As a violent force on the seas, the Marines inevitably suffer a high casualty rate.
Everyone knows that recruits are the easiest resource to obtain. In this vast ocean, there are far too many people who can't even fill their stomachs. Offer them a meal and slightly better conditions, and countless will be willing to join the Marines as expendable cannon fodder.
Veterans who have endured the baptism of war, however, are truly valuable assets. One of the main purposes of the Marine medical system is to keep these seasoned fighters alive, restore them to health, and turn them into experienced, battle-ready soldiers!
Marineford's medical support system is especially advanced. After all, those stationed at Headquarters are rarely fresh recruits. Even those holding the rank of Seaman Recruit are usually veterans transferred from other bases, with richer combat experience and stronger fighting power. That makes them even more precious, so naturally, Headquarters spares no effort to ensure their medical care, allowing these elite forces to keep contributing.
That's why the military hospital at Marineford, situated near the edge of the residential district, is second only to the Fortress of Justice in both scale and grandeur on the entire island.
"The medical standards of our Marines are top-notch. We've got plenty of famous doctors from across the seas. Even the Drum Kingdom—renowned as a medical powerhouse—invites our doctors over from time to time for study and exchange. On top of that, we have many medical-type Devil Fruit users. Put it this way: as long as you're not killed outright on the battlefield and can be brought back to the hospital, your life's safe. And unless it's permanent limb damage, you'll basically make a full recovery! So in the future, when you're on a mission, don't be afraid—just go for it!" Garp said as he led Ortoren into the hospital building.
"Then you high-ranking officers must get even better treatment, right?" Ortoren asked curiously.
"Of course. Officers at the general level get extra perks. After every mission, they can return to Headquarters for a full check-up. If they've suffered hidden injuries, they can undergo rehab and recovery. We've even got plenty of mental health specialists. Honestly, I think you should see one—might even fix that bad temper of yours." Garp grinned.
Ortoren thought to himself, You talk up the Marines' hospital like it's invincible, but I haven't seen Zephyr-sensei's asthma cured.
No matter the time or place, high-end hospitals are always crowded, and the Marines are no exception.
The moment they stepped through the hospital doors, they were met with the sight of many injured Marines. Here, the brutal side of Marine life was on full display—countless men missing arms or legs, some blinded altogether. The cruelty of their battles was plain to see.
Garp, who had been joking just moments before, suddenly grew serious and let out a light sigh. "That's why I don't like coming to places like this. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have brought you here."
Hearing the sigh, Ortoren glanced at him and said, "Garp-san, are you the kind of person who turns a blind eye to reality to spare himself?"
Garp froze mid-step, a flash of embarrassment and irritation crossing his face. "There are things that, even if you know about them, you can't change right away. Are you going to keep dwelling on them and torment yourself? The deeper the problem, the more you have to wait for the right chance to fix it. Otherwise, cutting away rotten flesh too hastily could cause massive bleeding and kill the patient outright. If that happens, when order collapses, what happens to the world?"
His sudden words left Ortoren momentarily stunned. He frowned slightly. "Garp-san?"
It was as if Garp had just pulled himself out of that heavy mood. He paused, rubbed his forehead, and said, "Sorry… I was thinking about some unpleasant things and ended up spouting useless nonsense. Forget it."
Even so, it was obvious his mood had dropped sharply. A heavy, pained look clouded his face—pain that didn't seem to come from the body, but from deep within his heart.
Ortoren nodded without pressing further. In truth, his earlier jab about "deceiving oneself" had just been a casual quip, not something he'd really thought through.
But Garp's reaction and those words made him think… The Marines weren't quite the shining symbol of justice they claimed to be in their own propaganda.
In Ortoren's view, the lower a Marine's rank, the purer their sense of justice tended to be. At worst, there might be a bit of corruption here and there—but that was the most common flaw in any political group, something you could almost "understand." So he didn't bother caring about it.
It was the ones higher up—the generals and top brass—who got close enough to see the darkness and ugly truths behind the Marines. God Valley might well be a thorn lodged deep in Garp's nerves, one he could never pull out.
Ortoren had a rough idea of what happened there, but he didn't share Garp's turmoil. Having seen plenty of similar things before, he wasn't about to trap himself in that kind of mindset.
Maybe it was because he simply didn't have much of a sense of justice to begin with—at least not right now. Back when he was a kid, his living expenses came from his old man's protection rackets down at the docks. He'd been part of the exploiters himself.
If anything, it was the peace and stability of his previous life that let him keep some sort of moral baseline. Anything beyond that had long since worn away over the past decade.
And maybe, coming from a world overflowing with information, his mind was simply more open—more accepting of things others might choke on.
As the saying went: toss your principles, enjoy a shameless life, refuse to drain yourself with mental battles, and when trouble comes, just snap. Why make life hard for yourself when you can make it hard for someone else?
Honestly, Ortoren felt that was the only proper way to deal with things like this. The problem was, he wasn't strong enough yet—if he went crazy now, someone would just smash his head in. But if he had Garp's peak fighting power? No way he'd waste time chewing on himself like Garp did.
In his eyes, Garp should just go all in, lose it completely. All those lame excuses about the "big picture" were nothing more than self-inflicted chains. Look at those Celestial Dragons—do they ever stop to think about the big picture before stirring up trouble? No, they just do whatever they please.
What did that show? That the Celestial Dragons had a mental edge—they lived by "why suffer myself when I can make someone else suffer?"
Garp and the rest of the poor bastards who still clung to justice while drowning in the darkness were exactly the ones getting ground down by that lot.
If Garp truly snapped, with his strength, the World Government might even have to coax him, keep him happy. And that's just Garp—if the Marines as a whole decided to lose it, well… a man with nothing to lose isn't afraid of the man with everything to lose. Would it be the rank-and-file Marines worrying about surviving, or the pampered nobles up in Mary Geoise?
In the end, the problem was that the ruling class in Mary Geoise knew this truth better than anyone. For centuries, they'd subtly molded the Marines, shackling them with ideas like "the big picture," "order," and "enduring humiliation for the greater good," until they were tamed into being their loyal enforcers.
Even the word "justice," handed to the Marines to bear, was a chain in itself. Pain, struggle, discomfort—these were the tools used to wear them down, forcing their bottom line to retreat again and again.
And once a person gets used to retreating, they eventually forget how to move forward.
This was why Ortoren respected Dragon so much. He must have seen from his old man that endurance led nowhere, so when faced with the darkness, he simply snapped. "Screw being a Marine. Instead of torturing myself, I'll start a Revolutionary Army and make life hell for the World Government instead." And he looked damn pleased about it.
Ortoren shared the same mindset. Once he was strong enough and didn't have to worry about being crushed, if he ran into that kind of crap, he'd go off the rails too. After all, he had a "history" of mental instability. A mental patient who can't stand that kind of garbage snapping under the stress—totally reasonable, right?
As long as he went off every now and then, the World Government wouldn't dare risk losing him as a high-end combat force. They'd have to placate him, give him what he wanted. Now that would be satisfying.