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Chapter 301: A Nation on the Move! Even the Gates of Justice Were Torn Down?
"Rules are rules."
Shiki's raucous laughter died away, replaced by a rare, chilling solemnity. He swirled his empty glass, his gaze turning distant and profound.
"In the presence of that man... what are the Four Emperors? What are the Admirals? Even the World Government itself is nothing more than a collection of slightly larger ants."
He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto the others.
"And since we are ants, we must have the self-awareness of ants."
Shiki shot a playful, mocking glance at Shanks, who was still busy wiping cold sweat from his brow.
"Though you're a bit of a coward, Red-Haired brat, your head works better than that idiot Kaido. He thinks with his muscles; you actually use your brain. As long as we stay within Foosha Village—as long as we remain within that man's sight—it doesn't matter if that old mad dog Garp shows up. Even if the Five Elders or Imu of the Empty Throne came themselves, they'd have to tuck their tails between their legs!"
He slammed his glass onto the counter.
"In this place, there is only one absolute truth: the mood of Boss Blake!"
Shanks let out a long, jagged breath of relief. Being called a coward stung, but at least his life was intact. As long as I'm not embarrassed, the embarrassment belongs to someone else!
A carefree, boisterous grin returned to Shanks' face. He grabbed a bottle and poured a fresh glass for Shiki.
"Hahaha! Well, they say a wise man knows when to bow! Come, Senior, have a drink! When the old... cough, when Vice Admiral Garp arrives, we'll just sit back and enjoy the show!"
Inside the tavern, the air was thick with a strange, frantic cheer.
But outside those walls, across the vast and boundless blue sea, a terrifying migration was underway—a movement of such scale it was destined to rewrite history and upend the very foundations of the world.
—————
The Grand Line — Edge of the Calm Belt (Heading toward the East Blue)
The sea, usually as smooth as a mirror, was currently boiling. Great waves churned and white foam lashed at the sky. This wasn't the result of a storm, but of ships.
Too many ships.
As far as the eye could see, the horizon was choked by a forest of steel that blotted out the sun. Here lay nearly the entire elite fighting force of the Marine Headquarters. Hundreds of massive warships, flying the seagull flag of Justice, formed an indestructible Great Wall of iron. Their dark cannons glinted with a suffocating, cold light.
On every deck stood rows of fully armed, solemn-faced Marine elites.
At the heart of this armada, protected on all sides, were dozens of obscenely luxurious cruise ships adorned with gold trim and the crest of the Celestial Dragons. These were the exclusive vessels of the World Government—the physical vessels of the core power that had ruled the world for eight hundred years.
This wasn't a military maneuver. This was the relocation of an entire nation.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku stood at the bow of the flagship, the Daibutsu. The sea breeze whipped his "Justice" cape, making it snap like a flag in a gale. But his face held none of its usual pride. Instead, it was a mask of anxiety, urgency, and a deeply hidden, fanatical heat.
"Faster! Move faster!"
Sengoku gripped a Den Den Mushi, roaring into the receiver so loudly that spatter hit his adjutant's face.
"Pass the order: all ships to full speed! If the boilers overheat, douse them with cold water! If the engines fail, get the men on the oars! Tell Logistics to stop worrying about the trivialities! Aside from Vegapunk's lab equipment, leave the rest of the junk behind! We are racing for time! We are racing for the future! If we're a minute late, we might be left behind by an entire era!"
The adjutant trembled, scurrying off to relay the commands.
Sengoku hung up and took a deep breath, trying to still his racing heart.
It's insane. This is beyond madness.
If someone had told him two weeks ago that Marineford would uproot itself and move to a tiny village in the East Blue—and that they'd be bringing the high-and-mighty Celestial Dragons with them—he would have assumed they were brain-dead and locked them in Impel Down until the end of time.
But now, this was reality.
After seeing Shiki's earth-shattering Susanoo and witnessing Garp's "Sage Art: Meteor Smash" shatter the very fabric of space, Sengoku's worldview had been ground into dust.
What was Justice? What was Order? What were geographical advantages? In the face of that kind of absolute power, it was all meaningless!
If they didn't move—if they didn't get close to the man named Blake and enter those mysterious "Dungeons"—the Marines would be nothing more than fat sheep waiting for the slaughter, regardless of their million-man army or the World Government's ancient heritage.
Crunch! Crunch!
A crisp, rhythmic chewing sound broke Sengoku's immersion. A vein throbbed in his temple. He turned stiffly to see Garp sitting cross-legged in a lounge chair, happily demolishing a pile of senbei.
"Sengoku, don't be so tense," Garp mumbled through a mouthful of crackers. "Relax, relax. We're not going to war; we're going on vacation! I miss Makino's meatballs. And Blake's booze. Man, these crackers just don't taste the same. One star out of five!"
Looking at Garp's heartless, carefree attitude, Sengoku felt his blood pressure spike. He could sense the terrifying aura faintly radiating from Garp—the qualitative change brought about by the [Sage Body].
The jealousy was so thick Sengoku could taste it.
"Garp! You bastard!"
Sengoku snatched the bag of senbei out of Garp's hands. Throwing his dignity as Fleet Admiral to the wind, he poured a handful into his own mouth and chewed viciously, as if he were grinding Garp's bones.
"Of course you're not nervous! You've already cleared the dungeon! You're 'Sage Garp' now! You can afford to stand there and talk without your back hurting! Do you have any idea how much pressure I'm under? Those five old geezers are hounding me every day! The soldiers are in a panic! The Four Emperors are all racing to the East Blue! If we're late, we won't even get a sip of the leftover soup!"
Garp casually picked his nose and flicked a finger. A massive piece of debris shot out like a cannonball, headshotting a giant Sea King that had just breached the surface.
"That's for you to worry about. I'm just a Vice Admiral. Brain work is for the 'Great Strategist,' isn't it?" Garp grinned, showing off his bright white teeth. "Besides, didn't we bring the whole house with us? Aside from the empty shell of Marineford, we took everything of value. We even dismantled the parts of the Gates of Justice and loaded them onto the ships. If that isn't sincerity, I don't know what is. Blake might be a black-hearted merchant, but as long as the money is right, he's actually quite easy to talk to."
Sengoku sighed, looking at the faint outline of the East Blue on the horizon. His eyes were complicated.
"I hope so. This time, we've really burned our bridges. We haven't just bet the Marines' entire fortune—we've dragged the World Government's face across the floor to do it."
Deep within the core of the fleet, inside the most luxurious cruise ship made entirely of Treasure Tree Adam, five elderly men who held the world's highest authority sat around a circular table.
The atmosphere was suffocating.
They were the Five Elders. Usually, they sat atop the Holy Land of Mary Geoise, looking down on all living things as "Gods." But now, their faces held no trace of composure or arrogance. Instead, there was deep wariness and an unmaskable... greed.
"Is the intel confirmed?" asked the Elder with the crimson suit and blonde beard, his voice low and raspy.
"Confirmed," replied the bald Elder, his fingers tracing the hilt of the Shodai Kitetsu. A cold light flashed in his eyes. "Those pirates have already—"
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