The moment was thick with murderous intent, and the cool sea breeze turned razor sharp.
Every Marine on the military port raised their muskets, eyes locked on the blood-streaked, emaciated figure. They stood at full alert, as if facing down a deadly threat.
A drop of cold sweat slid down their foreheads and traced their cheeks, their hot breath hanging in the air as pale mist.
Sengoku raised a hand with a firm gesture—stand down. His expression was just as grave.
No wonder they were this tense.
The man before them was one of the strongest pirates on the seas.
Next to the towering and muscular Kong, this man looked slender—almost frail.
His white hair was braided into two neat plaits that hung over his shoulders. He wore a plum-red shirt and blood-red trousers, with black leather shoes trimmed in gold.
A flowing crimson cloak hung from his back, giving him a mysterious and chilling aura.
His eyebrows were a vivid red, and a faintly mocking, devilish smile curled at his lips.
He was a pirate so powerful he was said to rival both Whitebeard and Roger on his own—
The man known as "Red the Aloof," the "Red Count"... Patrick Redfield!
But Redfield now stood with his clothes tattered and streaked with blood. Faint traces of dark, purplish blood stained the corners of his mouth—a clear sign of a recent and grueling battle.
Yet, he stood calmly beside Kong, eyeing the Marines with mild amusement as they snapped into action.
"What a professional army," he remarked.
He placed a hand over his chest and gave a flawless aristocratic bow toward the Marines.
With an elegant smile, he said,
"Elite forces of Marine Headquarters, it's a pleasure to meet you."
Only then did everyone notice—his wrists were bound in heavy Seastone cuffs.
The cold, rigid metal clinked lightly with his every movement.
A prisoner, and yet he carried himself with utter composure and poise.
Redfield turned his smile toward Sengoku.
"Sengoku. Long time no see."
Sengoku narrowed his eyes. His voice was cold.
"Don't worry. After today, we won't be seeing each other again."
"Redfield, you'll be sent to the deepest depths of Impel Down. That's where you'll spend the rest of your days."
Redfield let out a casual chuckle.
"That's fine. I quite enjoyed this battle."
Kong frowned.
Redfield smiled again and added,
"It would've been even better without a certain busybody interfering."
Right on cue, an annoyed voice echoed from the ship's cabin.
"Oh? So you're not satisfied?"
Garp strolled out casually, picking his nose.
Redfield turned and glanced at him with a smirk that oozed sarcasm.
That smug look made Garp explode.
"What the hell is that look, you bastard?! Hey! Old man Kong! Take off his Seastone cuffs! I'm gonna let him taste my Iron Fist today!"
Fists clenched, Garp charged forward, face flushed with fury.
The nearby Marines rushed in to stop him, grabbing onto his arms and legs, drenched in sweat.
"Vice Admiral Garp, please calm down!"
"Don't lose your temper, sir!"
"We went through hell to capture him!"
"Don't let him provoke you like that..."
Kong rubbed his temple in frustration.
He waved his hand and ordered,
"Take the prisoner below. Lock him up."
The Marines immediately mobilized, surrounding the area with disciplined precision.
Their warship had sustained severe damage in the earlier battle and couldn't sail any further.
By regulation, the transfer of high-risk prisoners was to be handled by Impel Down.
Especially for someone like "Red the Aloof," who posed an extreme security risk, strict procedures were in place.
Impel Down's massive escort vessel was equipped with a vast array of restraints and containment systems—more than enough to ensure a secure transfer.
The boarding ramp slowly extended from the warship.
Under the watchful aim of dozens of raised muskets, Redfield maintained his refined smile as he stepped off the ruined deck.
His casual glances at the surroundings made it hard to believe he was a defeated criminal.
If anything, he looked like a tourist, taking a leisurely stroll through this so-called "Holy Land of Justice."
"Right, Kong."
Redfield suddenly paused mid-step.
The moment he stopped, the surrounding Marines tensed up, fingers instinctively tightening around their rifle triggers.
He turned and looked toward Kong, who stood on the warship with arms crossed, and gave a slight smile.
"Although I know this is a bit much to ask, if possible, I'd like to meet that young Marine named Daren. Would that be allowed?"
Before Kong could respond, Sengoku spoke up first, his tone cold.
"Since you know it's an unreasonable request, you shouldn't have made it in the first place."
Redfield shrugged.
"Can't hurt to try."
His eyes drifted meaningfully toward a section of Marine Headquarters.
That was where the military hospital was located.
"A rising star of the new generation... A young man who managed to humble Golden Lion, Roger, and Whitebeard. I'm quite interested in him."
A flicker of shadow crossed Sengoku's eyes.
"Take him away."
He gave the order.
Several Marines stepped forward and took hold of Redfield's shoulders and arms.
"Redfield..."
Just then, Kong—who had remained silent until now—finally spoke.
His deep gaze was fixed on the slim, mysterious figure of Red the Aloof.
"So... this time, did you choose to team up with Shiki?"
Shiki's attack on Marineford had coincided exactly with his and Garp's departure to capture Redfield. Kong found it hard to believe that was mere coincidence.
Redfield was silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
"Kong, we've known each other for many years. With how well you know me, you shouldn't even have to ask that."
He lifted his head, staring out into the endless sky.
Then, he smiled faintly.
"I just don't want to play anymore."
A memory suddenly surfaced in his mind.
That earth-shaking battle months ago…
Roger's wild, booming laughter…
That overwhelming, almost divine presence...
All the pride he'd ever carried—crushed in an instant by a single slash so fearsome it could send gods and demons fleeing.
An absolute, total defeat.
"This era doesn't belong to me."
With those words, before Kong could reply, the defeated Red Count, Redfield, walked away—head held high—toward the temporary prison at Marine Headquarters.
His silhouette, solitary yet proud, didn't resemble a man headed for eternal captivity...