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The fighting was over.
At the feet of Kaido and King, over a hundred pirates lay scattered across the deck.
They writhed in agony.
This was a rookie crew, unaffiliated with any of the Four Emperors. They might have made a name for themselves back home, or perhaps in the first half of the Grand Line, but here—in the New World—they were nothing.
Kaido hadn't even lifted a finger.
King, one of his three top commanders, had torn them apart in a matter of minutes.
"What did they do?" Kaido asked, taking a swig from his gourd.
"They tried to hit one of our arms shipments," King replied.
Kaido's voice was a low growl. "A despicable act."
In the New World, you could no longer call the Four Emperors mere "pirates."
They had their own territories, their own forces, their own industries. They were, for all intents and purposes, no different from nations.
Whitebeard, for instance, commanded a main force of tens of thousands, but the territories under his protection were home to millions. All of them were shielded by his flag.
Big Mom ruled from her castle, the heart of an empire bound by blood and political marriage—a nation of thirty-four islands.
Kaido was entrenched in Wano, but his influence stretched far beyond its borders, his power built on the trade of weapons and Seastone.
Only Shanks, the direct heir to Roger's will, remained untethered, his territory small, his spirit free.
The New World was carved up, divided between the Four Emperors and the World Government.
For the rookies who came here seeking adventure, there was almost no room left to carve out a place for themselves. The chance to rise from nothing to the level of an Emperor, as Shanks had done, was a miracle that could not be replicated.
Dealing with the fools who tried...
Bolstering the organization's authority...
Fending off powerful enemies...
Conquering new islands...
This was the routine work of an Emperor's crew. An empire didn't grow by itself. Their power was inextricably linked to the territories they ruled, to the men, resources, and wealth they controlled.
And arms dealing was the primary source of Kaido's income.
Anyone who touched it—
—was asking for a personal visit.
"You little shits," Kaido snarled, his patience gone.
He raised his kanabō.
"Thunder Bagua!"
A shockwave of pure force erupted from the club, obliterating the entire ship and everyone on it in a shower of splinters and gore.
The waves washed over the wreckage, leaving nothing but blood in the water for the opportunistic fish.
Purupurupuru...
The Den Den Mushi rang.
A subordinate brought it over. "Captain, it's Joker."
————————————
On the Moby Dick.
In the infirmary, Deuce looked at his patient: Whitebeard.
At the insistence of Marco and the other commanders, Newgate had reluctantly agreed to a physical examination.
Then the nurses appeared.
They were... an experience. Their uniforms were more "sultry" than "sterile"—miniskirts paired with leopard-print, high-heeled boots. A sweet perfume wafted from them.
And there wasn't just one doctor. There was an entire medical team, established for the sole purpose of monitoring Whitebeard's health.
Age takes its toll on everyone. No one stays healthy forever. Eventually, everyone grows weak. There is no medicine that can conquer old age.
Immortality? Perhaps a Devil Fruit with such a power existed somewhere in the world.
After Ace had joined the Whitebeard Pirates, the members of his Spade crew had also been integrated, each according to their talents. Deuce, with his medical knowledge, had become a member of the medical team.
He saw the worry in the commanders' eyes and felt the tense, somber air that always preceded a war.
"What happened?" he whispered, leaning closer to Thatch.
"Vista and Ace," Thatch murmured, his voice low. "They've been captured. They're being held at the G-5 base."
"What?" Deuce was stunned. The commanders were all incredibly strong. He frowned. "Who did it?"
"A 'rookie' from Paradise," Thatch replied. "A king who just recently became one of the Seven Warlords. His name is Jin."
Deuce's eyes widened. "IT'S HIM!"
The exclamation drew Whitebeard's attention. "What is it, doctor?" he rumbled. "Do you two know each other?"
"You ran into him in Paradise?" Jozu, the 3rd Division Commander, asked. "You have a grudge?"
Deuce shook his head. He hesitated. "Back in the East Blue... his ship's doctor saved my life. So... please forgive me, I can't say too much. But if we're going to war... my advice is to negotiate first."
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Rakuyo, the 7th Division Commander, demanded. "You think we'll lose? We're a Yonko crew! And Pops is the World's Strongest Man! How could we lose?"
The other commanders glared at him, their voices rising in anger.
"Don't talk such nonsense!"
"That's enough," Newgate's voice boomed, silencing them. "My apologies, doctor. The news about Vista and Ace has everyone on edge."
"No, it's nothing, Pops," Deuce said quickly. "You don't have to apologize. I understand."
"Then why do you suggest we negotiate?"
Deuce glanced at the various monitors and medical devices hooked up to Whitebeard.
"That king is no ordinary rookie," he said, his voice firm. "Ace fought him many times. He never won. It was more like he was being toyed with. In fact, Ace learned the basics of Haki from him. I would venture to say that even now, Ace would have no chance of winning against him. The fact that he and Commander Vista were captured is proof of that. He is a monster, strong enough to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with an Emperor."
Seeing the serious look on Deuce's face, Marco and the other commanders sobered up.
"And it's not just his strength," Deuce continued. "He's also a terrifying strategist. You may not have heard of the 'Golden Treasure Incident' in the East Blue, but that was all his doing. He doesn't do anything without a reason. Capturing Ace and Vista now... he must have a plan. That's why I think it would be best to find out what his objective is, to try and get them back through negotiation."
"Gurarararara...!" Newgate's laughter filled the room. "Negotiating first... that's not how an Emperor conducts his affairs. Even if we do negotiate, it will be after we've had our say. No one... no one... harms my sons and walks away unscathed. And don't you worry about me. I know my own body. It's not my time yet. Right now... I'm in top form!"
He stood up. An invisible aura of power radiated from him. His towering, majestic form and confident words filled everyone with a renewed sense of hope. The doctors' and nurses' reports also confirmed it: all his vital signs were stable.
But not everyone was so optimistic.
Marco and Thatch found Deuce later.
"Pops isn't what he used to be," Marco said quietly. "He's not the man who rivaled Roger anymore."
Why did one man need such a large medical team? Why did the commanders try so hard to keep him from fighting?
Because Whitebeard's life wasn't just his own anymore.
The hundreds of thousands, the millions of lives under his protection—all of them were directly or indirectly tied to his.
If something were to happen to him... the chaos, the loss of control, the number of people who would die... it was unimaginable.
That was why they prayed for him. That was why they used the most advanced medical care to manage his health. It was to prolong his reign for as long as possible. For the sake of all the people who looked to him for protection, who flew his flag with pride.
That life carried an immense weight. They couldn't afford to lose him.
"Deuce," Marco said, "go to the island. Talk to that king. Find out what he wants."
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