In the world today, the person who unsettles both the World Government and the Navy Headquarters the most is Rhett Vane.
That night, Vane swaggered out of Marineford, leaving the entire Navy Headquarters shaken. Everyone knew he had come, though only a handful of high-ranking officers understood his true purpose there.
Looking at the cup of tea still steaming on the desk, Sengoku sat with a helpless yet furious expression. Vane had been trampling on their authority, and yet they could not move against him.
Before leaving, Vane had promised not to attack the Navy in the future. But Sengoku didn't believe a word of it. Empty promises meant nothing when Vane held all the cards. To make matters worse, Vice Admiral Gion was still with him. Sengoku was certain Vane was holding her as leverage against them.
The truth, however, was far different—Gion had willingly chosen to stay at Vane's side. Even if Vane ordered her to leave, she would not.
"She's no longer someone I can take back," Sengoku muttered to himself.
After Vane left, Akainu's fury burned hotter than ever. Learning that Sengoku had not only allowed Vane to appear at Marineford but had let him walk away without a fight left the Fleet Admiral candidate livid. To Akainu, this was unforgivable.
"Vane was right here, alone, in our own territory! We had every advantage to capture him! And you let him go!" Akainu shouted. His reckless nature left him blind to the deeper dangers that Sengoku understood all too well.
Vane had left Marineford around ten at night. By the time another day passed, he was already far across the sea.
The sun shone brilliantly, though the heat of late September still lingered like mid-summer. Out at sea, Vane made plans.
His next destination—Alabasta.
That's where Crocodile would be.
Crocodile was a relic of an older age, a man in his forties, once rivaling legends from the era of Roger. He bore grudges against Whitebeard himself.
His powers, the Sand-Sand Fruit, made him a formidable foe. In the original story, he had been defeated only through trickery.
"Crocodile and Nico Robin… both valuable pieces," Vane thought aloud. "The first as a weapon, the second to decipher the Poneglyphs."
But he couldn't help but wonder.
"Why is it that four Poneglyphs are required to locate Laugh Tale? And what of the so-called Eternal Pose pointing there? If such a pointer exists, does it mark a fixed coordinate? Then what role do the Poneglyphs serve?"
The questions hung unanswered. Still, his mind was made up—Robin came first.
Crocodile and Robin together would strengthen his position in Wano. As for Crocodile's underlings, they were unnecessary. Vane wanted excellence, not dead weight.
Among the Four Emperors, only Shanks commanded a small crew where each member was truly formidable. Whitebeard's massive family, though filled with loyalty, carried too many weaklings. Many of his lower-ranked men exploited Whitebeard's name to commit atrocities, staining his reputation. Vane would never allow the same for himself.
"You don't need numbers. Quality over quantity," he decided.
He would go to Alabasta, claim Crocodile and Robin, and discard the rest. Crocodile's arrogance would make him difficult to tame, but Vane believed every problem could be solved with strength.
The sea was calm. Vane traveled astride a Sea King, using it as his vessel. It was no proper ship—no cabins, no beds—but the speed and reliability of the beasts made it worth the discomfort. The Sea Kings knew the seas better than any navigator, and the one beneath him carried him straight toward Alabasta.
Truly, no creature understood the ocean more than the kings of the deep.
Elsewhere, just to the right of Vane's course, a Marine warship lay adrift. The deck was painted in blood, scattered with severed limbs and mangled corpses. At least a hundred sailors had been slaughtered.
At the center of the carnage stood a grotesque figure—a deformed, bloated man clutching a massive bisento drenched in blood. His weapon resembled Whitebeard's own naginata, though his warped figure was nothing like the great man's. His upper body was round and swollen, his legs spindly and thin like sticks. His face twisted into something almost childlike yet hideous.
"Ma! I killed so many Marines again! Will my bounty go up this time?"
The voice that left his mouth was high-pitched, childlike, and disturbingly foolish.
"Good boy, Weevil! You're doing wonderfully!" crooned the shriveled old hag at his side.
They were none other than Edward Weevil and Miss Bakkin, scourges of the first half of the Grand Line.
In recent years, few pirates had been more brutal, more bloodthirsty, or more terrifying than them.
The Navy had declared them targets to be killed on sight—no chance of imprisonment in Impel Down. They were too dangerous to live.
Now, once again, their hands dripped with the blood of countless Marines.
_____
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