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The skies over Marineford were cloaked in drizzle. Gone was the usual sunshine, replaced by a dim, overcast gloom. A heavy, mournful atmosphere hung over the square.
From as early as six or seven in the morning, figures had gathered after breakfast, silently standing before the towering stone monument at the center of the square.
The jet-black stone was etched with line after line of densely packed names. No one spoke loudly. Even when they did talk, it was in hushed tones.
Everyone's Marine uniforms were worn with immaculate precision, black boots polished, and white flowers pinned over their hearts.
Some wore solemn expressions, others looked sorrowful. A few wept softly, their eyes swollen and red.
Despite the differences on their faces, they all shared the same grief within. The misty rain drifting across Marineford only deepened the already somber mood.
Time passed quietly. More and more officers arrived, organizing themselves into neat lines.
Many stood in silence, while others reflected on the war's brutality and bloodshed.
"War is never a friendly word. Everyone fears its arrival," someone murmured.
"Because war never brings joy or beauty—it only brings endless suffering and this pain... after the war, it's engraved even deeper into our souls."
An elderly Vice Admiral with white hair and a scarred face sighed as he gazed at the monument.
"But if war can bring peace, happiness, and a stable life to this world... then it is a just war, one that must be fought."
A younger Vice Admiral in his prime replied with a steady tone. The older man shook his head slowly, sighing, saying no more.
In any great organization, factions will inevitably form. The Marines were no exception.
Especially within a military force like this, the divide between moderates and hawks—between restraint and aggression—was stark.
Moderates believed that every action should follow justice, that conflict should be avoided when possible.
The hawks, on the other hand, held that if war could solve a problem, it should be used decisively. Leaving issues unresolved only bred greater problems.
In the older generation, Sengoku had balanced this contradiction well.
He maintained a delicate peace between both factions—until, on the eve of retirement, he launched a war that shook the entire world.
In the new era, stood Admiral Arashi.
A symbol of equal justice, his ruthless methods and sheer violence during the war made it hard to associate him with his usual calm demeanor.
To the old Vice Admiral, this was the most terrifying kind of person.
"A moderate? Or a warmonger?" he pondered quietly. Because this question would ultimately determine the Marines' future.
An organization that fights endless wars is doomed to collapse, yet one that avoids all conflict grows weak, corrupt, and powerless.
Finding perfect balance was no easy task. Suddenly, the crowd parted. Through the gentle rain, a square-faced figure with graying hair and beard walked forward.
"Vice Admiral Garp!"
"That's Admiral Arashi's mentor!
"
"The Marine Hero—Garp!"
The crowd stirred with murmurs of recognition. The older Vice Admiral heard the whispers but did not turn around. Garp soon arrived at his side.
"Garp," the old Vice Admiral said quietly. "You've trained quite the disciple."
Garp knew exactly who he meant, and though the occasion was solemn, a faint smile flickered across his face.
"Kross," Garp replied softly, "you've aged too."
Kross chuckled. "After today's memorial, I'm planning to retire back home. Been due for it a long time—finally, I can rest."
His eyes shimmered with nostalgia and hope.
He imagined his mischievous little grandson running happily across the island. Garp blinked in surprise, then spoke in a daze.
"Yeah… in the blink of an eye, you've reached retirement age too."
After that short exchange, the two fell silent. Time—often unnoticed and taken for granted—is perhaps the most fearsome thing of all.
Before one realizes it, life slips into its twilight years. "The old pass on, and the young are born. That's the cycle of mankind," Kross said with a smile.
Garp's expression twitched. He felt as if Kross was hinting at something. He snorted in response.
"Haha! I wasn't talking about your pirate grandson!" Kross laughed after a beat.
Garp clenched his fist but didn't respond—he couldn't be bothered with the old man's teasing.
Just then, Tsuru walked up and stood silently beside them. She turned, giving the two an annoyed glare.
"Be serious. This isn't the time or place for jokes."
Kross quickly restrained his smile, and Garp straightened his expression as well.
Soon, a group of elderly Vice Admirals with gray hair stepped forward and stood beside them.
All eyes turned toward the towering monument. From the first line to the last, it was densely etched with countless names.
"The Marine Hero Memorial," Tsuru said softly. "Compared to me, they deserve that title far more," Garp said quietly.
No one refuted his words. Those who gave their lives in the name of justice—if they weren't heroes, who was?
"So many old friends found peace through that battle," someone beside him said, their voice trembling.
Garp and Tsuru's expressions darkened. They recognized the names engraved on the front rows—friends they'd fought alongside, comrades from the same era.
At their age, they were all just waiting for death. It could come at any moment. In a way, those who'd already passed… were freed.
"To die on the battlefield, to depart in glory—that's the perfect ending," an old Vice Admiral muttered coldly.
"If only my name were etched on this monument, Garp… I could've been a hero too."
Garp froze, then forced a faint smile in response. A dead hero and a living one were not quite the same.
Yet somehow, Garp sensed something deeper in the man's words. He slowly looked up at the monument again.
Each name carved into the stone was part of the legacy. At the base, flowers, fruit, and white candles surrounded the pedestal.
At the very bottom of the monument, one line was inscribed: "Everyone who sacrifices for justice is a true hero."
Once, only Garp bore the title of Marine Hero. But after the War on the Summit and the erection of this monument, countless others were honored.
Though their lives had ended, their spirits would live on. The names carved here would not be forgotten by future generations.
For all Marines, this legacy gave their lives a new purpose.
Even in the face of death, there would be no fear—only resolve. Because death could be the path to becoming a hero. Suddenly, a stir ran through the crowd.
"It's the young Vice Admirals who distinguished themselves in battle!"
"Vice Admiral Buggy—he held off Red-Haired Shanks! Vice Admiral Rosinante blocked a punch from Whitebeard!"
"Vice Admiral Smoker."
"Vice Admiral Kuina, the master swordswoman."
"Vice Admiral Fisher Tiger—the legendary freedom fighter who reached Mary Geoise?"
Behind them followed the Science Division, filled with powerful young elites.
The murmurs of awe rippled through the crowd as these young Vice Admirals stepped into place, lining up behind the older generation.
Then came Vice Admirals like Stainless, Dalmatian, and Onigumo.
Time continued to flow. The rain thickened slightly, but none of the officers raised umbrellas. They stood straight and silent, like specters in the mist.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku has arrived!"
As a white figure stepped into view at the front of the plaza, everyone turned their gaze. Three tall figures followed behind Sengoku.
The four walked to the front, and Sengoku stepped forward first. He placed a bouquet of flowers at the monument's base and bowed deeply.
The three Admirals behind him followed suit in order. Afterward, the vast crowd of Marines bowed in unison.
"This memorial will be presided over by Admiral Arashi," Sengoku declared.
No one was surprised. After his performance in the War on the Summit, Arashi's prestige had reached unparalleled heights.
Within the Marines, no one could rival him. His role today was not only symbolic—it was an announcement.
The transfer of the Fleet Admiral position had already begun. Then, under everyone's gaze, Arashi stepped forward and faced the massive Hero Monument.
His deep, steady voice echoed through the rain.
"The road to justice and light is always paved in mud. Along this road, many will fall and never walk beside us again."
"Those who gave their lives—they are heroes, without question. They gave everything for the greatest cause of all."
"Many may not understand this sacrifice, but history will. Without their deaths, those of you standing here today would not have the strength to continue."
"Peace and happiness, equality and justice will forever remain asleep in darkness unless someone pays the price."
"Some things must be done. Some roads must be walked. Now, it's our turn."
His words were brief, but they resounded like thunder. Silence fell across Marineford, yet hearts burned with passion. Fists clenched without thought.
Suddenly, Arashi looked up and roared: "Fire the salute—send off our comrades!!!"
"Fire the salute!!" A deep, resonant, and forceful voice echoed across the plaza of Marineford.
At that very moment, countless people suddenly raised their heads to look at the towering stone monument ahead, engraved with the names of countless fallen.
Some were moved to tears, some trembled, some stood with blazing spirit, and others' eyes flickered with complex emotion.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Marines surrounding the Marineford plaza raised their rifles toward the sky and pulled the trigger.
The heavy sounds of gunfire rang out, making hearts pound uncontrollably.
This was a farewell anthem performed by countless Marines—a sound that, for a moment, transported them all back to the battlefield in their minds.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
A few seconds later, the gunfire rang out again, rhythmically continuing for a long time.
Then came another voice, clear and commanding, from the very front where Arashi stood.
"Fire the cannons!"
A thunderous cannonade followed, shattering the quiet atmosphere of Marineford and filling it with noise and chaos.
The light drizzle was swept away by a sudden gust of wind, but even that fierce wind couldn't shake the upright figures standing solemnly in the plaza.
They stood firm amid the roar of guns and cannons, their expressions grave and respectful—bidding farewell to fallen comrades.
The memorial service quickly came to an end, accompanied by the thunder of arms, as the officers saluted their old friends one last time.
That day, the clouds overhead were scattered by the cannon fire, and even the drizzle faded away.
A single ray of sunlight broke through the sky, falling directly onto the monument at the center of the plaza.
It illuminated the engraved names, each one shining brilliantly under the sunlight.
Those names had burst forth in life before death—and now, even in death, they shone brightly.
By midday, the memorial had concluded. Arashi stood silently before the monument, waiting for the crowd behind him to disperse before turning away.
At that moment, a news reporter quietly pressed the shutter, capturing this historically significant scene.
That afternoon, in the Fleet Admiral's office:
"Yo! You're quite the rare visitor now that the war is over!" Sengoku looked up at the old man in front of him and chuckled.
Garp let out a grunt and found himself a comfortable spot to sit down. "The war's over."
"The elite forces summoned from around the world are now returning in waves, starting today. So… what's your next move?"
Sengoku's smile faded slightly, his expression growing more serious. He glanced at Arashi, who was absorbed in reviewing documents across the desk.
"Our next move? Naturally, the Fleet Admiral position." Sengoku sighed softly.
"Oh? The kid Arashi is becoming Fleet Admiral?" Garp turned to him with a grin. Arashi looked up with a smile of his own.
"Teacher Garp, the appointment might still take some time."
Garp nodded. "I figured. It won't happen that quickly. But… doesn't the World Government have an issue with that?"
His expression turned serious. He knew all too well about the tensions between Arashi and the World Government.
If the Five Elders ever got the chance to eliminate Arashi, they wouldn't hesitate.
Now that the Fleet Admiral position was at stake—something so significant—how could the World Government possibly hand it over to their enemy so easily?
"We'll find a way to deal with that. But Arashi's promotion is already set in stone."
Sengoku showed no concern at all—on the contrary, he was brimming with confidence. Arashi smiled as well.
"As long as you two are confident, that's enough for me." Seeing the unwavering resolve on their faces, Garp relaxed and let out a hearty laugh.
"Once you take office, Sengoku and I will finally retire! At last, we can enjoy a peaceful old age."
He leaned back in his chair and sighed contentedly "I'm afraid you both will still have some duties to fulfill."
"The world's current situation isn't exactly favorable for the Marines," Arashi said in a low voice.
Garp blinked in surprise. "You're already moving up and still trying to wring every last bit out of us old folks?"
"It's not exploitation—it's a request for your help." Arashi sighed and placed the intelligence reports in his hand onto the table.
"During the chaos stirred up by Luffy and Blackbeard at Impel Down, things quieted down after the war, but during that brief period…"
He paused, his expression turning serious. "…a large number of dangerous criminals managed to escape."
"Besides those who've joined Blackbeard's crew," he continued, "one of them is none other than the 'World Destroyer'—Brynndi Wald."
At the mention of the name, Garp's expression immediately darkened. "Wald, huh? That guy wasn't to be underestimated back in the day…"
But Arashi wasn't finished. His eyes narrowed. "As for the other one—I haven't encountered him personally."
"But, Teacher Garp, Fleet Admiral Sengoku… I'm sure you've heard of him." Both Sengoku and Garp turned their eyes toward him, puzzled.
"Who?"
Due to the transition of responsibilities recently, Sengoku had handed most matters over to Arashi and wasn't up to date on all the intel.
Not that he minded—he was starting to enjoy the rare chance to relax.
"Patrick Redfield!" Arashi spoke the name clearly. In an instant, both Sengoku and Garp's expressions changed dramatically.
"Patrick Redfield! The Red Count! The man who stood equal to Roger and Whitebeard with strength alone!"
"Damn it! He escaped from Impel Down too?!" Their voices alone revealed just how seriously they regarded Redfield.
A contemporary of Roger, Whitebeard, Shiki, Garp, and Sengoku—Redfield's name wasn't as famous only because he was captured early.
He had spent most of his life imprisoned in Impel Down. Even so, his power could not be underestimated.
"Who knows what kind of storm his escape will unleash on the world…" Sengoku said grimly.
Arashi nodded. "I'll assign someone to track his movements closely."
"Also," he added, eyes sharpening, "There's a piece of intelligence that just came in."
Sengoku glanced at the document on the table. Before Arashi could say another word, he picked it up and scanned it.
His pupils contracted, and his face turned dark and heavy.
"Sakazuki…! He joined the Blackbeard Pirates?!"
It was shocking news—enough to shake the entire world. A former Marine Admiral… defecting to become a pirate?
"And not just that," Arashi said calmly "He was defeated in the battle for captaincy."
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