At the same time, on Marineford's main battlefield—
The fact that Kuzan had been able to withdraw and intercept Sakazuki sent a clear signal in itself.
The outer blockade formed by Kuzan and Borsalino—the two Admirals—had been lifted.
And as if to confirm it, a steady wave of Conqueror's Haki swept slowly across the battlefield.
A moment later, a group of figures appeared at the shattered entrance to the harbor.
At their head stood a man in a black cloak, three claw-like scars slashing across his left eye, a famed sword—Gryphon—resting at his hip.
It was Shanks, the Red-Haired Emperor.
Behind him stood the full elite lineup of the Red-Hair Pirates—Benn Beckman, Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Hongo, and the rest of their core officers.
They stood firm before the remnants of the Navy, forming a new line of confrontation.
Shanks' gaze swept across the ravaged battlefield.
It passed over Whitebeard's fallen body.
Over the corpse of the Golden Lion.
And finally paused, just briefly, upon Ace's body lying in a pool of blood.
In the depths of his eyes flickered something heavy—almost imperceptible.
That was Captain Roger's… only son.
But the moment passed.
He lifted his head and looked directly at Sengoku. His voice rang out clearly across the battlefield.
"Sengoku. This war should end."
"It has already lost its meaning."
There was undeniable weight behind Red Hair's words.
Behind him, the remnants of the Whitebeard Pirates and other surviving pirates were already boarding ships and withdrawing at speed. Straw Hat Luffy had long since been taken away amidst the chaos by Jinbe and the others.
The Red-Hair Pirates had not come to fight.
They had come to draw a line—to put a period at the end of this bloody war.
"Red Hair…"
Sengoku took in the scene before him, then glanced at Garp—still drowning in immense grief, barely supported upright by Zephyr.
He clenched his teeth.
The cost of this war had already been catastrophic. Continuing any further might indeed strip it of all meaning, just as Shanks said.
And yet—
Just as the scales in Sengoku's heart began to tip, just as he prepared to declare the war's end—
"Whether it ends or not…"
A familiar voice cut sharply through the fragile stillness.
"…isn't for a pirate to decide."
The Navy soldiers froze for half a second at the sound.
Then their faces lit up with uncontrollable exhilaration, as though they had found their anchor.
"Admiral Gern!!!!!"
Under countless converging gazes, Gern Reginald Sigmar stepped forward.
His coat of Justice was slightly torn but still worn with impeccable bearing. Draped over his arm was Garp's fallen coat of Justice.
Behind him followed Lipo, Enel, and Tesoro, their presences sharp and formidable.
As for the Warlords who had been skirting the edges of the battlefield—
Donquixote Doflamingo, Gecko Moria, and Boa Hancock—who had returned at some unknown point—
They had all ceased fighting and now stood silently to the side, their stance unmistakable.
It was clear someone had found time to "educate" them properly.
Marineford's outcome was already decided.
But how it would conclude—who would define the final narrative—
Gern's forceful return declared one thing unmistakably:
The initiative still belonged to the Navy.
To him.
To "Heavenquake."
Shanks watched Gern approach step by deliberate step. His eyes cooled.
Beneath his trademark composure, a sharpness flickered—something had touched his bottom line.
He drew a breath, preparing to speak, to invoke the rhetoric of balance and minimizing casualties.
"Gern, you know if this continues—"
"Drop the act, Red Hair."
Gern cut him off without courtesy.
"In fact, the moment Kaido withdrew from the battlefield… you could've left too, couldn't you?"
Shanks' pupils contracted—just slightly.
Gern had exposed the subtle gap in timing.
He had not been unable to intervene earlier.
He had chosen this exact moment.
"And yet you still chose… to land now."
Gern's tone carried faint mockery as his gaze drifted to Ace's corpse.
He stepped aside briefly, lifting Garp's fallen coat and gently placing it back over the old man's shoulders.
Only then did he look up again, meeting Shanks' eyes directly.
He asked the question that had lingered for years—perhaps even one Shanks himself wrestled with in the dead of night.
"Back then… what did Roger tell you?"
"What did he see… at the very end?"
Gern's voice was low. Through subtle vibrations, the words reached only Shanks.
"What was worth abandoning everything for…"
His eyes swept across the Red-Hair Pirates.
"…even his own son?"
Finally, with near-cruel calmness, Gern delivered the blade to the soul.
"This thing called fate…"
"Was it worth it?"
The simple question tore away every layer of "maintaining balance" and "ending the war," cutting straight to the core of Shanks' motivation.
To the will entrusted to him by the Pirate King—Gol D. Roger—perhaps tied to the very future of the world.
Gern's words made Shanks' grip on Gryphon whiten.
He fell silent.
But only for a moment.
"Talking won't change anything."
He avoided the question.
He could not—would not—answer that question of fate and sacrifice here.
A pulse of Conqueror's Haki expanded outward from him—not to intimidate, but to dispel the vibrational isolation Gern had created, ensuring his voice carried across the battlefield.
He grasped Gryphon's hilt. His voice rose.
"If we keep fighting, both sides will only suffer more needless casualties!"
"So everyone…"
His gaze swept across Marines and retreating pirates alike, finally settling on Gern.
"Give me some face."
"Stop this."
Then he drew his sword and pointed it directly at Gern.
"But Gern Reginald Sigmar—"
"If you're not satisfied yet…"
"Come! Let us—"
"Are you sure?"
Four words.
Cold enough to freeze the air.
The instant they fell—
Figures began appearing behind Gern.
One after another.
Silent.
Heavy.
Responding as though to a king's summons.
"So scary~ Four Emperors."
Borsalino stood with hands in his pockets, crooked grin in place.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku radiated authority.
Garp—grief still fresh—cast no friendly look toward Red Hair.
Zephyr's gaze was razor-sharp.
Bullet cracked his neck with a savage grin.
Lipo gripped her carrot twin blades, eyes focused.
Enel crackled with lightning, disdain plain on his face.
Tesoro let gold flow like liquid from his fingertips.
And behind them stood Momonga, Onigumo, Doberman, and a forest of elite Vice Admirals—steel-hard, killing intent surging.
Nearly the entirety of Marine Headquarters' most terrifying top combat power had assembled here.
All eyes locked onto the handful of Red-Hair Pirates.
The invisible pressure congealed the very air over Marineford.
Gern stood at the forefront.
His gaze remained icy as he looked at Shanks—whose expression had finally turned grave.
Step by step, Gern walked forward.
"I'll ask you one more time."
"Are you certain you want to stand here—"
"In Marineford. At Marine Headquarters—"
"And say the words 'we'll see this to the end'?"
"Red Hair."