting that brat Arthur's invitation the right choice, or the wrong one?'
When you are locked away day after day, with nothing to do, nothing to pass the time, your mind turns inward. You pour all your energy into thought.
They say that a man who goes to prison and then comes out is transformed from the inside out.
Either he has an epiphany and turns over a new leaf, or he becomes even more hardened, completely lost to the wrong path. There are two extremes.
If it were Arthur, he would become even more unbroken. Nothing could erode his conviction. His arrogance and pride were etched into his very soul. And if it were a younger Redfield, perhaps he too would have held to his aloofness, never compromising...
But now, Redfield was old.
When a man grows old and then suffers a series of defeats, the fire in his heart, the sharpness of his spirit—it can all be extinguished in an instant.
With his ambition gone, his perspective had shifted. He would either become more carefree, or more stubborn.
There were two paths before Redfield now. The first: to die of old age in Impel Down, to spend the rest of his life facing an endless loneliness and darkness, until the very end.
The second: to compromise with Arthur, to accept his rescue, to become the first mate of the Thunder God Pirates, and to use their power to find the Devil Fruit he so desired.
Loneliness... Redfield did not fear it. He had always been a lone wolf. He was accustomed to a solitude that had seeped into his bones. But to die in obscurity in this place... The thought of the decay that awaited him—the wrinkled skin, the white hair, the lost teeth... he was terrified.
He was afraid of growing old.
The choice between the two outcomes didn't seem so difficult.
But he was "Red the Aloof," Patrick Redfield, one of the legends of the old era. To ask him to compromise with an emperor of the new era...
In the darkness of the Eternal Hell, Redfield's heavy breathing could be heard. He was trapped in an agonizing choice, his mind at war with itself.
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Sabaody Archipelago.
After a battle that had not been entirely serious, it was lucky the island had not been completely destroyed. Now, only about two-thirds of the mangrove trees remained.
The rebuilt Shakky's Rip-Off Bar was located in the quiet Grove 13 area.
It was a tranquil place, with little foot traffic. It was hard to say why the money-loving Shakky had opened her bar in such a location.
Inside the small bar, rows upon rows of famous liquors from all over the world were displayed. It even had the wine brewed from the sap of the mutated trees on Raijin Island, which was incredible, seeing as that wine had only just been created and was supplied exclusively to captain-level figures.
From this alone, it was clear that the woman known as Shakky's abilities were nothing short of extraordinary.
Three people were sitting at the bar.
Rayleigh, Shakky, and Crocus—the world's number one doctor, who was supposed to be at the Twin Capes watching over the giant whale, Laboon.
Rayleigh was holding a newspaper, the light from the door reflecting off his glasses, obscuring his expression.
"So the Golden Lion is out... not entirely unexpected. A pity for Redfield, though. His security will likely be even tighter now."
"He's already reached the New World, all on his own. I wonder what kind of chaos he'll cause," Shakky said nonchalantly, her chin resting on one hand, the cigarette between her fingers slowly burning, the long ash never falling.
She had her finger on the pulse of the world. Her knowledge of the sea's affairs was perhaps even greater than that of Morgans. No matter what happened, it was difficult for it to escape her notice.
Shakky's Rip-Off Bar didn't just sell wine—it also sold information. In the underworld, she was known as the "Information Broker." There were very few things she didn't know.
"A pity he had to break his own legs to escape. The Golden Lion's glory days are gone for good."
As a doctor, and one of the best on the seas, Crocus could tell at a glance the state of the Golden Lion's body. He was a hollow shell of his former self. The ship's helm in his head had already cost him half his life. Now, without his legs, he was a lion without fangs or claws.
Still a lion, yes. But no longer a threat to the sea.
"The old era has finally passed, hasn't it? Besides that old fellow Whitebeard, the world now belongs to the new era... to brats like Arthur," Rayleigh said, putting down the newspaper and taking a sip of his drink.
In the end, the era buries the glory of the older generation in the past. A new leader will always appear.
This was the sea... it never changed, silently welcoming every storm.
"Oh, that's right," Shakky said, taking a drag from her cigarette and blowing out a few smoke rings.
"Arthur's injuries are very severe. Garp's all-out attack nearly crippled him. I hear the Thunder God Pirates are now searching the world for a famous doctor. Are you going to pay him a visit, Crocus?"
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