Shakky's lips moved slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she only let out a deep sigh. A trace of worry and helplessness showed in her eyes.
Inside the room, Rayleigh slowly removed the sunglasses that had accompanied him for so long.
Those glasses seemed to carry countless memories of the past. Now, they were placed aside, revealing his deep, sharp eyes.
They were like two stars that had endured endless years, and at that moment, they contracted violently.
Those eyes had once witnessed countless magnificent scenes of history. Shocking battles, schemes and betrayals, and the changing winds of the world had all left deep marks within them.
In a daze, time seemed to flow backward.
His thoughts returned to that painful God Valley from thirty years ago.
That had been a catastrophe soaked in blood and fire, a valley consumed by slaughter and flames.
Back then, the World Government had at least found a grand-sounding excuse.
Pirate suppression.
They had used that phrase to drape a hypocritical cover over their actions.
But now, even that final fig leaf had been torn away without mercy.
"They've finally ripped off the disguise."
Rayleigh sighed faintly, his voice carrying exhaustion and helplessness.
He slowly bent down and looked at the shattered glass scattered across the floor.
The fragments glittered coldly under the light, as if speaking of the violent moment that had just passed.
He reached out and carefully picked up one piece. Its sharp edge cut lightly across his fingertip like a blade, leaving a thin red line.
A bead of blood slid down his finger and dripped perfectly onto Saint Saturn's grim, terrifying face printed in the newspaper.
The once-clear image instantly blurred, as though covered by a curtain of blood.
Outside the factory, the lawless zone of Sabaody, always crowded with all kinds of illegal dealings and shady figures, had suddenly fallen into an eerie silence.
The human traffickers who usually acted arrogant and untouchable now felt an invisible pressure. Like frightened rats, they hurriedly hid inside dark, damp cellars, not daring to breathe too loudly.
"The sky is about to change, Rayleigh."
Shakky spoke while wiping the glass in her hand with unusual force.
It was as if she wanted to pour all the worry and unease in her heart into that simple movement.
"Shanks and the others…"
She stopped there, her eyes filled with deep concern.
Just then, a clear jingle broke the oppressive silence.
The bar's doorbell suddenly rang, cutting through the stillness inside and out.
A cloaked giant warrior stepped in with heavy footsteps.
A thick murderous aura clung to him. Fresh blood from CP0 agents still stained the enormous battle axe in his hand, dripping slowly from the blade and forming shocking red flowers on the floor.
He lowered his voice and said heavily,
"Red Hair… has begun calling his old crew together."
Rayleigh's body trembled slightly at the news.
Then he slowly straightened, and a long-lost burst of Conqueror's Haki surged from within him.
The powerful pressure was like a roaring wave, making the tiny glass shards scattered across the floor tremble faintly with a soft hum.
His gaze passed through the window and looked into the distance.
Outside, the bubbles rising from the mangroves reflected an eerie blood-red under the glow of the setting sun, like burning flames.
That color was just like the sky on the day Roger was executed, tragic and desolate.
"Notify every surviving remnant of the old era…"
Rayleigh's voice suddenly became loud and powerful, as though the spirited man from twenty years ago had returned.
"It's time to give the young ones one final lesson."
When night fell, darkness covered the entire Sabaody Archipelago.
In the underground world, a shocking piece of news spread like wildfire.
Old Rayleigh from the coating factory had mysteriously disappeared.
People rushed to that once-familiar place, only to find a bloodstained newspaper left on the workbench, along with an Eternal Pose pointing toward the New World.
They lay there quietly, telling of a legend about to begin.
And inside Shakky's Rip-off Bar, the bottle of Roger Pirates celebration wine that had been treasured for so many years had been taken away by someone at some unknown time.
Only an empty space remained on the liquor shelf, silently bearing witness to everything that had happened.
...
White Soil Island.
It was like a pearl lost in the vast ocean, carrying the interwoven stories and fates of countless people.
Morning in Baltigo should have been quiet and peaceful.
Yet now, it was shattered mercilessly by hurried, chaotic footsteps.
Those footsteps sounded like war drums urging soldiers forward, breaking the silence before dawn and filling the air with tension and unease.
Deep underground, inside the Revolutionary Army headquarters' command room, dim yellow light struggled to pierce the darkness, casting wavering shadows over the enormous sand table.
The shifting light and shadow seemed to foreshadow the coming situation itself, full of uncertainty and unknown changes.
Dragon, the leader who carried a tremendous mission on his shoulders, stood straight before the strategy table.
The broad brim of his hat hung low, cleverly hiding half of his face, yet it could not conceal his sharp, hawk-like eyes.
Those eyes were like cold stars shining in a deep night sky, filled with resolve, wisdom, and decisiveness. They seemed capable of seeing through every illusion and disguise, detecting every tiny change on the battlefield.
Looking closely at the sand table, one could see that it was packed with flags and markers of all colors.
The blue flags representing Marine fleets and the red markers symbolizing the Four Emperor forces were clashing fiercely around the New World.
The power of both sides crashed and pressed against each other like surging tides, sending up wave after wave.
Around that war-torn region, the white pieces representing islands were falling one after another.
Every fallen piece seemed to represent the extinction of living lives.
Those were countless civilians caught in the flames of war, suffering under this cruel conflict, their fates flickering like candles in the wind.
At that moment, the door was shoved open.
Sabo hurried in.
His expression was grave and anxious, and the intelligence scroll in his hand still carried ink that had not yet dried.
The faint scent of ink drifted through the air, but it did nothing to ease the tension in the room.