Sabaody Archipelago.
Sunlight, a pale imitation of its true self, filtered down through the rainbow-colored bubbles that drifted lazily over the island.
It cast a dreamlike, almost beautiful glow, a fragile, distorted prosperity that perfectly mirrored the rot it concealed.
"Fresh long-arm tribe slave! Only 80 million Belly! A guaranteed bargain, friends, won't find a better price!"
"Step right up! A 50 million Belly bounty pirate, strong as an ox! Perfect for security, labor, or just making your neighbors jealous!"
"Don't miss out! A pretty human girl—buy her as a wife, a maid, or a plaything! Mark her up, use her however you please, no questions asked!"
A greasy, leering slave trader dragged a ragged young woman by a chain, her eyes wide and vacant with terror.
She stumbled, struggling weakly, but couldn't break free, silent tears tracing paths of clean skin through the grime on her face.
The shrill, eager cries of the auctioneers, the desperate, muffled wails of the "merchandise," the greedy, low-voiced haggling of customers, and the cold, indifferent stares of the onlookers all wove together.
It was a twisted, grotesque symphony, the daily anthem of this "lawless island."
The traffickers flaunted their human goods without fear or restraint, their prices clearly marked, treating living, breathing people as nothing more than commodities to be bought and sold.
Ever since the Straw Hat pirates attacked a Celestial Dragon, a strange, tense quiet had fallen.
The Marine Admirals, who should have descended like gods of vengeance, had collectively "gone deaf."
They never appeared.
Instead, the Celestial Dragons' true hounds—the cold, white-suited agents of CP0—had arrived.
They'd driven off the Straw Hats, re-established a perimeter, and barely preserved the Celestial Dragons' "authority" through sheer, terrifying reputation.
Then, the strangest thing had happened.
The Marines stationed on the island, the ones who were supposed to be the first line of defense for the nobles, had quietly, and without explanation, withdrawn.
The oppressive aura of the Celestial Dragons still loomed over the island like a lingering ghost, a deeply ingrained fear that kept the populace in check.
But with the Marines gone, the human traffickers, after a brief, cautious period of restraint, began to stir.
Their old arrogance returned.
Why not? As long as the "gods" in Mariejois still craved their "pets," Sabaody Archipelago would forever be their paradise, their grand, open-air marketplace.
...
"Rumble—"
It started as a low vibration, a deep, thunderous roar that grew louder by the second, building from a distant hum into a sound that rattled the very bubbles of the island.
The usual clamor and noise of the lawless groves were abruptly silenced.
Every single person—the slave trader in mid-haggle, the numb-eyed spectator, the despairing slave bound in chains—stopped.
They all looked up, their heads turning in unison toward the source of the overwhelming sound.
At the horizon, where the sea met the sky, a dark, churning mass was rapidly expanding.
It was a fleet.
A massive fleet, moving with the unstoppable, arrogant momentum of the sea's undisputed rulers, cutting through the waves and charging directly toward the archipelago.
At the forefront were dozens of state-of-the-art warships, steel behemoths that bristled with cannons.
And flying from their masts, snapping sharply in the wind like the howl of a new era, was a flag they didn't recognize—the bold, red-and-white insignia of the New Marine.
"Th-that's… the Marines?!" someone stammered, their voice trembling.
"How can there be so many warships?! This scale… this is even more exaggerated than a Buster Call!"
"A Buster Call? Don't be an idiot!" a man who seemed to know his military hardware spat, his face pale.
"A Buster Call is ten ships, at most! Th-this… there must be at least fifty!"
"Could it be… the Marines are finally re-establishing their presence here? Cracking down on us?"
"Wait… wait, LOOK!" a sharp-eyed man suddenly shrieked, his finger pointing toward the very center of the colossal fleet, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
"That ship… in the middle… is that the Moby Dick?!"
"?!"
A wave of collective, gasping shock rippled through the crowd.
"Yes! That's it! That's the flagship of the Whitebeard Pirates!"
"But… BUT WHY?! Why would Whitebeard's flagship be sailing with Marine warships?! In the center of their formation?!"
This one, impossible question echoed in everyone's mind.
How could the Whitebeard Pirates, one of the Four Emperors, be allied with the Marines?
Unless…
That terrifying headline from the other day… the one they had all dismissed as fake, sensationalist trash…
A cold, horrifying thought began to surface in their minds, sending a shiver down their spines.
The fleet rapidly closed in, spreading out like a giant, inescapable net, encircling the entire island.
On one of the warships, a strange, complex array of antennae whirred to life.
A powerful, invisible electromagnetic wave, a pulse of energy, instantly blanketed all 79 groves.
Every Den Den Mushi on the island—in the hands of pirates, merchants, and Marines alike—fell silent at that exact moment.
The island was cut off.
...
Inside "Shakky's Rip-off Bar."
"Hmm…?"
Rayleigh, the "Dark King," was idly swirling his drink, enjoying a moment of peace.
Suddenly, his brow twitched.
He slammed the glass down onto the bar with a sharp, heavy clack.
"Whoosh—"
An invisible wave of energy, his own powerful Observation Haki, rippled outward from him like a tide, sweeping across the island.
"Hmm?"
His Haki expanded, attempting to scan the armada that was surrounding them.
But just as his senses were about to touch the massive, whale-shaped ship at the fleet's center, he collided with an invisible wall.
It wasn't just a wall. It was a tsunami.
A far more overwhelming, domineering, kingly Observation Haki didn't just block his—it forcefully, contemptuously repelled it, pushing it back.
"..."
Rayleigh shot to his feet, his towering body instantly blocking the light in the small bar, casting a dark, heavy shadow.
"This…" he muttered to himself, a flicker of genuine, profound shock in his eyes. "This presence…"
"Rayleigh?" A tall, slender woman with short, stylish black hair and a cigarette dangling perpetually from her lips, stepped out from the back.
It was Shakky, the bar's proprietress.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her tone laced with concern.
"Something's happened…" Rayleigh didn't have time to explain.
He rushed out of the bar, sprinting toward the docks, an ominous feeling in his chest growing stronger by the second.
Something big was about to go down.
The moment he burst out onto the pier, the sight that greeted him made him suck in a sharp, cold breath.
Sabaody Archipelago, the lawless island, was completely, totally, and utterly surrounded.
An impenetrable iron wall of New Marine warships, packed so tightly bow-to-stern, had sealed off every escape route.
On the docks, over a dozen New Marine Vice Admirals—faces he recognized, like Momonga, and others he didn't—were leading their troops ashore in swift, synchronized, terrifyingly efficient movements.
They weren't just securing the area; they were invading it.
"By the highest order of Mike-san!" one of the Vice Admirals roared, his voice magically amplified to boom across the entire archipelago.
"Everyone on Sabaody Archipelago—except for innocent civilians—is to be captured and brought back to headquarters! No exceptions!"
"All human traffickers will face immediate PUBLIC EXECUTION!"
"From this day forward, the slave trade will no longer be tolerated on these seas! Anyone who dares to traffic in human lives will face the full, unbridled wrath of the New Marine!"
The words struck Rayleigh's heart like a volley of cannonballs.
"YES, SIR!" the soldiers roared in perfect, thunderous unison, their voices shaking the very bubbles, their morale soaring with a righteous, terrifying fervor.
As Rayleigh took in the sight of this revitalized, terrifyingly purposeful New Marine, a single thought flashed through his mind.
'This is bad…'
'This wasn't the same Marine he knew'.
This wasn't the lazy, corrupt, compromised organization that groveled before the Celestial Dragons and turned a blind eye to this island's darkness.
The times hadn't just changed.
The seas were truly being turned upside down.
"GURARARARA!"
A booming, familiar laugh, thunderous enough to make his eardrums ring, erupted over the docks, snapping Rayleigh out of his thoughts.
"Those Celestial Dragon trash… leave them to me!"
Rayleigh's head jerked up.
There, standing at the bow of the Moby Dick, his massive bisento planted on the deck, was Whitebeard himself.
His iconic white coat billowed in the wind, his presence as imposing and absolute as a god of war.
Behind him, the commanders of the Whitebeard Pirates—Marco, Jozu, Vista—clenched their fists, their eyes burning, itching for a fight.
"!!!"
At this impossible, world-breaking sight, Rayleigh's pupils contracted to pinpricks, his mind reeling in a shock so profound it left him breathless.
'Whitebeard… has actually, truly… allied with the Marines?!'