Chapter 65: The Samurai of Wano
The Moby Dick cut through the green waters of the New World, her white whale bow parting the waves with the same steady grace she had carried for years. On her deck, the Whitebeard Pirates were deep in their usual celebration—arm‑wrestling matches, roaring laughter, the smell of roasted meat thick in the air.
Marco hung from the mast, his blue flames flickering lazily. Jozu was locked in a contest of strength with one of the younger crew. Thatch was trying to keep a plate of food away from a grinning Vista.
Then the sea changed.
Fish exploded from the water ahead, silver bodies flashing as they fled. Even the young sea kings scattered, their massive forms breaking the surface and diving again, desperate to escape something behind them.
Whitebeard set down his sake bowl. The sound was a low thud, but it silenced the deck.
"What is it, Pops?" Marco asked, his eyes sharpening.
Whitebeard's gaze was fixed on the island ahead, his smile widening. "Someone interesting."
Oden had been eating oden, his chopsticks paused mid‑bite. He set the bowl aside, his hand already moving to the swords at his hip. "There's a monster on that island," he said, and there was no fear in his voice—only excitement.
The Moby Dick pushed toward the shore.
---
The opposite beach was already a battlefield when they arrived.
Marine warships lay beached on the sand, their masts broken, their crews scattered. Marines in torn uniforms lay unconscious or groaning. Standing among them, as if they had just finished a morning stretch, were the Roger Pirates.
Roger stood at the center, a Marine commodore dangling from his grip. He dropped the man without looking, his attention already on the white whale ship approaching.
"Kuhahaha! Newgate!"
Whitebeard's laugh answered him. "Gurararara! Roger! You've made a mess of my fishing grounds!"
The crews tensed, hands moving to weapons. But the two captains only grinned at each other across the narrowing stretch of water.
Kyle stood apart from the main group, his naginata resting against his shoulder, watching. He saw the way Roger's hand trembled slightly before he steadied it. He saw the pallor beneath the tan. Crocus had done what he could, but the clock was running.
Roger caught Kyle's eye and walked over, draping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him aside.
"Kyle," he said, his voice low, his grin still wide, "this one's mine. I want a real fight with Newgate. Maybe the last one. Don't interfere."
Kyle looked at him. The same wild eyes, the same unbreakable will. He wanted to argue, to say that Roger should be resting, that every fight cost time he didn't have. But he knew better.
"Whatever you say, Captain."
Roger clapped him on the back and turned back to the approaching ship.
---
A blur of movement erupted from the jungle.
It was a man—tall, wild, dressed in the robes of Wano, two swords at his waist, wooden sandals slapping against the sand. He was running faster than anyone should be able to, his face split by a grin that matched Roger's.
Behind him, voices called out in alarm. "Captain Oden! Wait!" "They're the Roger Pirates!"
Oden did not wait. He drew his blades—Ame no Habakiri and Enma—and his speed increased, the sand kicking up behind him.
The Roger Pirates tensed. Shanks and Buggy pressed back against a crate. Jabba hefted his axes. Rayleigh's hand went to his sword.
But Oden did not attack. He stopped ten paces from Roger, his chest heaving, his grin still blazing.
"You're Gol D. Roger," he said.
Roger studied him. "And you're the one who ran out of the jungle like a man on fire."
"I'm Kozuki Oden. I heard you were here. I had to see for myself." Oden's eyes were bright, his stance eager. "You're the one who's going to reach the end of the sea."
The words hung in the air. The Whitebeard crew, now close enough to hear, went quiet. Whitebeard himself watched from his ship, his expression unreadable.
Roger's grin softened. He looked at Oden, at the swords, at the fire in the man's eyes. "You want to come?"
Oden's answer was immediate. "Yes."
---
Whitebeard's laugh rolled across the beach. "Gurararara! You're stealing my son, Roger?"
Roger turned to face him. "He came on his own."
The two captains looked at each other, the beach silent between them. The crews watched, caught between the legends.
Oden stood between them, his swords still drawn, his grin still wide. He had found what he was looking for.
Kyle watched from the shadows of the trees. He saw the weight in Roger's shoulders, the hunger in Oden's eyes, the quiet tension in Whitebeard's grip on Murakumogiri. The pieces were moving toward the end.
He leaned against a palm trunk and waited.
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End of Chapter 65