Behind Vice Admiral Momonga, three hundred elite Marine soldiers stood in a perfectly ordered formation.
Every one of them was full of vigor, their bearing sharp and heroic.
They wore brand-new uniforms, every crease carefully smoothed flat without the slightest sign of disorder.
The firearms in their hands had been polished until they gleamed, their metal parts reflecting dazzling light, silently declaring that they were fully prepared for battle.
"Men!"
Vice Admiral Momonga's loud, resolute voice rang out clearly amid the roar of the waves.
It carried an invisible power that pierced through the noise and reached the heart of every soldier present.
He raised the sword in his hand high, his bright eyes sweeping over the group of hot-blooded soldiers before him as he continued.
"From this day onward, we will no longer accept surrender from any pirate! Those who seek to run wild across the sea and trample upon justice will pay a painful price beneath our blades!"
As he spoke, he pointed the tip of his sword toward the faint silhouettes of pirate ships in the distance.
His eyes were filled with determination.
"For Absolute Justice! We will restore peace and order to these waters and make every evil force tremble in fear!"
"For Absolute Justice!"
Three hundred throats erupted at the same time in a deafening roar, their voices rolling like thunder and instantly drowning out the crashing waves.
The powerful sound wave seemed almost tangible, startling the seagulls perched on the mast and sending them scattering into the sky.
Even the sturdy steel plates of the warship trembled faintly, as if infected by the soldiers' surging morale.
"Those pirates should have been killed long ago!"
"That's right! Keeping them alive is just a waste of air. Even looking at them is irritating!"
"Every last one of them is guilty of unforgivable crimes. Death is too good for them!"
A fanatical flame burned in every soldier's eyes.
It was the madness of killing intent that had been suppressed for too long and was finally being released.
They gripped their weapons tightly, muscles tensed, ready to throw themselves into the fierce battle that was about to begin.
In their hearts, there was only one belief.
For justice, they would pay any price.
..
At the same time, out on the sea, the hands of time were also ticking tensely onward.
Exactly thirty nautical miles away, along the distant horizon, the faint light of dawn—or perhaps dusk—fell across the surface of the sea, yet it could not dispel the terrifying gloom that was about to descend.
The lookout of the Long Spear Pirates remained at his post as usual.
His eyes were fixed on the distance, the telescope in his hand his most faithful companion.
But this time, what he saw made his face turn as pale as paper. Beads of sweat the size of beans rolled down his forehead.
He lowered the telescope in absolute terror, his movements frantic and panicked, as though what he held was not an ordinary tool, but a red-hot branding iron.
"I-It's a Marine fleet!"
His shrill scream tore through the formerly calm air, echoing across the deck like a thunderclap.
The sudden shout made the pirates who had been reveling wildly on deck freeze.
All laughter and cheers came to an abrupt stop, replaced by deathly silence and fear.
"Twelve warships! All flying battle flags!"
His voice trembled. Every word struck the hearts of those present like a heavy hammer.
Those vivid battle flags snapped in the sea wind, like the prelude to the arrival of the Grim Reaper.
Upon hearing the news, the captain's previously relaxed expression vanished in an instant.
The bottle of rum gripped in his hand slipped free and shattered with a sharp crack.
Glass fragments flew in every direction, just like his heart at that moment.
Liquor spilled across the deck and mixed with seawater, giving off a pungent smell.
"Turn the rudder!"
The captain roared until his voice tore. His eyes were bloodshot, and he clawed madly at his own red beard. His once-neat and imposing image was completely gone.
"Take down the pirate flag! Hurry!"
His order was filled with despair and unwillingness, his voice twisting in the sea wind.
Not far away, the camp of the White Gull Pirates was also thrown into chaos.
The crew members clumsily burned their logbooks. Flames roared, devouring the pages that had recorded their adventures.
The first mate's face was filled with grief.
Mechanically, he tossed one treasured treasure map after another into the brazier, muttering, "It's useless… None of it matters anymore…"
Each map he threw in was like the burial of a dream and hope from the past.
The firelight reflected across his face, sketching a picture of despair.
What was even more chilling was the scene taking place aboard the Giant Whale.
The pirate captain who had once been arrogant and mighty was now curled up in a corner, his eyes hollow and desperate.
In his hand, he tightly gripped a trembling pistol, its muzzle pressed against his own temple.
Everything around him seemed to have nothing to do with him anymore. His world contained only endless fear and humiliation.
"I'd rather die by my own hand… than be killed by the Marines."
His voice was low and firm, carrying a final resolve.
He cast one last affectionate look at the pirate flag still fluttering in the wind.
It had once been the symbol of his glory.
Now, it had become a heavy burden.
Then, he slowly pulled the trigger.
The crisp gunshot rang out across the silent sea, but it was soon swallowed by the surging waves, just like this era that was about to end, disappearing soundlessly into the long river of history.
At that moment, the warriors aboard the Marine warships had already taken their positions.
Momonga stood at the bow, his posture straight as a pine. His sword gleamed coldly beneath the sunlight.
Then he gave the order.
"Fire!"
The sharp roar pierced the air, shattering the final moment of silence.
In an instant, the sky over the New World was lit up by cannon fire as bright as daylight.
The combined barrage from twelve warships swept mercilessly toward the fleeing pirate ships like the scythe of death.
Shell after shell screamed across the sky, carrying the scent of death as they fell into the sea.
Towering pillars of water exploded across the surface, spray flying everywhere.
Mixed within those water columns were shattered wood, torn canvas, and pirates who were swallowed before they could even cry for help.
Their screams were drowned out by the cannon fire. All they could do was silently pray for mercy in their hearts.
When the smoke gradually dispersed, the Long Spear Pirates' flag, once infamous for its arrogance, had already lost all its former glory and was slowly sinking into the sea.
The bloodstained cloth was repeatedly crumpled and spread open by the beating waves, speaking silently of the brutality of the battle.
Its colors gradually dimmed until it finally vanished into the unfathomable depths, leaving behind only a calm, mysterious sea.
As if nothing had ever happened.
But this stretch of water would forever remember the fierce battle, and the lives that had been lost.