The Whitebeard Pirates had made their stand on their father's homeland, holding this quiet island through the chaos that swept across the New World.
Today, even the Red-Haired Pirates had anchored there. They had just finished paying their respects—to Fire Fist Ace, to the five division commanders cut down by Saint Nasushirou, and to several subordinate captains who'd fallen with them.
Nearly a month had passed since the battle. The remnants of Whitebeard's crew had failed to reclaim their father's body, but they'd buried what family they could.
"Marco, are you seriously going to negotiate with Souta Kiryuu?"
Red-Haired Shanks looked tired, his face drawn as he spoke to the pineapple-headed man he'd known for years. He hated the idea of seeing the Whitebeard Pirates become subordinates under Kiryuu's banner.
If that happened, the Kiryuu Pirates would grow even more powerful—and the Red-Haired crew's position in the New World would become that much harder to maintain.
During these past weeks, they'd buried Howling Gab in his homeland and spent time healing Lucky Roux's injuries. All the while, they could only watch as the Kiryuu Pirates and the Beasts Pirates carved up their territories.
Both great powers had targeted them directly, forcing Shanks to drift once again as the Wandering Emperor—back to the same "free and solitary" state he'd known before he became one of the Four Emperors four years ago.
Only recently had he found the time to seek out Whitebeard's remnants, hoping to invite Marco's crew to join them—or at least to form an alliance of mutual defense.
But then he'd learned that Marco intended to negotiate with Souta Kiryuu, offering the Whitebeard remnants themselves as a bargaining chip to ransom back their father's body.
That knowledge had drained the last bit of strength from him.
He could no longer maintain the balance of the New World, nor mediate the inevitable clash between Kiryuu's growing power and the World Government.
Still, there was one piece of good news in all this chaos: Straw Hat Luffy, the man who had inherited Captain Roger's will, had not recklessly entered the New World. He had gone to train under Silvers Rayleigh, learning to master the three forms of Haki.
If the Straw Hat Pirates had entered the New World unprepared, they would have been erased in minutes. That was the only thing Shanks had heard all month that gave him even a little peace of mind.
"For the sake of letting our old man rest in peace, I'm willing to pay any price," Marco said quietly.
The usually clean-cut Phoenix looked rougher now; stubble shadowed his chin, and fatigue lined his face. He'd been busy—too busy. In truth, he was six years older than Shanks.
Even Shanks now sported a beard, giving him a sharper, heavier presence.
Since taking the mantle of captain, Marco had changed. Gone was the carefree man who'd once lived under Whitebeard's protection. In the span of a single month, he'd grown into someone far more hardened—because he had to. The fate of the entire Whitebeard Pirates now rested on his shoulders.
During this period, of the twenty-odd allied captains who survived the G-18 Fortress War, nearly half had disbanded their crews and left. Only about a dozen subordinate groups remained willing to follow Marco and help recover Whitebeard's body.
Whether those allies would stay loyal afterward was anyone's guess.
"Hey! Did you all forget that Kiryuu's crew kidnapped Fire Fist Ace? Or that Blackbeard Teach—under Kiryuu's banner—killed your Fourth Division Captain, Thatch?!"
Yasopp's voice cracked with anger. He couldn't stand by and watch the Whitebeard remnants crawl under Kiryuu's flag. If that happened, the Red-Haired crew would be finished in this sea.
"We'll handle our own business!"
Vista the Flower Swordsman stepped forward sharply, his glare fixed coldly on Yasopp. The tension between them went back years. Whenever disputes broke out between their two crews, those two were always the ones to clash.
Whitebeard had never liked Shanks—the apprentice of Gol D. Roger, the son of the Marine hero Garling.
And Vista had never liked Yasopp, that smug sniper who never stopped bragging.
Once, when Kiryuu had risen as the new Emperor to challenge the reigning Four Emperors, the Red-Haired Pirates had faced him head-on—and though the battle ended without a clear victor, it had inflated Yasopp's pride even further. That arrogance was part of why he and Vista couldn't stand each other.
Before Ace joined Whitebeard's crew, Marco, Jozu, and Vista had been the three strongest commanders, counterparts to Beckman, Lucky Roux, and Yasopp among the Red-Haired Pirates.
All of them had known Shanks back when he was just the apprentice on Roger's ship. None of them had ever imagined that one day he would stand as their equal—as one of the Four Emperors, alongside their father.
As the tension between Flower Blade Vista and Pursuer Yasopp thickened, the air grew heavy.
"Yasopp. Enough."
Beckman exhaled a plume of smoke and dragged Yasopp back, preventing the argument from escalating. He could tell the visit was a lost cause.
If Shanks were more like Kaido or Big Mom, a brawl would have broken out already. He'd simply beat the remnants into submission and add them to his fleet.
But that wasn't who Shanks was.
"I won't interfere with your decision," Shanks said at last, sighing. "But I hope you think carefully. Souta Kiryuu is an ambitious and brutal man. He's not someone worth following."
He had no intention of forcing them to join his ranks. Every crewmate on his ship was there because they'd chosen to be—partners he trusted with his life.
"We'll think about it carefully," Marco replied seriously. He didn't want the Red-Haired crew meddling in their internal choices, but neither did he want to make enemies of Shanks, the Emperor who had looked after Ace.
"Then we'll take our leave," Shanks murmured. He turned away, leading the Red-Haired Pirates off Sphinx Island. Beckman, Yasopp, and Lucky Roux followed behind him, boarding the Red Force.
The last to leave was Rockstar—now promoted to one of the highest-ranking officers, filling the place that Howling Gab had once held.
When their ship finally disappeared beyond the horizon, Marco exhaled deeply. Then he turned to the Ice Witch, Whitby, to discuss how best to approach the negotiations with Kiryuu.
They would have to settle the contradictions surrounding Teach and the Gura Gura no Mi, drawing clear boundaries and red lines before talks even began.
Meanwhile, on Hive Island, Souta Kiryuu was hosting a grand feast when he finally received a reply from Dragon.
"I'll give you our blood," Dragon said flatly over the den-den mushi. "You can use it for your artificial Devil Fruit research—but I don't want to see any seraphim walking around that look like us."
His tone was sharp and cold, leaving no room for argument. If Kiryuu refused, he'd abandon the deal and find another way to rescue Garp.
"...Fine," Kiryuu answered after a few moments' silence. He understood what Dragon meant. Creating a Seraphim version of Dragon himself would be like giving Garp a younger brother—a grotesque insult.
"Then start putting pressure on Big Mom," Dragon said, his voice relaxing slightly once he had Kiryuu's word. If Kiryuu had refused, he and Aokiji would've had to improvise another plan.
Kiryuu's lips curved in a faint smile. If Dragon didn't want to see Seraphim copies of himself, that was simple enough. He could keep the prototypes stationed on the moon or Sky Island—somewhere Dragon would never look.
Or maybe he'd just change their faces and give them masks.
There were always more ways to solve a problem than to create one. And Dragon, for all his ideals, couldn't really stop him.