Whitebeard's eyes gleamed sharply as he continued.
"Did you really think that candle brat's amateurish Dark-Dark Fruit could actually take this old man's life?"
Ron raised an eyebrow, lightly tapping White Moon's scabbard on the ground.
"So... you did it on purpose?"
"Ever since the Phoenix Form completely restored this old body..." Whitebeard clenched his fist, the air cracking with the pressure.
"Akainu's abilities weren't even enough to scratch an itch for me!"
A sharp light flashed in his eyes. "All of this was just to verify a hypothesis."
Ron suddenly had a bad feeling. "What hypothesis requires risking your life to verify?"
"Using Death as a medium..."
Whitebeard's voice suddenly deepened, white Divine Flames dancing in his pupils.
"Comprehending the great terror between life and death to fully awaken the Mythical Zoan's power. The Eight-Headed Snake needs to lose a head to grow stronger."
He gazed contentedly at his revitalized body. "It seems the results are quite satisfactory."
Ron felt his temples throbbing, his grip on White Moon's hilt creaking.
"You're playing with fire! What if it failed? The Orochi's resurrection ability isn't infinite! Wouldn't that just waste a life for nothing?"
"Gurararara!"
Whitebeard's booming laughter sent massive waves across the sea.
"What's there to fear! I AM WHITEBEARD!"
Then, Whitebeard threw a massive arm around Ron's shoulders.
"But you, kid..." His gaze swept over the pirates who had gained new abilities on the battlefield.
"Handing out Devil Fruits like candy? That's quite the move!"
Ron sighed helplessly, though a sly glint flashed in his eyes. "Compared to you gambling with your life, this is just a minor trick."
He looked toward the distant pirates engaged in frenzied combat, a slight smile curling his lips.
"Using these pirates' strength to deplete the Marines' forces also saves expenses for the Divine Kingdom."
"Gurarararara!"
Whitebeard's hearty laughter sent ripples across the sea surface.
Suddenly, his expression sharpened as he looked up at the sky—four figures radiating terrifying auras were rapidly approaching.
It was the previously repelled Seraphim!
"Alright, Ron, you handle things here."
Whitebeard cracked his neck, Murakumogiri once again wreathed in the Tremor-Tremor Fruit's white light.
"These four persistent pests have recovered. I'll go have some fun with them!"
Before Ron could respond, Whitebeard's figure transformed into a white lightning bolt shooting skyward.
The next second, a tremendous roar shook the sky—Whitebeard appeared above the highest Seraphim, his blade descending with world-shattering force!
"Air Shock: Heavenly Descent!"
BOOM!
A terrifying shockwave exploded in the air, sending the four Seraphim crashing toward land like meteors.
Whitebeard laughed uproariously as he pursued them, his white Divine Halo leaving a dazzling trail of light across the sky.
Ron withdrew his gaze, turning instead to the sea—where an even more gruesome spectacle was unfolding.
Countless Marine soldiers had somehow procured canoes and lifeboats, desperately rowing toward the distance.
The Vice Admirals were hoarsely commanding the retreat, having completely lost their usual authority.
Just then.
ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!
Suddenly, numerous Dragons soared up from below!
These were the Division Commanders and elite pirates who had consumed the Artificial Fish-Fish Fruit, Model: Azure Dragon!
Their massive draconic forms cast terrifying shadows over the sea, vertical pupils filled with killing intent.
"Blast Breath!"
"Kaifu!"
"Hahaha! Trying to escape? Stay right here!"
Scorching dragon breath and sharp vacuum slashes ravaged the sea surface, explosions continuously lighting up the area.
Canoes were overturned one after another, lifeboats melted under intense heat, and screaming Marines who fell into the water were mercilessly swallowed by raging waves.
"Row faster! HURRY!"
Vice Admiral Onigumo screamed desperately, using all six of his swords as paddles.
Vice Admiral Momonga's Justice coat had long disappeared, and he was now frantically paddling on a wooden plank with his bare hands.
Vice Admiral Doberman's eyes were bloodshot as he watched his comrades being devoured by the Dragons behind them.
He finally broke down and shouted, "The Marines... are finished!"
Standing on the rocking canoe, Doberman's eyes reflected the hellish scene before him.
The sea was littered with the wreckage of countless warships, their charred keels piercing the surface like the skeletons of giant beasts.
He remembered the mighty fleet that had set out—forty state-of-the-art warships, over ten thousand elite Marines, and Justice banners so numerous they blotted out the sky.
And now…
"Cough… cough…"
A weak cough sounded beside him.
Onigumo clung desperately to the edge of their small boat, only three of his six swords remaining—the rest lost during their frantic escape.
Momonga floated in the seawater, barely holding on to the gunwale with one hand, his face as pale as a corpse.
Doberman mechanically counted the survivors: five canoes... no... now only four remained.
WHOOSH!
Just moments ago, a Blast Breath had grazed the farthest one, turning both the boat and its occupants into a fireball.
Each small vessel was packed with over a dozen wounded Marines who had desperately swum to safety.
"Vice Admiral… we…" A Rear Admiral began to speak but choked on the surging waves.
His left arm was missing, the wound bleached white by seawater.
Doberman didn't respond.
His gaze swept across the sea—where countless comrades' bodies floated.
The body of a young Commodore washed against their boat with the waves.
He recognized that face frozen in terror—the most promising rookie from the Strategy Department.
"Total… annihilation…"
Onigumo's voice rasped like sandpaper.
He tried to use Geppo to assess the situation but lacked even the strength to stand.
ROAR!
Suddenly, a dragon's roar echoed in the distance.
The surviving officers shuddered, instinctively curling into themselves.
Doberman's eyes fixed on the horizon—where several Dragons patrolled the sea, occasionally diving down to spew Heat Breath as if playing some cruel hunting game.
"Row… keep rowing…" Momonga gritted out the command through clenched teeth, though his voice was pitifully weak.
Truthfully, everyone knew—how could a few canoes possibly escape the Dragons' hunt on this vast ocean?
Doberman reached for the Den Den Mushi at his waist, only to find it long dead from seawater exposure.
He looked up with a bitter smile.
The sunset bled crimson, dyeing the sea a terrifying red.
In his daze, he almost saw Admiral Akainu's magma slowly extinguishing within this bloody hue.
Just as despair enveloped the remaining Marines, a strange figure suddenly appeared on the horizon.
A tall man casually pedaled a bicycle across the turbulent sea, leaving a long, thin trail of ice in his wake.
He wore his signature sleep mask pushed up on his forehead, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Arara… this is quite brutal~"
Admiral Aokiji's lazy voice carried on the wind, sounding like heavenly music to the surviving Marines.
Even more heartening—fifteen brand-new G-5 warships were cutting through the waves behind him!
Aokiji placed one foot on the water.
"Ice Age."
CRACKLE!
In an instant, the raging waves, the pursuing Dragons, and the fleeing canoes were all frozen in place, turning the battlefield into a silent world of ice.
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