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Amidst the smoking ruins of Mary Geoise, a heated debate was underway.
The ideology of the Revolutionary Army was the antithesis of the World Government. It didn't take a genius to see that in the future, this clash of philosophies would generate a tsunami that could drown the world.
The Five Elders, sharp as razors, immediately identified the stakes. In a few short sentences, they defined the Revolutionary Army as the "Most Dangerous Organization" in existence. And its architect, Monkey D. Dragon, was unequivocally branded the "Most Dangerous Man in the World."
Freedom? Equality?
What kind of fairy tale nonsense was that?
In the eyes of the Elders, these were lies sold to idiots. Did anyone really believe that those with the Berries, the fame, the power, and the armies would ever sit at the same table as the bottom feeders? If the Revolutionaries ever actually succeeded, they'd likely forget their own ideals the moment they sat on the throne.
But the problem was the sea was full of idiots. The masses couldn't see the big picture. They couldn't read the board.
If this dangerous contagion of an idea spread, it would spark wildfires everywhere. If the world bought into this "equality" scam, the World Government would collapse overnight.
Compared to Arthur, who was merely a headache, Dragon was a cancer. Arthur was just a pirate, albeit a wicked one. Dragon was an existential threat.
He had to be eliminated. Priority One.
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While the Elders were branding him Public Enemy Number One, Dragon was already miles away.
Leading the massive exodus of liberated slaves, the "Most Dangerous Man" arrived at the Sabaody Archipelago.
Thousands of former captives disembarked from the Revolutionary transport ships, stepping onto the lawless mangrove roots that grew right under the World Government's nose.
Some chose to join the cause. Others chose to walk away.
Like birds released from a cage or dragons returning to the sea, they had tasted hell and survived. Now, they cherished their hard-won freedom above all else. They would never be chained again.
The sudden influx of refugees threw the Archipelago into chaos… but luck was on their side. The Navy was paralyzed, bogged down in the logistical nightmare of the war's aftermath. They had no manpower to spare. Aside from those taken in by the Revolutionaries, the other slaves scattered into the wind, safe from recapture—for now.
Grove 13. Shakky's Rip-off Bar.
Having parted ways with Dragon and his crew, Rayleigh and Shakky led the three Gorgon Sisters into the safety of the bar.
It felt like coming home. Rayleigh let out a long, ragged breath, the weight of the world sliding off his shoulders. He grabbed a bottle from the counter and chugged it like it was water in a desert.
Normally, Shakky would have lectured him on his manners, but after the stress of the last twenty-four hours, she let it slide.
"Whew!!" Rayleigh slumped into a chair, the tension leaving his muscles. "I almost ruined my retirement with that one. That brat Arthur… he's too strong."
"I'm never doing anything like that again," Shakky grumbled, pulling the bewildered Hancock closer. Her face was full of complaint. "If it weren't for Gloriosa begging me, I never would have stepped foot in that death trap."
Living at the crossroads of the Grand Line, their intelligence network was terrifyingly efficient. Between their own info and the plea from Elder Nyon—Gloriosa—they had decided to intercept the slave liberation to rescue the Kuja heiresses.
"Big Sis Shakky…" Hancock, who was holding Shakky's hand, suddenly spoke up. Her voice was quiet, trembling slightly. "Back in Mary Geoise… who was that man? The one who walked out of the lightning and fought Uncle Rayleigh?"
Over the past few days, Hancock had warmed up to her rescuers. She knew they were friends of Elder Nyon. She wasn't afraid of them.
But she was terrified of him.
When Arthur had descended from the thunderclouds in Mary Geoise, his earth-shattering presence, his cold arrogance, and his god-like power had branded themselves onto the souls of every slave present.
Domineering. Arrogant. Wild. Unrivaled.
As men gain wealth, strength, and status, their aura changes. Whitebeard, just sitting in his chair, radiated a majestic, invincible weight—the result of decades of ruling the New World.
Arthur was different. His aura was sharp, aggressive, and untamed. It was the aura of a man who disregarded all rules, backed by power that defied logic. His first impression was simply: Strength.
Overwhelming, unrivaled strength.
Some feared it. Some respected it. Some were paralyzed by it. Some would tremble just hearing his name.
But for others… that strength was a lethal poison. An addiction.
Among the slaves who witnessed Arthur's dominance, a significant number were already desperately trying to find information on him, seeking to join the Thunder God Pirates.
The Hancock sisters were no exception. They had been magnetized by his invincible aura.
For three years in the hell of Mary Geoise, the Celestial Dragons had been their nightmares. They hated them, feared them, and dared not resist them. Because everyone who resisted died screaming.
This trauma created a deep-seated instinct in the survivors: servility.
Unless that trauma was washed away by time or battle, victims would subconsciously seek to cling to someone stronger than their abusers. Only by finding their own strength could they break the mental chains.
Until then, they looked for a god to replace the devils.
Hearing Hancock's question, Shakky's hand trembled. Water splashed from the glass she was pouring onto the table. She reached out, stroking Hancock's hair, and looked into the girl's curious eyes with deadly seriousness.
"Don't ask about him, Hancock. Listen to me. In the future, if you ever see him, turn around and run. He is the most vicious, dangerous…"
"Pirate! The kind that commits every crime imaginable!"
A cold, indifferent voice cut through the air, finishing Shakky's sentence from outside the bar.
The door creaked open.
Sunlight flooded into the dim interior. Backlit by the brilliant afternoon sun, a towering silhouette stood in the doorway. His features were obscured by the glare, but his presence hit them like a physical wall. It was majestic, heavy, and terrifying.
The pressure of a prison god descended upon the room. The girls nearly fainted.
"Arthur!"
Rayleigh shot up from his chair, placing himself between Arthur and the women. His gaze was calm, resigned.
"Are you here for revenge? Fine. Take my old head. But let Shakky and the girls go."
Rayleigh was prepared. He knew the rules of the sea.
You do the crime, you pay the price. He had interfered in Arthur's hunt; now the reaper had come to collect. Even if the consequences were unbearable, some things had to be done.
"You're in no position to bargain with me, Rayleigh."
Arthur strode into the bar, his walk akin to a dragon prowling its territory.
Terrified but fascinated, Hancock shrank behind Shakky, peeking out to steal glances at the man who terrified even legends.
Arthur ignored them all. He looked at Rayleigh with disappointment.
"You have no fighting spirit left. You've lost your edge. You aren't even worth killing anymore."
Arthur stopped, his electric eyes boring into the Dark King.
"You still have Shanks' contact info, don't you?"
"Contact him. Tell him to get his ass into the New World within the next few years. I don't want to see a potential rival wasting his prime playing games in the Four Blues."
Arthur's grin widened, predatory and filled with the promise of violence.
"Tell him if he doesn't want to miss out, he better hurry."
"The war for the Throne… the battle for the Four Emperors' hegemony… is about to begin!"
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