Year 1505 Sea Calendar.
The fog in the Florian Triangle that day was so thick that it seemed to blot out the color of the sky. There was no wind. There were no seagulls. Silence pressed down until a scream broke out from the deck of the pirate galleon, the Iron Tusk.
"Fire!" Aim at that shadow! Quickly!"
The captain roared, his face pale with saliva dripping from his mouth.
Cannons roared, firing iron balls into the gray fog. The crew swallowed hard, imagining legendary creatures or sea ghosts.
But neither appeared.
From behind the fog, a rickety raft advanced at a steady pace. On it stood a giant bald figure with a thick scar on the side of his head as if someone had forcibly pulled a horn from his skull.
[Harald, King of Elbaf]
There were no shouts. No threats. He simply grabbed the black axe, which was as big as a small boat, from his back.
"One more," he muttered low. "To atone for the sins of my people."
SWOOSH.
The swing of his axe seemed slow, but the air pressure hit faster than the sound of the explosion. The fog parted as if torn fabric.
An empty passage formed and hit the stern of the Iron Tusk immediately.
There was no dramatic explosion. Only a long crack sound as the ship split cleanly from bow to stern.
The screams were drowned with the ship. Harald lowered his axe and wiped his cold, bald head with his sleeve. His eyes were empty, but his resolve was as hard as stone.
The road to forgiveness was still long.
The Holy Land of Mariejois.
Pangaea Castle, Authority Room.
In stark contrast to the gloomy Florian Triangle, the room was filled with golden sunlight. The aroma of herbal tea and old paper hung in the air.
Instead of a grand throne, there were red carpets and luxurious leather sofas surrounding a low mahogany table. World leaders leaned back casually on the sofas.
However, their presence alone was enough to make any admiral faint.
Harald knelt. His bald head bowed low. The bandage on his arm was still wet with a mixture of blood and ink from the newly engraved "Blade" tattoo.
Saint Figarland Garling stood near the window with his back to the sun, casting his face in shadow.
"You did a clean job in Florian, Harald," he said flatly. "The CP9 report says there are no living witnesses."
On the sofa, Saint Marcus Mars put down his porcelain teacup. "Therefore, your request is granted. Starting today, you are a God Blade."
Harald looked up. His eyes did not shine with greed but with sincere hope.
"Thank you, Grand Elder! Will Elbaph be accepted by the World Government as well?"
There was a moment of silence.
Saint Nusjuro, who was wiping the Kitetsu sword, paused. The glasses on his face reflected the light.
"Don't rush, Giant," he said flatly. "Elbaph has a dirty history. But if you prove your complete loyalty someday, and we give you the title of Knight of God, then maybe. Forgiveness can be considered."
No!
Saint Saturn's staff slammed into the floor.
"For now, we will only give you a Surface Sea Contract. You will have access to the Holy Teleportation Route. You can appear in any sea in an instant."
Saturn leaned forward, his voice sharp.
"But your body is still that of a lowly insect. Unlike the Holy Knights, you don't have regeneration. You are merely a sword. If you break, you die."
Garling threw a black Den Den Mushi.
"Go. Continue your mission."
The main corridor of Pangaea Castle.
Harald walked with slightly easier breathing. Elbaph was now more than just a dream. He touched the scar where he had pulled out the horn himself. The sacrifice felt right.
But his steps faltered.
On a bench in the hallway sat a young man with bright red hair. He looked around 25 years old and was panting. His white uniform was stained with blood.
He was changing the bandage on his left eye, which continued to bleed.
Saint Shanks.
"Damn...it hurts," he hissed, holding back the tears on his face.
In front of him stood a tall man arrogantly. Saint Shamrock.
He held a cigar in one hand and a knife in the other. He scratched his cheek.
A drop of blood fell.
Then, his skin closed again in an instant.
"Look at that, Shanks." He blew smoke into Shanks's face. "That's the difference in caste. I have a Deep Sea Contract. I can recover as quickly as I want."
He looked at Shanks as if he were trash.
"As for you? God Blade. Teleportation? Nice. But your body? Fragile. One stab and you're done."
Shanks threw down his bandages. His face looked full of frustration, but it was mostly an act.
"Shut up, Shamrock! I'll surpass you. I'll defeat anyone who tries to destroy this world. I'll earn the title of God Knight and prove to Father that I'm worthy!"
His breath was ragged. He turned to Harald.
"Harald! You heard me, right? We're in the same boat. Both of us could die at any moment."
Shanks got up, limping, and grabbed Harald's arm.
"We have to rise in rank, Giant. We have to get that regeneration before we die a stupid death."
Harald nodded. "I understand, Saint Shanks."
Naval Headquarters, Marineford, Admiral's Office.
Far from Mariejois, Sengoku enjoyed his hot tea. His goat chewed on budget documents. The day felt peaceful.
BRAAAAK!
The teak door shattered. Sengoku's tea spilled.
A communications soldier burst in, his face as pale as chalk. He forgot to salute and speak politely.
"Admiral Sengoku!"
"What is this? You think this is a market!" Sengoku snapped.
The soldier pointed outside the window, his hands shaking violently.
"Reports are coming in from all over the world, from all the oceans, at the same moment," he said, his voice breaking. "The seawater, sir..."
His legs gave way. He fell to his knees.
"This isn't an earthquake. It's not a tsunami. It's the volume!"
Sengoku turned around spontaneously to look at the bay.
The Buddha's face paled.
The seawater was rising.
It wasn't a normal tide. It was rising suddenly and vertically, as if pulled by a giant hand. Warships were lifted forcefully, and their mooring ropes snapped like giant guitar strings. Hulls collided with each other and the pier collapsed amid the chaos.
The water overflowed the embankment and engulfed Oris Plaza. The screams of people were drowned out by the roar of the water.
"Global sea level..." the soldier screamed, barely able to breathe. "Rising one meter... just now!"
Sengoku gripped the window frame until it bent.
There was no enemy.
There was no attack.
Only the world, which suddenly seemed to shrink.