"Arara... Fleet Admiral Sengoku, Mr. Garp. It seems a truly monstrous character has appeared in the East Blue..."
Though his tone was as lazy as ever, Aokiji's face was etched with a rare solemnity. Exhaling a puff of freezing air, the frost on his cheeks slowly receded. At the mont that Sword Intent had washed over them, the brief flash of instinctual terror had forced him to unconsciously activate his Hie Hie no Mi powers.
How many years had it been since he felt that heart-stopping sensation of a blade pressed against his soul?
Sengoku didn't answer. His eyes were narrowed, his mind racing through the nas of every legendary Great Swordsman on the sea. But try as he might, he couldn't think of a single master currently in the East Blue capable of releasing such a world-shaking aura.
Shaking his head, Sengoku whispered to himself, "A hidden powerhouse? I only hope this person is not an enemy of the Navy."
New World. The Moby Dick.
Portgas D. Ace, the newly appointed Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, was standing before Whitebeard, happily regaling him with stories.
"Hehe, Pops, my little brother is no pushover. In another two years, he'll be at the age to set sail. His dream is the sa as mine used to be—to beco the Pirate King! Of course, my goal now isn't the throne anymore; it's to support you and make sure the whole world knows that this era belongs to Whitebeard!"
Ace gave a proud thumb-up, pointing to the Whitebeard Jolly Roger tattooed on his back.
Looking at the talkative Ace, Whitebeard let out a booming laugh and waved a hand, holding a massive sake jug. "Pops is already old. I lost interest in the Pirate King title long ago. I'm just a remnant of the Old Era; the new age belongs to you youngsters."
"Pops, don't talk like that. You're not that old! My Great-Grandpa is nearly a hundred, and he's still lively enough to thrash and my brother. Your era is far from over!"
"Exactly, Pops. Don't go underestimating yourself," Marco the Phoenix added with a grin as he walked over.
"Gahahaha! That Great-Grandpa of yours sounds like a real character." Whitebeard laughed, raising his jug for a deep swig.
Halfway through the motion, his body froze. The laughter vanished, replaced by a look of profound gravity.
"Pops, what just happened? I felt a flash of cold, like soone was holding a knife to my throat," Diamond Jozu asked, scratching his head as he approached. Half of his body had already instinctively transford into diamond.
West Blue. The Red Force.
Shanks slowly released his grip on the hilt of Gryphon. He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. "I must be getting old to get jumpy over sothing like that."
Benn Beckman walked over, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He raised an eyebrow. "Shanks? Was that Mihawk breaking through again?"
"Mihawk?" Red-Haired Shanks shook his head. "No... that wasn't Mihawk's Sword Intent."
"Not Mihawk?" Beckman froze. If it wasn't the World's Greatest Swordsman, then who could project such a pure and devastating aura? Though the sensation was faint due to the distance, the quality of the pressure felt even more terrifying than the clashes between Shanks and Mihawk.
Did a swordsman greater than Mihawk just descend upon the sea?
Totto Land, Wano, Marineford, Dressrosa, Mariejois, Pangea Castle...
At this mont, the top-tier powerhouses of the world were all gazing toward the East Blue. In that direction, a sky-piercing Sword Intent had montarily shredded the firmant. A peak had arrived.
North Blue.
On a tiny, almost pathetic-looking wooden raft, a man with sharp, hawk-like eyes sat cross-legged. One mont, he was coolly contemplating whether to use his black blade to speed up the raft. The next, he snapped to his feet.
Like the other legends, his gaze was fixed on the East Blue. But unlike the others, his eyes—capable of making the strongest warriors tremble—were burning with an intense, predatory fighting spirit.
Zing—!
The Black Blade, Yoru—one of the 12 Supre Grade Swords—was unsheathed. Mihawk's own Sword Intent erupted, becoming almost tangible as it sliced thin, fleeting rifts into the surface of the ocean. He seed to be challenging the distant, vanishing echo of that peak.
East Blue, Unmapped Island.
Rowan had no idea that his montary burst of inspiration had sent shockwaves across the entire world. With a single thought, the terrifying Sword Intent vanished, as if it had never existed.
Had there not been a literal rift torn into the clouds above, the pirates on the beach would have sworn the bone-chilling sensation was a hallucination.
Every pirate stood frozen, turned to stone like statues. Even the ships further out, preparing to drop anchor and send reinforcents, had ceased all movent.
Damn it. These two looked so harmless. How is one scarier than the other?
This wasn't just kicking a steel plate. This was kicking a tectonic plate.
The lookout on the Dreadnaught Saber, who had been halfway down the mast, felt like slapping himself. Why is my eyesight so good? Why did I have to find this island?! If I hadn't seen it, none of this would be happening!
The kid in the red vest was bad enough—a Devil Fruit user with scary combat power, but maybe beatable with numbers. But the old man? The mont that Sword Intent exploded, the lookout almost fell to his death. Under that pressure, he realized the truth: in this sea, he was nothing but an ant. Even their leader, Don Krieg, was just a slightly larger ant.
To hell with being a pirate! If I knew monsters like this were out there, I would've stayed ho!
"Mama... I want to go ho. I don't want to be a pirate anymore!"
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