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Chapter 305: Arrival at Foosha Village!
The edge of the Calm Belt, the first half of the Grand Line.
Ocean waves were ruthlessly torn apart by massive steel hulls, letting out deafening roars. This was a terrifying armada, capable of annihilating any nation on the planet within a single hour. Thousands of warships, all flying the flag of the World Government, moved like a pack of iron behemoths, casting a shadow that smothered the East Blue.
The Fleet Admiral's flagship, a mobile fortress upon the sea, led the charge. Even the super-sized Sea Kings lurking in the depths—creatures over a thousand meters long—could only tuck their tails and shiver. Feeling the concentrated aura of the world's strongest fighting force, they didn't dare show their heads.
This was the sheer heritage of the World Government's eight hundred years of dominance over the seas!
Sengoku stood at the bow, his "Justice" cape snapping in the wind, but his face was darker than the bottom of a charred pot. He clutched a long manifest of resource consumption, the veins in his temple throbbing.
"Those damn Celestial Dragons! Do they think these warships are luxury liners?!" Sengoku growled through gritted teeth, nearly crushing the stack of reports.
To accommodate the "Gods" who were forced to move from Mary Geoise, the Marines had been forced to empty nearly half of their supply holds just to transport luxury goods, slaves, and even pets.
"Now, now, Sengoku-san don't be so angry," Borsalino drawled from a lounge chair nearby. He had an eye mask pulled over his forehead, his tone as punchable as ever. "The cost of this relocation is a hundred times our usual budget anyway. A little waste is just the 'cost of Justice,' isn't it?"
"Shut up! That's military funding I extorted through sheer effort, not for them to squander!" Sengoku snapped, glaring at Kizaru before turning to look at the other side of the deck.
Sakazuki stood leaning against the railing with his arms crossed, his hat pulled low. His grim gaze was locked on the distant horizon. Ever since being ground into the dirt by Shiki at Marineford and then being publicly "saved" by Garp, this Admiral of "Absolute Justice" had become even more taciturn. The scent of sulfur and magma could be smelled from ten meters away.
He craved power. A power that could shatter space and ignore the rules!
"Hey! Sengoku! How much longer? I'm almost out of crackers!"
A boisterous, gravelly voice shattered the heavy atmosphere on deck. Garp sat cross-legged in the center of the ship, surrounded by a mountain of empty snack bags. He was picking his nose without a shred of dignity, shouting impatiently.
Seeing his old friend, Sengoku's blood pressure spiked another thirty points.
"Garp! You bastard, you have the nerve to complain? If you hadn't insisted on taking this ship, I would have kicked you into the sea to feed the fish long ago!"
"Bwahahaha! Don't be so stingy, Sengoku!"
Garp stuffed a handful of senbei into his mouth, laughing through the crumbs. "I'm just worried you'll get lost! Foosha Village has changed quite a bit, you know!"
Sengoku paused, his brow furrowing. "Changed? It's your hometown. No matter how much it changes, how far could it go? At most, it's got a few more houses."
In Sengoku's mind, Foosha Village was just a remote, impoverished little village in the East Blue. Even if it had become "special" because of that mysterious shopkeeper, it was essentially just a slightly more crowded countryside town.
"Tsk, tsk. You're vastly underestimating the impact of the [Dungeons]."
Garp grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes—the smugness of someone who had witnessed a miracle firsthand. "Here it comes! Brace yourselves; it's about to blind you!"
Garp stood up, stroking his chin, and pointed toward the island silhouette emerging from the sea mist.
"Men! Open your eyes and look closely!"
As Garp's laughter echoed, a sudden gust of wind swept the mist aside. The scene ahead slammed into everyone's field of vision without reservation.
"This... this is Foosha Village?!"
The manifest in Sengoku's hand slipped, hitting the deck with a thud. His eyes, usually full of wisdom and calculation, were now wide as saucers. Kizaru, who had been lying down, sat bolt upright and tore off his eye mask, his shifty eyes behind his sunglasses filled with shock.
Even the brooding Sakazuki couldn't help but suck in a cold breath, his magma-transformed arm nearly melting through the railing.
At the end of their sightline, a magnificent, suffocatingly massive island stood tall. It wasn't a village at all—it was a futuristic metropolis that had surpassed the current era!
"You... you've got to be kidding me..."
A Marine Vice Admiral dropped his telescope, his lips trembling. He felt his entire worldview shattering into pieces. How was this a remote corner of the East Blue? This was more sacred than the Holy Land of Mary Geoise and ten thousand times more prosperous than Water 7! It looked like a collection of the world's miracles!
"Is that... Whitebeard's Moby Dick?"
The sharp-eyed Kizaru pointed to a section of the port, his tone turning strange. "And the Red-Haired Pirates' Red Force... there's even Big Mom's ship? They're actually all squeezed in here together?"
In that massive harbor district, the flags of the Four Emperors were coexisting in an eerie harmony. The sheer noise and vitality, the terrifying density of powerhouses, made this "World's Strongest" Marine fleet feel like it didn't belong.
"Well? Sengoku!"
Garp stood at the bow, hands on his hips, laughing with the inexplicable pride of a "local."
"This is my hometown! This is the current—Center of the World!"
Before this land, transformed by the Myriad Heavens Dungeons, the so-called "Holy Land" of Mary Geoise looked like a decaying, stagnant slum!
Sengoku stared blankly at the glittering island, his throat dry. He finally understood why Lord Imu was willing to relocate here at any cost.
The era had truly changed.
At that moment, gasps of astonishment erupted from the golden flagship where the Five Elders resided. The Celestial Dragons, usually so high and mighty, were now leaning over the railings like country bumpkins who had never seen the world, shouting and pointing at the village.
Meanwhile, in the center of the island, inside that unassuming little tavern...
The silver-haired Blake was lying in his rocking chair like a salted fish, holding a cup of iced coffee. He peeked an eye open, his gaze piercing through the kilometers of distance to land on the grand armada.
A playful smirk played on his lips.
"Yo. The big customers are finally here."
"Looks like it's time to make a massive profit."
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