The battle erupted—
In a way that defied all common understanding.
There was no probing. No buildup.
Facing Gern Reginald Sigmar's utterly unreasonable, overwhelming power, Monkey D. Dragon—the man known to the world as the calm and inscrutable leader of the Revolutionary Army—
For the first time before all eyes…
Unleashed the terrifying might that had earned him the title of "the world's most dangerous criminal."
A Special Paramecia—
The Storm-Storm Fruit.
The power to command the very atmosphere itself—to dominate all wind.
Dragon thrust both arms forward in a single explosive motion, the sleeves of his dark-green coat snapping violently.
"Wind Abyss—Dragon Piercer!"
"Hah!!"
With that sharp exhale, a massive vacuum tunnel—over ten meters in diameter—erupted from the bow of the Red Force.
It wasn't mere wind.
It was a violently compressed, hyper-dense hurricane—blue-gray in color—tearing forward with absolute force.
The air was violently displaced, detonating with a thunderous blast.
Below—
The sea itself was split apart.
Water surged wildly to both sides, exposing the abyssal darkness of the ocean floor beneath.
This attack—
Far surpassed any natural storm in speed, density, and concentrated destructive power.
It shot straight toward Gern.
"—?!"
Gern's pupils shrank.
Both hands tightened around Eight Desolations, raising the black blade horizontally before him.
Across its pitch-dark surface, pale vibration particles surged wildly, forming a high-frequency oscillating barrier—
A shield that seemed to shake reality itself.
"BOOOOOOM—!!!"
The blue-gray hurricane slammed into him.
There was no stalemate.
No resistance.
The sheer, overwhelming force surged through the blade like a tidal wave, crashing directly into Gern's body.
In an instant—
His small boat shattered into fragments.
And Gern himself was blasted backward nearly a hundred meters, his feet dragging across the sea's surface—
Carving two long, steaming trenches across the water.
But the moment he was pushed back—
Dragon was already moving.
His body dissolved into a streak of flowing green wind, racing along the very vacuum tunnel he had just carved—
Closing the distance at a speed no less terrifying than Gern's earlier charge.
Both hands pressed inward.
Compressed.
Blue-gray wind spirals condensed violently between his palms.
Clearly—
He had taken Shanks' earlier warning to heart.
Because he understood—
You could never allow a monster like Gern—one capable of large-scale devastation—to fight freely across the open ocean.
He had to be contained.
Restricted.
Forced into a fixed point of high-intensity offense and defense.
To minimize collateral damage…
And to create the perfect opening for Shanks.
In simpler terms—
Drag him out of his battlefield.
—
At the same time, aboard the Red Force—
Shanks stood at the bow, watching Dragon's display of power.
There was no relief in his expression.
Instead, he turned sharply toward his crew.
They stood behind him—boiling with battle intent, barely restrained despite his earlier command.
"Listen carefully!"
Shanks' voice cut through the storm like steel.
"No one moves without my order!"
Yasopp, Lucky Roux, and the others all showed frustration, confusion.
Two-on-one.
The advantage was clearly theirs.
Why not press it? End this quickly?
"I know what you're thinking," Shanks said, reading them instantly.
"But against 'Heaven-Shaking' Gern… numbers can become a disadvantage."
"You've all seen his abilities."
"Massive range. Extreme destructive power. And speed that even Observation Haki struggles to track."
"If we all rush in together, he can break out of our encirclement before it even forms—"
"And then target any one of you."
His voice dropped, sharper now.
"To be honest… in that kind of chaos, I cannot guarantee I can protect every one of you from a full-force attack by him."
"And if even one of you falls…"
His eyes hardened.
"That's a loss we cannot afford. And it would split my focus."
He paused, then looked back toward the battlefield below, where two figures had already begun their violent clash.
"Dragon's strategy is correct."
"He takes the lead—using wind to restrain, pressure, and lock Gern into a confined space."
"And I…"
Shanks lowered his stance slightly, right knee bending.
His left hand tightened around the hilt of Griffin.
"…wait."
"For the one moment—"
"The opening that can decide everything."
"Beckman."
He glanced at his most trusted man.
Benn Beckman exhaled a plume of smoke and nodded calmly.
"I'll hold the ship. Go."
"…I'm counting on you."
Shanks didn't hesitate any longer.
His gaze locked onto the battlefield—
Onto the dark-purple figure stabilizing himself under Dragon's pursuit.
Now.
"—Hah!"
His leg snapped straight.
The deck beneath his foot groaned under the force.
And in the next instant—
Shanks shot forward like an arrow released from a drawn bow.
He didn't take a straight path.
Instead, he rode the edges of Dragon's still-lingering wind tunnel—using the relatively stable airflow—
Combined with master-level Soru and Geppo—
Transforming into a streak of crimson light, moving at blinding speed.
Midair—
He drew his blade.
The moment Griffin left its sheath, dark-red Conqueror's Haki surged along its edge, crackling violently.
—
At the same moment—
On the battlefield.
Dragon's right fist shot forward, Armament Haki coating it.
A spiraling vortex of wind coiled around the strike—
Driving it straight toward Gern's head.
Gern moved to dodge—
But the crushing wind pressure ahead pinned his body in place.
Taking that hit head-on?
Not worth it.
In that split second—
His right hand released the sword.
Fingers spread wide.
He reached violently toward the left—
"Vacuum Grasp!"
The air in front of his palm collapsed instantly.
A localized low-pressure void formed—
Like an invisible giant hand crushing down on Dragon's attack trajectory.
Fist and vacuum collided—
A deep, thunderous boom erupted as Dragon's momentum visibly stalled for a fraction of a second.
And that—
Was enough.
Gern twisted his waist sharply to the right.
His body, still being pushed by the wind, spun half a rotation—
And in one fluid motion—
Eight Desolations swept upward.
The blade tore through the compressed air, unleashing a pale crescent slash—
Aimed straight for Dragon's neck.
"CLANG—!!!"
A deafening metallic impact split the battlefield.
A crimson blade—
Like a bolt of red lightning—
Intercepted the strike with perfect precision.
Griffin.
Shanks had arrived.
He stood there, one arm gripping the sword, body slightly lowered, a shockwave exploding outward beneath his feet.
At the moment the two blades collided—
Haki lightning erupted like writhing serpents, tearing through the surrounding walls of water.
The sea itself split and collapsed, rain cascading down in torrents.
Shanks' gaze locked onto Gern.
His voice was calm.
Firm.
Unyielding.
"Your opponent…"
"…is me."