Lucian Thorn and Marco stood frozen like two groundhogs struck dumb by lightning, their worldviews undergoing a magnitude-12 earthquake reconstruction.
Fight against himself...?
All for something so ridiculously absurd?
These two guys—these two men hailed as the strongest in the world—had actually used an entire island as a test field, shaking the heavens and shattering the earth!
And the culprits, the two identical Whitebeards from different eras, showed no reaction whatsoever.
They exchanged a glance and seemed to recognize in each other the same brand of regal, incorrigible arrogance. Then—
"Gurararara!"
"Gurararara!"
Two loud, hearty, thunderous laughs burst out in unison, merging into a roaring soundwave that pulverized the last few stubborn rocks along the coast.
The elder Whitebeard clutched his back as he laughed, wheezing for air, but his face was filled with unrestrained delight.
"Hey, young me."
He caught his breath, took a deep swig from his wine gourd, and glanced playfully at the energetic version of himself across from him.
"Want to know... what interesting things happen in the future?"
"Like what happened to that bastard Roger, or the final fate of the enemies we've faced?"
At that, Marco perked up immediately, holding his breath in anticipation.
But the Whitebeard in his prime simply curled his lip with disdain.
He drained the wine from his cup in one go.
"Hmph. Not interested."
He slammed the wine gourd onto the ground with a dull thud, his gaze blazing with disdain for all beneath him.
"The future is something to carve out and experience with your own hands—not to be told!"
"If you already know the ending, then what's the point of the journey?!"
"Whether it's glory or death, I want to witness it with my own eyes—feel it with my own hands!"
His words were steeped in the confidence and domineering spirit unique to Edward Newgate.
The elder Whitebeard didn't get angry—in fact, he smiled fondly and nodded.
"Gurararara... That's right. That's me."
The prime Whitebeard eyed him, a flicker of something complicated passing through his golden eyes.
"Old man, do you regret it?"
He pointed to the elder Whitebeard's scarred body, broken by disease and time.
"All that for so-called conquests... for so-called family... and you ended up like this—can't even stand straight."
A heavy silence fell.
Marco's heart clenched, eyes darting to his Pops in concern.
Even Lucian stopped thinking—he too wanted to know the answer.
The elder Whitebeard was silent for a moment. He looked down at his frail body and scarred arm, then looked up to meet his younger self's eyes.
There was no regret on his face—only a calm, proud clarity.
He didn't answer directly.
Instead, he asked,
"You and I are the same person."
"Would you regret it?"
The prime Whitebeard blinked—then broke into that signature crescent-mustache grin.
"Gurararara!"
"Of course not!"
"Gurararara!"
Two kings from two different times, yet one soul, burst into laughter again, perfectly in sync.
One question, one counter-question—it already said everything.
Edward Newgate never regretted his choices!
As the laughter faded, the atmosphere shifted from wild and absurd to something deeper—an unspoken bond that spanned time itself.
The elder Whitebeard lowered the wine gourd and grew solemn.
"Alright, young me, enough joking around."
"We've come across the river of time... to ask for your help."
The prime Whitebeard raised a brow, intrigued.
For his future self to return with two sons and risk a temporal crisis—it must be serious.
"Speak." He was blunt and to the point.
Lucian took a deep breath and stepped forward, speaking in the elder Whitebeard's stead. He quickly explained everything—from Ace's pursuit of Blackbeard, to his defeat, to the Navy's public execution order...
When the name Portgas D. Ace came from Lucian's lips, the prime Whitebeard's expression barely changed—just a flicker in his eyes.
But when he heard that Ace had been captured and was about to be publicly executed at Marineford—
BOOM!!!
A terrifying bloodlust, impossible to describe in words, erupted from within the prime Whitebeard like an awakened ancient beast!
The air across the entire coastline felt like it had been sucked dry, turned to steel.
Marco and Lucian felt as if a giant invisible mountain had been slammed onto their souls—they couldn't even breathe properly, and their knees nearly buckled.
The prime Whitebeard slowly stood, his massive frame casting a long shadow. His golden pupils had turned into whirlpools of icy murder.
"The Navy..."
His voice rumbled like a whisper from the depths of hell, trembling with rage enough to shake the world.
"How dare they..."
"Touch my son!"
In that moment, he was no longer the carefree king who wanted to spar with himself—he was the Emperor of the Sea, the man who valued "family" above life itself: Whitebeard.
The elder Whitebeard nodded in approval at the sight.
Good.
That flame—that fury willing to challenge the world for family—hadn't dulled one bit with time.
The prime Whitebeard turned his fiery gaze on Lucian.
"Say no more."
He made his decision without hesitation—his tone brooked no argument.
"Saving my son is only natural!"
"Just tell me—how do I get there?!"
It's happening!
Lucian felt a surge of elation!
The most crucial part of the plan... had succeeded!
Suppressing his excitement, he immediately asked the System in his mind:
"System! Given the current situation, how can we bring the younger version of Pops to our time?"
[Ding! Host possesses a 100% analyzed Summon Compendium—'SSR · Peak Whitebeard'!]
[For fully analyzed targets, the host can apply a 'Temporal Imprint'!]
['Temporal Imprint': A coordinate marker across the time dimension. Once applied, the host can summon the marked target from any time or place by consuming energy.]
[Note: Summon duration is proportional to energy consumed!]
Perfect!
It was practically a tailor-made ability for this moment!
Lucian could no longer hide the joy in his eyes. He stepped up to the awe-inspiring prime Whitebeard.
"Pops, please hold out your arm."
Though confused, the prime Whitebeard obeyed—trusting the future version of himself—and extended his massive, steel-crushing arm.
Lucian took a deep breath and gently placed his palm on Whitebeard's bicep.
"System—apply 'Temporal Imprint'!"
VMMM—!
A dazzling golden light burst from Lucian's palm.
Countless intricate, ancient runes pulsing with the aura of time surged forth from his hand and rapidly formed a mysterious circular sigil on Whitebeard's arm.
At its center… was the iconic skull symbol of the Whitebeard Pirates!
With a final flash of gold, the sigil vanished without a trace—as if it had never appeared.
But the prime Whitebeard could feel it—deep within his soul, a faint yet undeniable connection to this young man before him.
Lucian slowly withdrew his hand, a confident smile blooming on his face.
He looked up at the legendary Sea Emperor and declared with unwavering certainty:
"Alright, Pops."
"You don't have to worry about a thing anymore."
Just wait to be summoned.