The Roger Pirates faced two choices: buy a ship, or find Adam Wood to build the Oro Jackson.
Rhett wondered how Roger's crew got such a big piece of Adam Wood. A keel was no small thing. In the original story, Franky had spent a fortune for a tiny fragment.
Then, Old Man Tom brought news: the Celestial Tribute shipment carried a keel-sized piece of Adam Wood. The only question was if the Roger Pirates had the guts to take it.
No hesitation.
Sometimes, Rhett had to admit—fate existed.
They said the sea's weather was unpredictable, especially in the New World.
As the Celestial Tribute ship entered these waters, a thick fog rolled in.
On their small boat, four figures held their breath.
Rayleigh lowered his telescope, the lenses reflecting the warship's deck—
Pristine white uniforms, but no discipline. Instead, they clustered, chatting and laughing. A dozen battered figures curled in iron cages, shackles grinding against exposed bone. Fresh blood stained the deck. A Marine scraped his boot over the stains, humming.
From the cabin, a whip cracked. The Celestial Dragons didn't care if their slaves lived or died. As long as no Dragon demanded a slave, these Marines wouldn't care. Just nobles groveling for favor.
A slave's finger was torn off with pliers.
A Marine officer grinned as he poured saltwater into the wound.
"Captain." Rayleigh turned to Roger. "If we stick to the plan—just take the Adam Wood—these people might survive." His eyes burned with killing intent.
The plan was simple: steal the Adam Wood, leave a pirate mark, then quietly transport it back to the City of Seven Waters. They'd draw the World Government's wrath, while the slaves—protected by the Marines—stood a chance at survival.
But let's be real.
Any Marine with a shred of justice would refuse to escort Celestial Tribute. Seeing those wailing, begging slaves would shake their convictions. The Navy wouldn't send their promising recruits for this filth. They'd assign the utterly corrupt—men who'd long ceased being Marines. What difference was there between them and pirates?
Roger's straw hat dipped over his eyes.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Shing—
Roger drew his sword. The blade reflected eyes devoid of laughter.
"Kill them."
"Every last one."
Rayleigh nodded, glasses flashing. "Gaban. Deck clearing. You can handle that, right?"
Gaban's fury had been simmering. "Been waiting."
Rhett took a deep breath, his mist merging with the fog. "A wise decision, Captain."
Roger ruffled Rhett's hair, his voice a whisper:
"Kid, remember this—"
"Some sins… not even the sea can wash away."
---
"Strange. Why's the fog so thick all of a sudden?" A Marine frowned, waving a hand.
The mist grew denser, darker.
"Something's wrong—it's poisonous!" Someone clapped a hand over their mouth. Too late.
Soldiers collapsed, eyelids heavy, limbs numb. The poisoned had no chance—only agony.
Communication snails dropped dead.
"Mist Prison: Silent Cage."
Rhett stood on the distant boat, a cold smirk curling his lips.
This wasn't a fight for him. He knew his limits. No one had hijacked Celestial Tribute in 800 years.
"Guess you bastards got too comfortable."
Visibility shrank to less than three meters. Marines and CP0 agents stumbled blindly, gunfire and panicked shouts erupting.
"Hold formation! Back to back!" A Marine captain barked—then froze as cold steel kissed his nape.
Gaban's silhouette flickered through the fog, axes carving lethal arcs. "First to speak, first to die."
"Over there!"
Twenty riflemen fired. Bullets passed through—a phantom. Then Gaban materialized, axes crossed in an X.
Blood bloomed. As the last gunman fell, Gaban sheathed his weapons. "Tch. Wasted effort. Rhett's illusions would've sufficed for trash like this."
The lead agent signaled. Five operatives fanned out, forming a defensive circle. Their Observation Haki strained.
"Roger Pirates' Rayleigh…" A masked voice growled. "Didn't expect you here."
No reply. Just the whisper of shifting mist—death's murmur.
Then—
The rightmost agent stiffened. A hair-thin red line opened across his throat. He collapsed.
"Damn it! Where is he?!" The remaining four tightened formation—
The second agent's arms flew from his shoulders, blood spraying his comrades' masks. He staggered back—straight into Rayleigh's blade.
"You're… too slow."
The short sword pierced the third agent's heart. A reverse chop severed the fourth's carotid.
The last CP0 agent finally saw Rayleigh's movement—
Pointless.
Rayleigh's blade tapped his forehead. A single drop of blood trailed down.
"Being recognized by garbage like you… what an insult."
—Crack.
The mask shattered. The agent fell.
Roger soared into the air, black-red Conqueror's Haki crackling around his sword, Portgas D. Ace.
"Divine Departure!"
—HUM!
A blade-light split the sky.
The Adam Wood's restraints parted. The massive log slid into the sea, waves erupting.
The shockwave tore across the deck. Marines dropped, eardrums burst, blood seeping from every orifice—no time to scream.
Under the Conqueror's pressure, the Adam Wood groaned. The Tribute ship listed, seawater gushing through cracks.
Roger smirked, sword rising again.
"How about one more?"
—BOOM!!!
The second slash cleaved the warship in half. The ocean itself split.
Maybe it was the catharsis of purging trash—
But his mood had definitely improved.
"We caught the Adam Wood!" (Poké Ball capture jingle)