All the captains were ready to draw their swords and cut down Ragnar on the spot.
At that moment, Marco stepped forward.
Though he wasn't pleased that Ragnar stood taller than Whitebeard, as the captain of the first division and Whitebeard's right-hand man, he thought more carefully than the others.
"Ragnar," Marco said coldly, halting the other captains with a glance, "don't let your arrogance go to your head."
"You've made a name for yourself, sure."
"But no one talks to my old man like that on these seas."
Ragnar's eyes swept over Marco indifferently.
"Whitebeard may be your father," he said, his voice calm yet cutting, "but he's not my master."
"There's no one on this sea worthy of being Ragnar's master."
He took a step forward, his blood-stained silver armor glinting in the fading sunlight.
"And Marco—remember this: No one dared to talk to me like that in the past… because Ragnar hadn't been born yet."
"You—!"
Marco's face twisted in fury, but before he could speak, a voice like rolling thunder cut through the tension.
"Three-eyed brat... who do you think you're talking to?"
Whitebeard glared at Ragnar, his tone laced with warning.
"You'd better remember one thing—say the wrong words in this sea, and you'll die."
The air seemed to freeze as his words dropped like anchors, filled with contempt for all pretenders to the throne.
"If you want 1,600 orphans to grieve tonight... I can grant your wish."
Despite his injuries, Ragnar stood tall. Blood ran from his wounds, but it only sharpened his aura—each scar a symbol of a battle won, an admiral or emperor felled.
He had stepped over Aokiji, Akainu, and even Shanks.
And now, despite his battered body, his spirit burned stronger than ever.
He didn't release an ounce of Haoshoku Haki, yet the pressure he emitted felt like a mountain crashing down on the Whitebeard Pirates.
"It seems," Whitebeard said coldly, "you want to be buried at sea the same day you proclaim yourself emperor."
In an instant, Whitebeard's face hardened—and with it came a torrential burst of Conqueror's Haki.
BOOM—!
The air exploded. The sea trembled. The sky darkened.
Before anyone could react, Ragnar responded in kind.
BOOM!!
A golden-silver torrent of Haki burst from him—fiercer, more piercing than Whitebeard's own.
As the two forces collided, the world flashed white.
A titanic clash of wills—two kings locked in spiritual combat.
The sky, once peaceful, was now covered in swirling black clouds. Winds howled. Thunder rolled.
CRACK!
From the heavens, black lightning rained down like divine judgment, shattering the sea into towering waves.
The longer their Haoshoku clashed, the deeper the sky cracked.
Space itself groaned and fractured under the weight of their spirits.
Whitebeard's eyes narrowed, surprise flickering within.
"His presence... no less than that kid, Shanks..."
Whether Ragnar had always possessed this spirit or gained it through his battles with Akainu, Aokiji, and Shanks—either way, it was formidable.
Whitebeard, veteran of eras, knew better than anyone:
Conqueror's Haki isn't fixed.
It grows with one's ambition—and fades with its loss.
And he... was no longer at his peak.
"You've grown old, Whitebeard."
Ragnar's voice was tinged with disappointment, as if dissatisfied that the legend before him could no longer give him a true fight.
"Hmph," Whitebeard snorted. "It's far too early for you to say that to me!"
With that, he released his grip on his blade, clenched his left fist—
BOOM!
He punched the air.
CRACK—!
It sounded like glass shattering. Jagged fractures spiderwebbed across the space itself, distorting everything in their wake.
Reality itself began to splinter.
But at the moment the atmosphere shattered, the entire ocean and sky trembled.
An indescribable shockwave spread across the world.
In an instant, rivers and seas surged violently, a tsunami hundreds of meters tall rose from the depths, and even the sky itself was torn apart, leaving behind a gaping crater in the clouds.
"Is this... the man Lord Oden once followed?"
Yamato stood frozen, her eyes wide with awe.
With just a single swing of his arm, the heavens cracked and the earth split—rivers and seas thrown into chaos.
It was only now that she truly understood why Kozuki Oden had revered Whitebeard so deeply during his voyage.
Setting aside everything else...
Just this power—this world-breaking force—was enough to inspire worship, or even fear.
"But the Four Emperors... men equal in fame to that monster... were defeated by him."
Her gaze slowly shifted to Ragnar, standing quietly beside her.
She wasn't sure why, but...
Even though she hadn't been at sea long, her worldview had already expanded far beyond what she once believed.
Once upon a time, Kozuki Oden was her god.
The journal he left behind—her Bible.
But now...
Though her respect for Oden remained, the divine glow around his name had begun to fade.
Two Navy admirals had fallen.
The Red Hair Pirates had come at full strength—only to retreat in defeat.
In that moment, Yamato felt it.
She understood—this world was far wider, and far more terrifying, than she had ever imagined.
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