The Golden Lion's brazen invasion of Marine Headquarters in Marineford sent tremors coursing through the Grand Line. Orchestrated leaks ensured the news spread like wildfire, igniting a firestorm of fear and awe that swept across the world.
In an act of sheer audacity, the Golden Lion had joined forces with Beast Kaido and Charlotte Linlin—Big Mom herself—to launch a direct assault on the bastion of Marine authority. In the aftermath, half of Marineford lay in ruins, the rest teetering on the edge of collapse. And yet, Shiki had vanished without a scratch.
Golden Lion Shiki—the Flying Admiral—had once again carved his name into the fabric of history, his arrogance and might leaving the world breathless.
This battle had done more than just wound Marineford. It had resurrected an ancient dread.
The unholy alliance with Kaido and Big Mom stirred grim memories among the veterans of an era long gone. From the depths of forgotten history, the name "Rocks" surfaced once more, casting its monstrous shadow over kingdoms, factions, and even emperors.
Seizing the momentum, Shiki launched a rapid expansion campaign in the New World. Word of his return to prominence swept through the seas, drawing pirates to his banner in droves. The Flying Pirates, once thought broken, surged back to life.
Even the remnants of Shiki's original Flying Grand Fleet—shattered years ago by Marine Commodore Rogers Darren—began to stir. There were whispers of a rebirth.
Meanwhile, in a remote region of the New World, aboard the Whitebeard Pirates' flagship, the Moby Dick—
"Pops! Trouble! Urgent news from Marineford!"
Marco landed hard on the deck, gripping a newspaper just dropped by a news bird. His face was drawn tight, sweat lining his brow.
"That lunatic... Shiki's actually teamed up with Kaido and Big Mom. They attacked Marine Headquarters!"
Shock rippled through the crew. Eyes widened. Jaws clenched.
They'd known Shiki had something planned. He'd even visited the Moby Dick recently, trying to pull Pops into his scheme.
But none of them had believed he'd follow through—especially not after Whitebeard turned him down. And to do it with Kaido and Big Mom at his side?
"Shiki…"
Whitebeard, seated on his great throne, frowned deeply. He gently brushed aside the masseuse at his side and extended his hand.
Marco handed him the paper.
Whitebeard's eyes scanned the page. The same ambition he'd seen that day in Shiki's face glared back at him now in print.
A low shadow passed through his gaze.
Shiki… are you trying to resurrect the age of Rocks?
His heart grew heavy.
"Let me see too! Let me see!"
A one-armed figure darted over, eyes alight—it was Kozuki Oden.
Ever since his brief encounter with the Golden Lion, something inside Oden had reignited. The wandering soul who once drank to drown his regrets had vanished. In his place stood the warrior they had first met—a man who hungered for challenge.
Day by day, he had thrown himself into training. Sword drawn, will sharpened, spirit blazing. The fire of Wano's proud son had returned.
To Marco and the others, it was a miracle.
They had watched him fall. Now they watched him rise.
Kozuki Oden leaned in over the paper, eyes narrowing with keen interest.
"He nearly sank the entire island… That's real power… Huh?"
His voice faltered.
A photograph had caught his eye.
The Marine Headquarters, reduced to smoldering ruin. And from the heavens, a colossal island plummeted, casting an apocalyptic shadow over Marineford.
At the heart of the devastation stood a single Marine, defiant, arms raised to the sky.
And erupting from the earth behind him—a blade.
A demon sword, wreathed in spectral fire, pierced the falling island's core. Its presence leapt off the page. Sharp. Terrifying. Alive.
"Enma…" Oden whispered.
His voice trembled. His face twisted with emotion.
"He actually… truly tamed Enma…"
He took two steps back, stunned.
To anyone else, it might have looked like fire.
But Oden knew.
That flame was the sword's soul, fully awakened.
The blade he once wielded had accepted a new master.
That Marine… had etched his spirit into Enma.
Even if Oden were to hold it again, the blade would not be his. He would have to tame it anew. Reclaim it from scratch.
The realization hollowed him.
A quiet grief welled up in his chest, bitter and sharp.
Could I really take it back...?
The thought coiled around him like a serpent.
His gaze lingered on the towering sword in the photo, a weapon ablaze with righteous fury.
Slowly, he lowered the newspaper. He turned away without a word and began walking toward the stern.
His broad back seemed suddenly small. His steps—quiet, heavy.
"Oden—"
Marco started to speak, but a large hand settled on his shoulder.
He looked up.
Pops was shaking his head.
"Let him be," Whitebeard said softly. "Some things… no one else can help with."
They watched Oden's retreating figure in silence.
They understood.
Even if they stormed Marineford themselves, even if they killed that Marine and reclaimed the blade—it would change nothing.
This was a wound only Oden could heal.
Whitebeard turned back to the newspaper, his brow furrowed.
"This sea…" he muttered, "is about to descend into chaos."
To be continued...