They were all fascinated by the tribute wine Doflamingo mentioned—a delicacy reserved for the Celestial Dragons. None of them had ever had the chance to taste it before.
What caught even more attention, however, was the company Teach was pouring for. Every man at that table radiated strength, the kind that made lesser pirates instinctively hold their breath.
Among them, Teach was the most inscrutable. His presence was like a bottomless abyss, impossible to read, impossible to measure. Even these future monsters of the sea couldn't help but wonder when such a man had appeared in their world.
Moria was already hailed as the "Hero of West Blue." Even Doflamingo, whose fame was still in its infancy, secretly ruled the underworld of North Blue with his Donquixote Family. Each of them carried the seeds of legend.
Teach's grin widened as the final drop of wine filled Moria's glass. "Perfect timing," he said, laughing.
Setting the bottle down, he raised his own glass high. "Zehahahahaha! Let's drink—to the heroes!"
He was the first to drink, tipping the wine back in a single gulp.
The others exchanged glances, then smiled. Doflamingo chuckled, his signature laugh curling through the air. "Fufufufufu… I'll take that as a good omen." He drank deeply.
Teach's words were more than a toast, they were recognition. In his eyes, these four men were destined to become legends. Moria's title of "Hero" was confined to the West Blue for now, but Teach knew each of them would someday make the world tremble.
And they accepted that compliment without protest. Even though Teach wasn't famous yet, their instincts screamed one truth, he was the most dangerous man in the room.
"This wine's incredible," Moria muttered after savoring a sip. "I wonder when I'll ever get to drink it again."
"Fufufufufu… you could always rob the Heavenly Tribute ships from the Grape Kingdom," Doflamingo teased, tilting his shades down with a wicked grin. "Or just overthrow their royal family outright."
Moria rolled his eyes. "You want me hunted across the seas by the Marines? No thanks."
He waved the idea away. The West Blue produced its own fine wines, he didn't need to court disaster for this one, no matter how exquisite.
"Aphrodite's Kiss" was fine wine, yes but it wasn't worth dying for.
Meanwhile, on the harbor road of Loguetown, the Pirate King himself was being led toward the execution square.
Both sides of the avenue were packed to bursting. If not for the Marines standing in perfect formation, the crowd would have swallowed the road whole.
It was eerily silent. The weight of history pressed down on every soul. All eyes were fixed on one man—Gol D. Roger.
The man who had conquered the unconquerable Grand Line.
Cameras rolled. Den Den Mushi transmitted the scene to every corner of the world.
The sun blazed overhead as Roger walked forward, shackled, bound and yet utterly unbowed. His steps were steady, his chin high, his expression that of a victorious general, not a condemned man.
He smiled as he looked around, and that simple gesture shook the crowd to its core. The man who had everything smiled in the face of death.
This, they realized, was what a king looked like.
Roger's gaze lingered on his hometown. It had changed, yes—but traces of the old streets remained. He felt no attachment, no sorrow.
It had been decades since he'd last walked these roads.
Hidden among the crowd were countless pirates, strong and weak alike. Teach was there too, his black cloak fluttering as he watched in silence.
The Marines were on edge, ready for anything but no incident occurred.
Roger climbed the steps of the execution platform. Two executioners stood behind him, swords drawn.
The square swelled with people. Roger glanced around, gauging the size of the crowd. His lips curled into a knowing smile.
The downfall of a hero—it was a cruel, poetic sight.
Even the executioners were trembling. To strike down Gol D. Roger was to stand before a god.
The pirates hidden in the crowd bowed their heads. Among them, a red-haired boy with a straw hat clenched his fists, fighting back tears.
No one would intervene. Not even Roger's former crewmates.
Because this was the path Roger had chosen himself.
Pirates were strange like that. They craved freedom more than life itself. They would fight, betray, and kill but their bonds were real, their respect for strength absolute.
The title of "Pirate King" wasn't just a crown, it was a dream, a symbol of ultimate freedom.
And today, that dream was about to die before their eyes.
Below the scaffold stood the highest echelons of the Marines—Sengoku, Garp, Tsuru, Zephyr, and the three future Admirals. Their presence alone ensured no rescue would ever succeed.
Teach's eyes didn't waver from Roger. His heart pounded with strange anticipation.
Even in chains, Roger radiated an aura that seemed to defy the heavens. The aura of a man born to be free.
"The will of generations… the turning of the ages… men's dreams will never die," Teach thought, echoing Roger's philosophy.
The soldier's voice shook. "Pirate King Gol D. Roger… do you have any last words?"
Roger raised his shackled hands and grinned. "Yeah—take these off. I'm itching like crazy."
The soldier froze. "That's… impossible!"
"How could I run?" Roger asked mildly. Then he chuckled. "What a pitiful sight."
He took two more steps, then sat cross-legged, facing the crowd and the world.
"Come on," he said cheerfully. "Let's get this over with."
The two executioners raised their swords. The air grew thick, breathless.
Then, from the crowd, a voice suddenly shouted—
"Hey! Pirate King!"
The tension shattered like glass. Everyone turned toward the sound.
"Where's all the treasure you found? Is it really in the Grand Line?"
"You must've gotten it... the treasure!"
"Silence!" a Marine general barked, panic creeping into his voice.
But the words had already reached Roger. His grin widened.
"The One Piece…" the man shouted again, voice cracking but fierce. "You hid it somewhere, didn't you?!"
Sengoku's face went pale. He could feel the disaster unfolding. "Execute him—now!" he roared.
But it was too late.
Roger laughed. That rich, booming laugh that once shook the seas. "My treasure, you say?"
The executioners flinched.
"Execute!" Sengoku bellowed.
The blades rose but Roger's Conqueror's Haki burst forth like a storm. The soldiers froze mid-swing.
Roger threw his head back, his laughter echoing like thunder. "If you want it… go find it!" he roared.
"I left everything in this world there!"
The blades came down.
Time stopped.
And then, silence.
Gol D. Roger—the man who owned everything—was dead.
But his final words ignited a fire that would never be extinguished.
For one long heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then the crowd exploded in chaos.
Cheers, sobs, screams, the start of a new age.
Above them, the heavens themselves seemed to weep. Rain poured down, drenching the square.
Sengoku slammed his fist against the railing. "Damn it, Roger! Even in death, you mock us!"
In Mariejois, furious voices echoed in gilded halls.
In taverns across the seas, pirates raised their glasses, roaring with laughter.
On distant islands, kings trembled.
And in the crowd, Teach spread his arms wide, rain streaming down his face as he laughed toward the heavens.
"Zehahahahaha! Our era begins now!"
In Marine Calendar 1498, Gol D. Roger, the man who conquered the world, was executed in Loguetown—the Town of Beginnings and Ends.
His dying words marked the dawn of a new age.
The Great Pirate Era.