The sea was calm that morning — unnaturally calm.
No storms, no waves. Just an endless blue horizon stretching beyond sight, like the world itself was holding its breath.
And then, from the heart of Loguetown, a voice echoed.
"My treasure? If you want it… you can have it! Find it! I left everything the world has to offer there!"
The crowd roared — first in confusion, then disbelief, then wild, uncontrollable madness.
The executioner's blades fell.
Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King, smiled as he died.
And with that single smile — the world was reborn.
The Wind Carries His Words
Across the seas, a storm of words spread like wildfire.
The News Coo took flight, their wings beating against the skies, carrying headlines that would shake the earth itself.
Within hours, the entire world had heard of Roger's final words.
The message swept through every port, every tavern, every kingdom.
The era that had begun with his laughter would now begin again — this time, carried by millions.
———————-
The news reached Marineford before dawn.
A lone Den Den Mushi on the Fleet Admiral's desk clicked and crackled, its tone solemn.
"This is Loguetown. The execution is over… Roger is dead."
The words echoed through the command hall like a gunshot.
A moment later, a breathless messenger burst through the door, holding the latest newspaper. The headline, stamped in bold ink, screamed across the page:
"PIRATE KING'S FINAL WORDS IGNITE THE WORLD — THE ONE PIECE IS REAL!"
Papers scattered across the marble floor as Sengoku stood, veins pulsing in his temples.
"What did you say?!"
The messenger swallowed hard. "He… he said his treasure exists. That anyone can find it."
Sengoku's hands slammed down on the desk.
"That damned fool—! He's turned the world into chaos!"
At the far end of the room, Vice Admiral Tsuru adjusted her glasses, eyes calm but sharp. "This will spread faster than any command we can issue. It's already too late."
The Den Den Mushi on Sengoku's desk rang again — another report, this time from the blues.
"Pirate flags rising everywhere! Dockyards overwhelmed! Civilians declaring themselves crews!"
Sengoku exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the tremor in his voice. "I want every ship mobilized. Every base on alert. Seal the Grand Line if you have to!"
The Fleet Admiral then leaned forward, voice low and sharp. "We've spent decades holding this world together. Now every fool with a ship will be screaming Roger's name!"
The door slammed open.
Garp stepped into the room, his trademark coat draped across his shoulders, the scent of sea salt and gunpowder still clinging to him.
Every eye turned toward him — Sengoku, Tsuru, and the gathered officers — their faces grim, the air heavy with the weight of what had just happened.
Sengoku's brow furrowed. "Garp. Where were you?"
Garp gave his usual grin, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Bwahahaha! I was in East Blue."
Sengoku slammed a fist on the desk. "Do you think this is funny?! Have you seen the news?! Damn that Roger!"
The laughter died immediately.
Garp's grin faded, replaced by something unreadable — a rare seriousness that silenced even the younger officers in the room.
"I saw it," he said finally, his tone low and steady. "I saw the execution."
He stepped forward, boots echoing against the marble floor, until he stood before Sengoku's desk. His voice hardened.
"He smiled as if he'd won," Garp continued. "Not as a pirate… not as a criminal. But as a man who chose his own ending."
A tense silence followed.
Tsuru's sharp eyes narrowed. "And now the seas are paying the price for that ending."
Garp didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked toward the wide window overlooking the harbor. Below, Marine warships were being prepared — cannons loaded, banners of justice fluttering under the blazing sun.
"Don't misunderstand me," he said finally. "Roger was my enemy. Always was. I fought him every time he raised that damn flag."
He turned slightly, gaze sharp and unwavering.
"But even I know… an execution doesn't kill an idea."
Sengoku's temper broke, voice rising like thunder. "Ideas won't save them when war tears the world apart! We were supposed to end piracy today — not ignite it!"
His words hung in the air like gunpowder smoke.
Garp stared out at the horizon. "Then maybe," he said quietly, "you underestimated how much this world wants freedom."
Sengoku froze for a moment — not out of agreement, but out of the bitter truth in those words.
Tsuru exhaled, folding her arms. "Freedom… or madness. The line between them just vanished today."
Sengoku's tone steadied, cold and commanding once again. "Enough. We can't let his words spread unchecked. We'll move immediately."
He faced the room full of officers.
"Effective now — all divisions will intensify patrols in every sea. Hunt down anyone flying a Jolly Roger. Intercept all ships heading for the Grand Line."
Then his gaze fell on Garp. "You. You'll lead the campaign in the first half of the Grand Line. Find every last remnant of Roger's crew. Every man and woman who dares to inherit his will."
Garp gave a slow nod. "Whatever you say Senny."
He turned to leave, the sunlight catching the edge of his cap. But before stepping through the door, he paused — his voice quieter, almost weary.
"You can chase all the pirates you want, Sengoku… but the moment that man smiled, the world changed. And not even the Marines can stop that now."
The door closed behind him with a heavy thud.
From the harbor below, cannon drills continued — the sound of a Navy bracing for a storm that had already begun.
——————-
High above the clouds, the Holy Land of Marie Geoise stood in pristine silence — until the panic began.
Cipher Pol agents rushed through the corridors carrying newspapers, their white suits drenched in sweat.
Every one of them bore the same headline.
Inside the council chamber, the Five Elders gathered around a massive circular table carved from sacred marble.
A single candle flickered at its center, casting shadows that danced across their aged faces.
One of them — the tall elder with the katana resting by his side — spoke first.
"Gol D. Roger's execution was meant to bring order. Instead…" He threw the paper onto the table. "…he's created chaos."
Another, with a long white beard, slammed his palm against the wood. "Fools! Why didn't the Marines silence him sooner?!"
A third elder sighed. "You cannot silence a symbol. He spoke only once, yet every word will echo for centuries."
The one with the sword narrowed his eyes. "And now, millions will rise in his name. The seas will overflow with pirates chasing a dream."
The bald elder with glasses leaned forward, voice low.
"Dreams are dangerous. They cannot be erased — only controlled."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Then one of them — the oldest, his face partly in shadow — spoke with quiet authority.
"The Void Century… the Will of D… and now this talk of the 'One Piece.' These threads converge again. We must act before the world remembers what it's meant to forget."
"Order cannot contain the Will of D. It has awakened again… through that man."
Silence followed. The name — the Will of D. — was one they rarely spoke aloud, even here.
The elder with the sword looked up. "And what of the woman, Ada? The one who sailed beside him?"
"She's gone to sea alone," another replied. "Her movements are unknown. But she was part of his final voyage. She, too, holds knowledge of the past."
"Then we watch her," the bald elder said coldly. "If she stirs the sea, we erase her. Quietly."
The first elder closed his eyes, sighing. "The world has lost its balance. The next hundred years will be written in blood."
The one with the sword exhaled, resting his hand on the blade beside him. "And what of the next generation? The ones his words will call forth?"
The eldest elder's eyes glimmered faintly. "They will come. New pirates, new kings, new enemies. The balance will break again. But until then…"
He looked toward the window, where sunlight spilled over the clouds of Marie Geoise.
"…we will still rule the age that follows."
At that moment, the candle flame flickered — a gust of wind slipping through the sacred halls of power.
And for the first time in decades, the Elders felt something none of them would admit aloud.
Fear.
———————
Far from the clamor of the world, the Oro Jackson drifted on quiet seas.
The sails billowed gently, the sun a molten gold sinking over the horizon.
Ada stood at the bow, her red coat flapping in the wind, eyes on the open sea.
Behind her, Mihawk leaned against the rail, a folded newspaper in his hand.
"He's really gone," Mihawk said quietly.
Ada didn't answer. Her gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, where sea met sky.
After a long silence, she said, "No. Not gone. Just… free."
Mihawk glanced at her. "You don't seem surprised."
"I knew he wouldn't die quietly," she said. "He wanted to leave something behind — not gold, not treasure… but a reason to keep chasing the horizon."
Mihawk's eyes narrowed. "And what reason is that?"
Ada turned, her expression unreadable. "To prove that the world's truth can't be silenced. No matter how many kings, gods, or governments try."
The ship creaked softly as the wind shifted.
Seagulls cried above them — distant, lonely, yet alive.
Later that night, Ada sat alone on the deck, her sword and rifle resting beside her.
The moonlight shimmered over the sea like a road of silver.
She whispered to herself, her voice barely carried by the wind.
"You did it, Roger. You broke the cage."
Her hand brushed against the ship's worn railing — the last relic of a bygone crew.
Every plank, every scratch, every nail still echoed with their laughter.
"Joy Boy… Roger… maybe the world doesn't change through strength or power," she murmured.
"Maybe it changes when someone dares to laugh in the face of the impossible."
———————-
Over the next weeks, every ocean became a storm of ambition.
New pirates rose — some noble, some cruel, all chasing the same dream.
Marines launched desperate campaigns to stop them, but the waves kept coming.
The world had changed, and there was no turning back.
Ada watched from afar, silent.
"The Great Pirate Era," Mihawk said one evening, half-smirking. "That's what they're calling it."
Ada closed her eyes, a rare smile touching her lips.
"Fitting. He always did have a flair for names."
———————
As the sun rose over the Grand Line, its light shimmered across endless waves, illuminating sails old and new.
On one of them, the Oro Jackson cut through the water with quiet grace, its lone Jolly Roger fluttering in the wind.
Two figures stood upon its deck — a woman forged by the sea's truth, and a boy destined to become its greatest swordsman.
Behind them, the old world burned.
Ahead of them, the new age began.
The Great Pirate Era had dawned.
And somewhere, in the whisper of the sea breeze, Roger's laughter lingered — eternal, unbroken, free.