The morning sun, filtered by Sabaody's perpetual bubble-shroud, cast an ethereal, pearlescent glow over the archipelago.
Guts and Robin navigated the less crowded back streets, eventually finding a small, nondescript restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of Grove 13.
As their hulking forms, one radiating latent menace, the other a stark, striking beauty, crossed the threshold, the low hum of morning conversation inside abruptly died. Cutlery clattered, chairs scraped, and within seconds, the handful of patrons scurried out the back exit, leaving behind half-eaten meals and lingering fear.
A lone, shaking female server, her eyes wide with terror, remained, clutching a tray to her chest. Guts, unfazed by the sudden exodus, simply approached the counter. His voice was a low growl that still managed to rattle the silverware.
"Food,"
He commanded, his hidden gaze fixed on the trembling woman.
"Meat. Large portion."
He then glanced at Robin, who was already eyeing the plate of unappetizing green vegetables on the deserted table.
"And for her..."
Guts continued, his voice softening just a fraction, "Greens. A good pile."
Robin wrinkled her nose almost imperceptibly, and start to pout.
She still detested greens with the passion of a thousand hated meals, a habit Jumoi had fruitlessly tried to break.
But then, Guts's voice added the crucial amendment, a clear indulgence despite his gruff facade.
"And after she finishes... a whole apple pie."
The server, nodding frantically, stumbled towards the kitchen, desperate to fulfill the order of the man rumored to have just dismembered and beheaded a pirate crew on the docks.
They sat at a secluded corner table, the silence of the empty restaurant amplifying the gentle bubbling of the air-filtered pipes outside.
Guts gnawed on a massive piece of meat, while Robin dutifully picked at her greens, her expression one of utter resignation, only brightening at the thought of the impending dessert.
"The whispers are clearer now, Guts,"
Robin said softly, pushing a particularly stubborn pea around her plate.
"The land itself... it speaks to me here. What I'm searching for, it's not just on Sabaody. It's under Sabaody."
Her eyes, usually so composed, held a profound certainty.
"The echoes of history, the deep, ancient truths... they are buried beneath these mangroves. We need to find a way to dive down. To the seafloor."
Guts grunted, swallowing a mouthful of meat.
"Fish-Man Island, then," he deduced, his words practical, unburdened by the enormity of such a journey.
"The whispers led you there?"
"Not directly to Fish-Man Island,"
Robin clarified, a faint frown touching her brow.
"More like... the path to it. A secret passage, perhaps. Something deeply hidden beneath the roots of these trees."
She paused, her gaze distant, listening to the unseen currents of the world.
As they spoke, a figure entered the restaurant. An old man with a calm, weathered face, silver hair, and a pair of spectacles pushed up on his forehead.
He moved with an unassuming grace, yet an almost palpable aura of immense power radiated from him, quiet but profound.
His eyes, sharp and full of vitality, scanned the empty restaurant, pausing on Guts, then Robin.
A curious, almost wistful smile touched his lips.
He felt it.
A faint, unique resonance, humming from the young woman with the dark hair.
A similar feeling to when he'd heard his captain speaking to the world itself.
A power of connection, of understanding beyond human words.
He also noted the raw, terrifying power radiating from the hulking figure beside her, a guardian of immense, dark strength.
Without a word, the old man strolled towards their table, pulling up a chair and settling down as if he were an old friend joining them for breakfast.
Robin, sensitive to the profound shift in the air, looked up, her hand instinctively resting near her bag.
Guts, however, merely paused, his gaze, for the first time, fixed on the newcomer.
Silvers Rayleigh, the "Dark King," leaned back in his chair, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.
"Mind if I join you?"
He asked, his voice calm, yet carrying the weight of a thousand untold stories. He looked directly at Robin, a gentle curiosity in his eyes.
"It's not every day you encounter someone who can hear the voice of the world, young lady. Reminds me of an old friend of mine."
His gaze then flicked to Guts, acknowledging the silent, formidable strength that protected the rare woman.
Robin's composure, usually unshakeable, wavered for a fraction of a second. Her eyes, wide with surprise, met Rayleigh's.
No one, not since her earliest childhood on Shell island, had ever spoken of her ability with such casual familiarity, let alone connected it to something no one should have known.
It was a profound shock, immediately followed by the ingrained caution of a lifelong fugitive.
Her hand instinctively tightened on the strap of her satchel, containing her precious research notes.
Guts, meanwhile, didn't move a muscle, but the air around him grew heavier.
His posture, already imposing, seemed to harden further. His unseen gaze drilled into Rayleigh, assessing every subtle nuance of the man's presence.
He knew power when he felt it, and this old man, for all his calm demeanor, was radiating it in spades – a deep, controlled current that spoke of immense, unimaginable experience testament to his strength.
Rayleigh chuckled softly, a warm, resonant sound that somehow cut through the tension without dispelling it entirely.
"Oh, don't worry, my dear,"
He said, directing his words to Robin, his voice gentle.
"I mean you no harm. Quite the opposite, perhaps. I merely overheard your fascinating conversation." His eyes twinkled.
"And yes, you are quite right. What you seek is indeed beneath these roots. The path to Fish-Man Island, and beyond, holds many truths, some of them inscribed on stones that only certain ears can truly hear."
He paused, letting his words sink in. He wasn't guessing; he knew.
"The 'whispers of the world' you speak of... my late captain, Gol D. Roger, possessed a similar gift. He could hear the voice of all things."
Rayleigh's smile grew a little sad, a little knowing.
"It is a rare ability, and a dangerous one in this era. Ability no one should weld."
His gaze drifted briefly to the distant, oppressive presence of the World Government's main offices on Sabaody, then back to Robin.
He leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming more direct, though still calm.
"It seems your path is leading you to the very heart of the world's greatest secrets. I might be able to offer some guidance... or at the very least, save you some time and trouble. Perhaps even provide the coating you'll need for your ship to make that dive."
He gestured vaguely to the bustling, bubbling landscape outside.
"It's not a journey to be undertaken lightly, especially with the eyes of the world now so firmly fixed on both of you."
He finished with a sympathetic, almost weary sigh, acknowledging the immense burden both Guts and Robin carried.
"Your future, young ones... it will not be an easy one."
As Rayleigh uttered those words, a profound change rippled through the air.
Not from him, but from Guts. Without warning, a sharp, searing pain erupted from the nape of Guts's neck, just beneath his collar, where the almost-forgotten cursed brand—a mark of profound connection and terrible premonition—flared to life.
It began to burn with an agonizing intensity, the flesh around it blistering and then bleeding freely, trickling black against his skin before turning to mist.
It was a warning, stark and visceral, of immense, immediate danger descending upon Robin.
Guts's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Every fiber of his being screamed a single, desperate word: Danger!
At the exact same instant, Robin's eyes widened, her face draining of color.
"Watch out!"
She shrieked, the word tearing from her throat, the wind, the building, the earth warned her of imminent danger.
Before the sound could fully echo, Guts moved with a speed that defied his massive frame. A guttural roar tore from his chest as the Berserker Armor, sensing the overwhelming threat to its wielder's charge, began its monstrous transformation. Dark, jagged plates of metal erupted from beneath his clothing, coiling and locking into place, veins of malevolent energy glowing faintly within.
His right arm, already moving, shoved Robin forcefully, yet carefully, behind the largest, sturdiest section of the counter.
With the next fraction of a second, the colossal Dragon Slayer was ripped from his back, held horizontally before him like a desperate, impossible shield.
He braced, the very air around him seeming to groan under the sheer force of his preparation.
Then, a blinding, searing flash of golden light filled the restaurant, accompanied by an ear-splitting CRACK that tore through the air. It struck Guts's improvised guard with the speed of light itself.
The force was unimaginable.
The restaurant exploded.
Wood splintered, glass shattered, and the building imploded outwards in a maelstrom of debris, dust, and raw concussive energy.
Guts, the Dragon Slayer still clutched in his hands, was blasted through the collapsing wall, a black silhouette against the sudden, devastating light.
But Silvers Rayleigh was faster. Before the dust could even fully bloom, his hand, a blur of motion, had drawn a gleaming sabre from his side.
A burst of invisible, crushing force erupted from him, a dominant wave of Conqueror's Haki that slammed into the surrounding streets.
Marines, who had been stealthily closing in, or perhaps were already nearby, staggered, clutched their heads, and some even foamed at the mouth and collapsed, unconscious or paralyzed by the sheer, unyielding will of the Dark King.
Rayleigh didn't even spare them a glance. His eyes, now sharp and urgent, cut through the settling dust towards the collapsed section where Guts had been obliterated.
He then looked directly at the still-stunned Robin, who was slowly emerging from behind the shattered counter.
"Get to Shakky's Rip-Off Bar!"
Rayleigh's voice, usually calm, now carried an undeniable edge of command.
The words jolted Robin out of her shock. The sheer destructive power of the light blast, the raw force of Rayleigh's Haki, and the immediate, urgent command—it all registered.
She knew what this meant.
This wasn't just another pirate skirmish; this was the World Government, at its highest level, coming for them.
From the gaping maw where the restaurant's wall once stood, a grotesque, armored form slowly began to push itself out of the rubble.
It was Guts, now fully encased in the chilling Berserker Armor, its monstrous, wolf-like helmet obscuring his face, its eyes glowing with a malevolent crimson.
The Dragon Slayer, still in his grip, looked impossibly heavy.
Though the armor had protected him from the immediate atomization of the light blast, a faint, sickly glow of light emanated from cracks in its plating that started to restore itself, and the screaming soul that escaped his body, a clear sign of the intense damage he'd just absorbed. He was alive, but the cost was evident.
"Robin! Go!"
Guts's voice was a distorted, guttural roar through the helmet, a sound of pure, unadulterated fury and command. He didn't wait.
He moved.
Just then, a figure of blinding golden light materialized amidst the dust and scattered Marines.
It was Vice Admiral Borsalino, his expression a languid, almost bored smirk.
"My, my," he drawled, his voice deceptively casual as he took in the wreckage.
"Seems someone's in a bit of a hurry. And Rayleigh... always so scary, aren't you?"
Rayleigh, his sabre now gleaming, took a calm stance, the unmoving center of a storm.
"Borsalino," he replied, his voice firm, "Order your man to retreat. They are under my protection."
Borsalino's smirk remained, but a flicker of something colder, sharper, entered his eyes.
"Oh? so scary Rayleigh san! But sorry Rayleigh san. It's order from above, what would you do Dark King?"
A bead of light formed on his finger, already radiating immense power.
"Since I decided to intervene,"
Rayleigh stated, his Haki flaring again, pushing back against the encroaching light.
"NOW!"
Guts roared, urging Robin, his armored form already a terrifying blur as he positioned himself between her and Borsalino's imminent attack on Rayleigh, preparing to draw attention.
Robin didn't hesitate.
She ran, her instincts screaming.
The streets of Sabaody, usually bustling, were now a chaotic mix of fleeing civilians, recovering Marines, and the distinct, alarming sound of more light-speed movements in the distance.
Guts, a black whirlwind of destructive force, followed, covering her, his immense sword carving a path of destruction through any obstacle or unfortunate Marine who dared to get in their way.
His Chaotic energy starts to spread, giving the illusion of death to the surrounding marines.
He didn't care about their lives, only Robin's escape.
The Berserker Armor pulsed, drawing on his pain, pushing him beyond mortal limits.
They dashed through groves of towering Yarukiman trees, dodging falling bubbles and the startled cries of people.
The distant sounds of explosions and the clash of unimaginable powers between Rayleigh and Borsalino fueled their urgency.
Guts moved with a terrifying grace, deflecting stray Marine bullets with his sword, slamming through flimsy barriers, turning everything that blocked him into piles of corpse, some weak willed marines that are too close to him drown in madness and start to scream uncontrollably.
his focus singularly on getting Robin to safety.
Robin, in turn, used her Bloom-Bloom Fruit ability, briefly sprouting eyes and ears on distant rooftops to scout their path, sensing the shifting locations of Marine patrols and the general direction of Shakky's bar.
Finally, a neon sign, half-obscured by hanging vines and a perpetually popping bubble, came into view: "Shakky's Rip-Off Bar."
It looked unassuming, almost dilapidated, but its very presence radiated a sense of hidden resilience. Guts kicked open the door, sending it crashing inward, and they stumbled into the smoky, surprisingly quiet interior.
"Ara? Welcome costumer, would you be so kind to open my door gently next time?" Shakky, with a vein almost visible on her forehead, greets them.