At that moment, Peak Whitebeard unleashed a massive burst of Conqueror's Haki!
An invisible domain spread instantly across the ruined battlefield.
Black and red lightning crackled violently around him, and under his sovereign aura, the very ground beneath his feet caved in—forming a wide crater.
The air thickened, turning heavy and sticky like solidified amber, suffocating everything within it.
"Urgh…"
Marco let out a muffled groan. It felt as though an invisible mountain was pressing down on his shoulders, his knees starting to buckle under the weight.
The Haki within him flickered like a weak flame in a storm. In this ocean of overwhelming willpower, it could extinguish at any moment.
'This is… Pops' Conqueror's Haki at his peak.'
A mere passive release—and even a veteran commander of the highest caliber felt his fighting spirit tremble!
Yet, at the center of the storm, the other figure stood unchanged.
The aged Whitebeard, still hunched, faced the incoming tsunami of aura with a weathered face that didn't flinch in the slightest.
He simply stood there, calmly.
"Gurararara…"
His aged laughter rang out once more, this time tinged with nostalgia—and approval.
He lifted his gaze.
In that instant, a sovereign will of equal depth surged from his aging body!
His Conqueror's Haki lacked the ferocity of the younger man's. It did not crash down like a tidal wave.
Instead, it carried a weight—a serene, tempered gravity, like returning to nature.
Two bloodline-mirrored wills clashed in midair.
There was no sound.
Yet Marco and Lucian could clearly "see" it: ripples distorted the space between the two, like water stirred by a stone.
Peak Whitebeard's Haki surged like waves, striking again and again.
But the elder's Haki stood firm like a seawall, dissolving each impact without resistance.
"Good eyes."
The aged Whitebeard gazed calmly at the furious golden eyes opposite his own.
"But force of will alone can't bring someone down."
The moment his words ended—
Both Whitebeards moved at once!
No warning.
Their figures vanished from where they stood.
The next second—
BOOM!!!
Their iron fists clashed without flair, just raw, brutal power!
This time, it wasn't a contest of Devil Fruit abilities. Their bodies and skills were both wrapped in the pinnacle of Armament Haki.
A terrifying shockwave exploded outward, scattering rubble like shrapnel in every direction!
"So strong!"
Lucian's pupils shrank. Even with his enhanced Observation Haki at full power, he could barely catch blurry afterimages.
'Is this what a battle between kings looks like?'
Their techniques, instincts—even their evasive steps—were exact reflections of one another.
A devastating straight punch from Peak Whitebeard would be dodged at the perfect angle by his elder self, who would counter with a precise knife-hand strike toward the neck.
Yet Peak Whitebeard, as if he had eyes on his back, would block it with an instinctual elbow without even turning around.
Prediction.
It was all prediction.
They knew each other's combat style down to the bone.
This went beyond battle. It was like a deadly dance with their own shadow.
Each strike anticipated the other's anticipation.
Each defense was one step ahead of the next offense.
The earth beneath them cracked and shattered, only to be crushed further by their relentless blows.
The entire cliffside had been plowed clean by their feet.
Marco stood frozen, eyes wide.
"This is… Pops' way of fighting…"
He muttered to himself.
No wasted movement. No flashy techniques.
Only pure destruction—expressed through perfect strength and refined skill.
Every punch carried the power to sink a battleship.
Every clash could raze a city.
But as the fight dragged on, Lucian's expression grew more serious.
He had noticed a fatal flaw.
The elder Whitebeard's breathing had grown ragged.
What started as roaring battle cries… now had labored gasps laced within them.
Each strike still landed with explosive force, but when his arm retracted—there was a faint, nearly imperceptible tremble.
In contrast, Peak Whitebeard grew more unstoppable with every second.
The sheer thrill of battle was fueling his fury like endless fuel.
His momentum surged like a flood—faster, stronger, wilder with every blow!
"Huff… huff…"
After another earth-shaking exchange, the two momentarily separated.
The elder Whitebeard stood atop a massive boulder, chest heaving, sweat beading across his forehead.
Years of old injuries and lingering afflictions now gnawed at him like parasites in a feeding frenzy.
He could feel the stabbing pain within, the strain in his heart's every beat.
His stamina… was draining rapidly.
Across from him, Peak Whitebeard descended slowly to the ground.
He stared at the panting "imposter," his earlier anger replaced by a cold, contemptuous sneer.
"Is that all you've got, fake?"
His voice dripped with disappointment.
"I thought the one who took my punch would be a worthy opponent…"
"But turns out—you're nothing but a washed-up relic. All flash, no fight."
"Disgusting."
Before the insult could even fade—
CRACK!
The ground beneath him exploded!
He shot forth like a cannonball, closing the hundred-meter gap in an instant!
"Disappear!"
With a roar, Peak Whitebeard drove a devastating punch—cloaked in pitch-black Armament Haki and raging Conqueror's Haki—straight at the elder's chest!
Faster and fiercer than any previous attack!
The elder Whitebeard's pupils contracted. He forcefully suppressed the roiling energy inside, crossed his arms, and summoned all his Armament Haki to brace for the hit.
DOOM—!!!
The boulder beneath his feet shattered to dust!
His entire body was hurled back dozens of meters!
"Gah!"
A mouthful of blood finally spilled from his lips.
The wound wasn't fatal—but it was a sign.
A signal… that the tide of battle had begun to tilt.
"Pops!"
Marco cried out, his body instantly wrapped in healing blue flames. He couldn't hold back anymore—he prepared to rush in.
But a hand clamped onto his shoulder like an iron vice.
It was Lucian.
"Don't!"
Lucian's voice was low and strained.
"If you go now, you'll just get caught in it!"
"But Pops—!"
Marco's eyes were bloodshot with panic.
Lucian didn't answer. He shut his eyes tight.
His Observation Haki surged like invisible waves across the battlefield.
He sensed a familiar presence on the distant sea—a massive ship, shaped like a whale.
And from that ship…
Several powerful auras were approaching at high speed!
He recognized a few instantly!
Jozu! Vista!
And another ship… also approaching fast.
Lucian could feel two terrifying presences aboard it as well!
Someone was coming!
His expression darkened immediately.
He snapped his eyes open and turned to Marco, voice more serious than ever.
"Marco, the fight has to stop now!"
"We have to stop them immediately!"
Marco froze, then shouted,
"Of course I know that! But how?!"
"No!"
Lucian grabbed him by the collar, almost shouting now.
"It's not because Pops might lose!"
"It's because someone is coming—members of the Whitebeard Pirates! The past versions of all of you!"
"And someone else… someone strong… is coming from the other ship too!"
That one sentence snapped Marco out of it.
If… if the captains from the past saw this—
Saw two identical Whitebeards fighting to the death…
The consequences would be unimaginable.
And Lucian's words about that other ship… Marco could already guess who it might be.
As the two were gripped by panic—
On the battlefield…
Peak Whitebeard stared at the bleeding, retreating "imposter." But his face held no satisfaction.
Only confusion—and deep revulsion.
He couldn't understand.
This man had the same power source… yet was so old, so fragile.
"Enough."
Peak Whitebeard slowly raised his right fist.
The glowing white tremor aura gathered again—more solid and radiant than ever before.
The space around him cracked and wailed, breaking apart like fragile glass under the weight of power.
He looked toward the gasping old figure kneeling in the distance. In those golden eyes, only a cold killing intent remained.
"A being like you, who desecrates the name 'Edward Newgate'..."
"Doesn't deserve to exist in this world."
"Let me, the real one, erase you completely!"
He raised that world-breaking fist—high above his head.