On the other side of the New World, the navy under Admiral Kong was pressing hard against the remnants of the Rocks Pirates. Affiliated groups were hunted down, and even the member nations of the New World felt the crushing weight of forced naval suppression.
Then came the news that shook the seas.
"What? Fleet Admiral Kukulkan and Gabriel… completely annihilated?!"
Kong's hands trembled as he lowered the Den Den Mushi. His voice cracked with disbelief. Only days ago, Kukulkan had been instructing him like a stern mentor, and now… Brook had him.
It was impossible. The Fleet Admiral wielded the mythical power of the Quetzalcoatl. Gabriel commanded storms themselves. How could they not have escaped? How could they have fallen so easily?
But the report was clear. Both were gone.
The navy had paid dearly—Raphael of the Divine Knights slain to cripple Rocks, countless captains of pirate crews butchered, swaths of New World raiders crushed. By rights, they should have claimed victory.
Yet the Hell Pirates stood untouched. Worse, they had obliterated another main force of the navy.
Kong felt cold sweat trickle down his back. If Brook's crew chose now to strike, their branch in the New World—and all its allied nations—would crumble.
"The Hell Pirates…" he muttered, clenching his jaw. "They really are the world's number one pirate crew."
Immediately, he set intelligence units on constant watch for their movements and ordered the defensive lines pulled tight. Every officer knew the truth: if the Hell Pirates attacked, they would bleed heavily. Perhaps fatally.
Word spread quickly. The navy, once triumphant, fell into a shadow of panic. The very name of the Hell Pirates stole the air from men's lungs.
Under that suffocating pressure, elites such as Sengoku, Zephyr, and even the iron-fisted Garp threw themselves into training. If the admirals of tomorrow did not rise now, the navy's hope would flicker out.
Far above the world, in the Holy Land of Marijoa, rage echoed within Pangaea Castle.
"Two more Divine Knights killed! Unforgivable!"
Celestial Dragons with towering hair shrieked across the chamber. "Deploy the National Treasure! Brook and Rocks must be destroyed!"
The list of losses was staggering: four Divine Knights, one Marine Fleet Admiral, two admirals, two candidates, and more than a dozen Celestial Dragons. Eight centuries had passed since the World Government last suffered such devastation.
The nobles trembled in outrage. These scourges had to be eradicated.
"Lord Im has spoken," one elder dragon said coolly. His hair was as white as snow. "The next deployment of the National Treasure will require greater power. More sacrifices."
The chamber fell silent. Everyone knew what that meant. Two heirs from each family, no exceptions.
The families already scarred by God Valley's disaster clutched their robes tighter.
"Why must it always be us?" snarled the chief of the Donquixote line. "Other families should bleed this time!"
But no one wanted to part with their dwindling heirs. Centuries of inbreeding had withered their bloodlines; new pure-blooded offspring were rare jewels.
Then a cold, cruel voice cut through the bickering.
"Why not the Nefertari of Alabasta? They abandoned us centuries ago. Traitors do not deserve mercy."
Murmurs of agreement rose. "Yes. Leave them only a branch to inherit. The rest… pruned."
One by one, heads nodded. Thirteen voices declared their assent. The decision was made. The CP organization would act, and the Nefertari clan would vanish quietly from history.
Meanwhile, in the chamber of the Five Elders, the tone was grim.
"Abandon the New World defenses. Withdraw our strength. Kong must return to take up the Fleet Admiral 's mantle."
"And the Admiral's seat?"
"Zephyr and Sengoku are not yet qualified. Their strength is unripe."
"Then should we ask the Celestial Dragons for another Knight of God?"
"Impossible. They are cursing us as bitterly as the pirates."
"Then a world conscription?"
The bald elder frowned. "No. To conscript now would admit to the world that we cannot contain the New World. That will shake faith in the Government itself."
Reluctant silence followed. Finally he said, "We will report directly to Lord Im. He will decide."
If the Sun God Nika had not appeared, if the Ancient Weapons still slumbered, then perhaps the balance was not yet broken.
Orders rippled outward. Kong returned to Marineford, draped in medals, though his heart was heavy. Admirals pressed their troops into suppressing pirate remnants but no longer dared hunt New World giants. The navy abandoned the chaotic seas, pulling back behind the walls of allied defenses.
And in Alabasta, far to the south, a royal tragedy struck.
The palace walls echoed with silence. The side branch of the Nefertari line had staged a coup—or so the world was told. By dawn, they had all slaughtered each other, every man, woman, and child.
Only one branch remained.
In Albana's royal chamber, King Jago sat trembling. His fists bled from clenching. Once, his clan numbered over a hundred. Now only he, his young wife, and his two-year-old son remained.
Little Cobra toddled through empty halls, too young to understand why the palace had grown so deathly quiet.
Jago's wife asked no questions, her eyes wide with unspoken fear. He had not told her. He could not.
He knew the truth. The other nineteen Celestial Dragon families had marked them for culling. The CP agents had turned their kin into "traitors," rebels to be executed under the guise of justice.
As one of the original twenty kings, Nefertari Jago now felt the weight of true despair.
He pressed his forehead to the cold stone wall, tears streaking down his face.
"Why… why are they so cruel?"
Hatred burned inside him, hotter than grief. But he swallowed it. If he spoke, if he let it slip, his wife and child would be slain before his eyes.
For now, he had to obey. To survive.
And yet he knew this bitter truth: if not for Im's decree that every family must leave behind an heir, the Nefertari line would already have been erased.
------------
Nefertari Jago carried his hatred in silence. Though he longed to curse the heavens, he forced himself to endure. He would train Cobra not as an avenger, but as a benevolent king. Revenge against the Celestial Dragons was beyond their reach; burdening his child with hatred would only destroy him.
No one knew the pain hidden in Jago's heart—and he would never let anyone know.
Far away, the Celestial Dragons had already seized the remaining members of the Nefertari side branches, dragging them to Mary Geoise. They would be sacrificed to the "National Treasure," fuel for the World Government's plan to wipe out the two pirate overlords who defied them.
The echoes of the New World War spread across the globe like a storm.
[Marine Fleet Admiral Kukulkan slain!]
[Two Admirals dead!]
[Hero Garp defeats the warrior monk Scorpion Dragon, blinds Rocks' left eye, and slays eighteen New World pirates!]
[The Rocks Pirates defeated!]
[Kong promoted to Fleet Admiral of the Navy!]
[The Hell Pirates—demons of the sea, the strongest crew in history!]
Newspapers screamed the headlines. This year was already etched into history as the Navy's Year of Death, the bloodiest in eight centuries. Admirals, Celestial Dragons, Divine Knights—all swept away.
Under Im's decree, two new Divine Knights were dispatched to Marineford, immediately elevated to Admiral rank. It was proof of the World Government's hidden depth; even after such staggering losses, they could still replenish their might.
But this came at a cost. Only three Knights of God remained in Marijoa. The holy land's defenses were weaker than ever. Still, with Im and the Five Elders presiding, Marijoa remained the seat of untouchable power.
High above the New World, on the clouded isle of Ballon Island, Brook set aside the latest paper.
"With two more Knights of God now serving as Admirals," he murmured, "the World Government's foundations run deeper than we ever imagined."
His eyes narrowed. Fear lingered, but so did resolve. He was not the same man who first set sail.
The deaths of Kukulkan and Gabriel had brought him not only victory, but their Devil Fruits—and two magnificent souls. Souls of such rare quality they strengthened him beyond measure. With them, Brook's power soared to heights equal to Rocks himself.
The more admiral-level souls he harvested, the more unstoppable he became. He was no longer a swordsman scraping against giants; he had become a force on par with the monsters who once ruled the seas.
And he was not alone.
Abefor, the Shadow Demon, had risen like a dark tide. His zombie legions rivaled Brook's own spectral army. The might of his undead frightened even his four cadres. Hiruba, Ashura, even the upstart Kaido could not outlast Abefor's relentless swarm. His Lunarian bloodline only accelerated his growth. For many, it was no longer a question of if he would stand as Brook's right hand, but when.
Five years had passed since Brook was cast into this age. He had crossed the Florian's Triangle in 1470. His children—the triplets—were born on December 12, 1473. Their first birthday had been celebrated only months ago.
Now, in the year 1475 of the Sea Circle Calendar, the Hell Pirates stood undisputed at the top. With Rocks bloodied and his fleet shattered, Brook's crew became the New World's strongest overlords.
But power invites chaos.
The Rocks Pirates' defeat left their territories bleeding. Opportunistic pirates flooded in, looting nations and carving out domains. They dared not touch the Hell Pirates, but the Rocks Pirates, weakened and wounded, became prey.
The pact that had once bound the sea—the "no war without cause" agreement—crumbled overnight. Greed tore through it like paper.
Rocks himself raged across the seas, cutting down Devil Fruit users to steal their powers for his remaining cadres. One fruit fell into the hands of the elder Karnz brother: the Pile-Pile Fruit. He and his younger sibling fused into a towering colossus, their names spreading terror anew. Even if thrown into the sea, the powerless brother could drag his fused sibling back.
It was the same fruit that in another age would belong to Charlotte Newshi, one of Big Mom's many children. Now, Rocks had claimed it first.
While Rocks hunted, Brook's mind was elsewhere.
The threat of the Celestial Dragons' "National Treasure" gnawed at him. He had no illusions: it was a blade poised at his throat. The coordinates of Doragonzo Island and Ballon Island were already compromised. They had to move, to protect what they had built.
Several key territories—Whole Cake Island, O'Hara, and Golden Island—were temporarily shifted away from Ballon Island by Shiki's power. Only Ballon Island itself remained fixed; its clouds were rich with minerals like seastone, immune to the Float-Float Fruit.
The projects on Doragonzo and the Eighteen Hells were vast, but all would be meaningless without Pluton. Brook knew it. The ancient battleship was the only weapon that could balance the scales. Without it, the World Government's "National Treasure" would cut them down.
Thus, Vegapunk and a host of scientists sailed under his banner, their mission clear: awaken Pluton from its eight-hundred-year slumber.
The race was on. Im's blade, or Brook's counterstroke.
On the golden ship, Brook turned to Kozuki Oden, his voice firm.
"Oden. You must return and speak to your father. There is no other choice. The Kozuki line guards Pluton. Wano's ancient depths hide the underworld's god. Pluton lies beneath your homeland."
Oden's eyes widened. "So that's why Father forbade me from eating a Devil Fruit! Master… I understand now. I'll convince him. Wano must open its gates! Our people deserve to see the wonders of the world!"
Brook's lips curved faintly. For once, Oden's passion aligned with his ambition. The great waterfall of Wano would soon break, and the world would tremble at what emerged.
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