The grand doors swung open. Leading the way was Vice Admiral Tsuru, her sharp eyes surveying the seated Warlords with her usual calm vigilance.
Behind her strode Acting Fleet Admiral Sengoku, his broad shoulders and imposing figure filling the doorway. And flanking him, like two silent, powerful shadows, were Vice Admiral Kuzan, with his relaxed, almost lazy demeanor, and Vice Admiral Borsalino, his ever-present, enigmatic grin hinting at hidden depths.
Sengoku's gaze swept over the table, taking in Mihawk's silent intensity, Doflamingo's simmering arrogance, Moria's lazy bulk, Crocodile's calculating stare, Hancock's narcissistic act by admiring herself with a pocket mirror, and Guts's grim presence.
But his eyes snagged, almost imperceptibly, on the one seat that remained conspicuously empty.
A vein throbbed faintly on his temple, and he couldn't help but swear to Garp in his head.
Goddamit Garp! You Bastard! he thought, his frustration a bitter taste. He had fulfilled his promise; he had kept one seat reserved for his reckless grandson, Ace.
One by one, Marines began to filter in, surrounding the very large round table, their presence a silent assertion of control and security.
A Commodore, his face grimly determined, stepped forward and positioned a plush seat directly in the middle of the table for Sengoku.
Sengoku took a moment to observe the collection of formidable, unruly individuals before him.
He gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod to Guts, a flicker of respect passing between them - perhaps for the only one who is not a pirate or his principle to not become one.
But to the others, he refused to give any face, his stern features broadcasting his deep-seated reluctance to be working alongside these glorified pirates.
He seated himself, his golden spectacles glinting in the light.
Tsuru took up her position standing calmly beside him, while Kuzan and Borsalino remained impassive, standing sentinel behind their Fleet Admiral.
Sengoku leaned slightly towards Tsuru, lowering his voice to a low murmur. "What of Garp?" he whispered, his eyes still on the empty seat. "And the certainty of Ace's response?"
Tsuru simply shook her head, a slight, weary sigh escaping her lips.
The answer was clear without a word.
Sengoku sighed, a heavy, exasperated sound. He straightened, addressing Tsuru with a louder, more formal tone. "Bring out the food and drinks. Let us begin this banquet."
Then, almost immediately, he lowered his voice again, a barely audible command meant only for the Admiral beside him.
"Borsalino. Call Garp's Den Den Mushi. I need to speak with that idiot!"
The yellow-clad Vice Admiral nodded languidly and shimmered out of the hall in a burst of light.
As if on cue, a line of waitresses entered, moving with forced grace, trays of fine food and gleaming glasses in hand.
The scent of roasted meats, fresh breads, and exotic fruits filled the air, but it was quickly soured by tension.
One young waitress, barely twenty, moved a little too close to Doflamingo.
His hand moved like a snake, smacking her rear with a theatrical flourish.
She yelped, dropping one glass, her cheeks flushing crimson as she staggered back.
"What's your name, little bird?" Doflamingo purred, his grin widening like a crack in sanity.
The silence was instant.
"Doflamingo!!" Sengoku's voice cracked like thunder.
"You will control yourself! This is not some lawless tavern!"
The warlord raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing.
"Fufufufufu... touchy, touchy, Fleet Admiral."
The waitress fled, nearly tripping over her own feet.
The rest followed quickly, placing the last of the platters before vanishing with terrified urgency.
Now it was Tsuru's turn to step forward. Her hands folded behind her back, her voice calm as still water.
"Let us begin. Gentlemen. Lady."
She nodded politely at Hancock, who scowled in return.
"We are here today to formally acknowledge the full complement of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, and to discuss the current global balance of power."
Her eyes settled on Guts. "First, I'd like to formally introduce our newest member. This is Guts, the Devil Swordman."
She gave Guts a brief, respectful nod.
She then proceeded with the introductions, gesturing to each Warlord in turn.
"To your left, Dracule Mihawk, the World's Strongest Swordsman. While not tied to a specific territory, his influence stretches wherever a worthy blade can be found across the Grand Line."
Her hand moved to Hancock. "And your other side, I believe you know her already, the Pirate Empress, Boa Hancock, ruler of Amazon Lily and leader of the Kuja tribe."
"Across from you," Tsuru continued, her gaze sweeping to the next seated Warlord, "is Sir Crocodile, operating from the desert kingdom of Alabasta."
Crocodile took a slow drag from his cigar.
"And further down," Tsuru indicated the colossal figure, "we have Gecko Moria, whose operations are primarily based in the Florian Triangle, aboard his mobile island, Thriller Bark."
"And the final..."
Tsuru's tone became icy.
"Donquixote Doflamingo—with a façade of phony legitimacy. A fallen Celestial Dragon who, instead of facing his own mediocrity, decided to take a blood bath. a trafficker in human beings. arms dealer. Master of manipulation. And—"
"ENOUGH, TSURU."
Before she could say anything more, Sengoku interrupted.
"Fufufufufu…"Doflamingo chuckled, tilting his head with a grin."Still as sharp-tongued as ever, Tsuru. Rot wrapped in silk, huh? That's poetic… almost makes me blush."
He sneered, unfazed by her contempt.
Across the table, Guts flicked his eyes to the still-empty seat in front of him. A silent question hung there.
Tsuru noticed. Her expression softened - just barely.
"The seventh Warlord," she said quietly, "is currently... indisposed."
Tsuru's sharp gaze swept the table once more, then she stepped forward.
"Now that you have been formally introduced," she said, her voice measured and steady, "it is time to address the true reason of this meeting."
She turned to Sengoku, dipping her head just slightly - a rare gesture of deference.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The floor is yours."
He adjusted his coat, golden epaulettes gleaming beneath the overhead lights.
He then stood up, hands behind his back, his face carved in stone.
"What I am about to disclose does not leave this room," he began, voice hard and clipped.
"This information is shared with you not out of trust - but necessity."
His gaze moved across the Warlords, lingering on each face.
"The balance of the seas is fracturing. Fast."
He began to pace slowly.
"The Four Emperors - Kaido, Big Mom, Shanks, and Whitebeard - have grown increasingly unstable in their territories. Skirmishes between crews that once maintained detente are erupting into full-scale conflicts. Several islands in the New World have been reduced to smoldering ruins."
"Kaido has grown more erratic. Intelligence suggests he's amassing a new kind of army, possibly involving Zoan-enhanced soldiers and weaponized Devil Fruit experimentation. The creature is actively hunting methods to trigger war on a global scale."
A quiet scoff escaped from Doflamingo - he leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"Fufufufu... sounds like competition. I rather admire his style."
Tsuru gave him a look sharp enough to flay a lesser man, but Sengoku continued, unbothered.
"Big Mom has tightened her grip around Totto Land. Her spies have been sighted as far as the West Blue. She's gathering debts. She's calling in promises."
"And Shanks..." Sengoku paused a beat longer. His brow furrowed. "He remains elusive. He's been moving quietly since the destruction of Elegia, too quietly. We do not yet know his role in this chaos."
He turned sharply, his voice deepening.
"But the greatest threat - the one that demands your immediate attention - is Edward Newgate."
Mihawk's brows lifted just slightly. Crocodile narrowed his eyes. Even Hancock looked up from her wine.
"Whitebeard," Sengoku said grimly, "is preparing for war."
The statement slammed into the room like a cannonball.
"One of his commanders has initiated a direct confrontation with another high-profile pirate. The result of this duel is classified, but what matters is this: Whitebeard is mobilizing. His entire fleet."
He let that hang for a moment.
Guts, who had been silent all this time, finally shifted - his eyes narrowing. Tsuru noticed the movement.
Sengoku's tone dropped into something darker.
"Should Whitebeard make landfall on any Marine-controlled territory, we will be facing a full-scale war. And unlike previous conflicts, this one will not be fought in shadows. It will be the largest military engagement since the God Valley Incident."
Tsuru stepped in, adding quietly:
"And with the Warlord system now fully active... your presence will not be optional. Each of you, by agreement with the World Government, will be called upon when summoned."
Sengoku spoke again, his voice tightening.
"But the Yonko are not your focus."
He turned, gesturing toward the far end of the map now spread across the table by a Marine aide after taking away the empty plates.
"Across the Blues, the seas are swarming with pirates. Small crews, drunk on chaos. Forgotten islands once silent now fly the Jolly Roger. And the name One Piece—" Sengoku's jaw tightened, "—has returned to the mouths of fools. Every man with a dinghy believes he's the next King of the Pirates."
He drew a deep breath, letting the silence tighten its grip on the room. When he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of a storm.
"We have confirmed reports of over a hundred coordinated pirate movements along the Grand Line alone. The Marines are stretched thin. Rear Admirals have fallen. Kingdoms once stable are now crumbling."
He paused—eyes scanning the room of gathered warlords like a battlefield.
"We stand at the threshold of a new era... and there is only one way forward."
He turned, gaze sharp as drawn steel, and faced the Warlords directly.
"Crush them."
The tedious meeting, mercifully, concluded.
The formidable collection of Warlords began to filter out of L'Écume de Mer restaurant, into the bustling, if still cleared, streets of Sabaody.
As they exited the restaurant, Sir Crocodile approached Guts, his single golden hook glinting in the dappled sunlight filtering through the bubbles.
"Devil Swordman," he rumbled, his voice low and raspy. "Should your path lead you to my territory, you would be a... welcome guest."
Guts's eyes narrowed slightly. He remembered Robin's whisper, her quiet fascination with the past. The Kingdom blanketed by the sand.
"Sure," Guts stated, his voice a low, terse promise.
It was less about accepting Crocodile's hospitality and more about fulfilling Robin's budding quest.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Crocodile's lips.
"I'll be waiting."
With a final, calculating glance, he turned and melted away into the crowds of Marines.
Guts then turned his gaze to the silent figure of Dracule Mihawk, who stood a short distance away, his Yoru resting casually against his shoulder.
"The place?" Guts grunted, acknowledging their earlier promise.
"Grove 27. The Port," Mihawk replied, his voice calm, echoing the silent challenge in his hawk-like eyes.
"It should provide sufficient space."
The promise of a duel was like a scent in the air, attracting predators.
Gecko Moria, whose earlier boredom had vanished, let out a low, guttural giggle, his stitched grin stretching.
"Kishishishi! Sounds entertaining! I shall follow!" He began to lumber after Guts and Mihawk, a massive shadow eager for a show.
Donquixote Doflamingo, his signature pink coat flaring, sensed the impending entertainment.
A flicker of his inherent cruelty and thirst for spectacle ignited in his eyes. "Fufufufu... This promises to be amusing," he chuckled, strolling casually behind them.
And of course, Boa Hancock and her sisters were not to be left behind. "Don't you dare leave us, black lobster!"
Hancock commanded, her annoyance quickly shifting to curiosity. She wouldn't miss a chance to witness the "crustacean creature" in action, or to ensure she was at the center of any unfolding drama.
Even the highest ranks of the World Government felt the pull of the impending confrontation.
Vice Admiral Tsuru watched the departing figures with a shrewd, knowing gaze, then turned to Acting Fleet Admiral Sengoku.
"Sengoku," Tsuru murmured, her voice calm. "Perhaps we should... observe."
Sengoku, his brow furrowed, exhaled slowly. The opportunity was too great to pass up.
A direct clash between Mihawk, the World's Strongest Swordsman, and Guts, the subject of unsettling rumors and impossible feats, could provide invaluable intelligence.
"Indeed," Sengoku conceded, a grim determination hardening his features.
"We need to understand the true might of the Devil Swordman. And the credibility of the rumors surrounding him."
And so, the procession began, a bizarre entourage of powerful Warlords and wary Marines, all drawn by the promise of a clash that would shake the very foundations of Sabaody.