After a long while—
The frozen sea fell into absolute silence.
Only the mournful howl of the wind swept across the crisscrossing trenches and shattered ruins.
Pale daylight reflected off the broken battlefield…
"Cough… cough, cough…"
A suppressed fit of coughing broke the stillness.
Red-Haired Shanks knelt on one knee upon the ice. Griffin was driven deep into the frozen surface before him, barely supporting his swaying body.
"Heh… truly a monster… that Tremor power…"
"Captain Roger once said… if you had lived in his era, you would have been able to rival him…"
"…Seems… he wasn't wrong."
After speaking, Shanks tried to lift his head—to look toward that equally battered figure in the distance—
But his vision swam, darkening in waves, blurring beyond clarity.
He wanted to question.
To stop him.
To roar and charge once more—
But his body betrayed his will.
His throat felt clogged with burning gravel, unable to produce a single sound.
So even when he forced himself to stand—
It amounted to nothing more than staggering forward a few steps like a broken shell—
Then—
Thud.
His knee dragged faint marks across the ice.
The last trace of strength supporting him drained away completely.
"Ghh…"
A short, muffled groan.
Griffin, embedded in the ice, tilted slightly forward.
One by one—
Shanks's fingers loosened from the hilt.
The light in his eyes dimmed rapidly—
His vision swallowed entirely by darkness.
His body, held together by sheer will alone, collapsed like a puppet with severed strings—
Falling face-first onto the ice with a heavy crash, scattering fine shards—
And moving no more.
Only the faintest rise and fall of his chest remained—
Proof that this Emperor of the Sea still clung to a sliver of life…
But had completely lost the ability to fight.
—
On the other side—
Gern Reginald Sigmar still gripped Bahuang, his guard unrelaxed.
Until—
The sound of Shanks collapsing reached his ears.
Only then—
Did the tension in his body finally release.
"Hah… hah… haaah… ha…"
He began to breathe heavily, each inhale dragging through pain that permeated every inch of his body.
The wound across his waist, carved open by Divine Departure, burned fiercely once more.
His back, battered by Dragon's wind pressure, throbbed with a dull ache.
His arms trembled slightly from the strain of overexertion—both in offense and defense.
And the exhaustion from overdriving his Devil Fruit ability surged through him like a rising tide, sinking deep into his bones.
One against two.
First, he had used overwhelming force to cripple and capture Dragon—one of the world's absolute apex fighters.
Then he had clashed head-on with a nearly uninjured Shanks, wielding Observation-Killing and top-tier Conqueror's Haki coating, in a battle pushed to its absolute extreme…
Even for someone of King-level—
This was an unprecedented drain.
"Heh… heh, hahaha…"
Gern let out a low laugh.
There was fatigue in it—
And a trace of cold self-mockery.
"The current Red-Hair… taking him down without injury…"
"…was never going to be easy."
But—
He had won.
He had won.
Though battered.
Though exhausted.
A King… was still a King.
And the one left standing upon this shattered frozen wasteland—
Was still him.
Gern slowly lowered himself into a cross-legged seat, ignoring the cold and roughness of the ice beneath him.
Then he leaned back, gazing up at the sky.
He needed time—
Even if only for a brief moment—
To calm the surging blood within him.
To rein in the Haki spilling from his body.
To allow his nearly depleted stamina and mental strength to recover, if only slightly.
The cold wind brushed against his sweat-damp hair.
Gern closed his eyes, steadying his breathing.
Time passed.
Little by little.
The frozen plain echoed only with the wind.
After an unknown stretch—
Gern slowly opened his eyes again.
He placed his hands on his knees and rose to his feet, somewhat unsteadily—but firmly.
Lowering his gaze—
He glanced at the wound at his waist.
Then swept his eyes toward the fallen figures of Shanks and Dragon in the distance.
The corner of his mouth curled slightly.
"In the end…" he murmured softly.
"It seems… I came out ahead."
With that—
He wasted no more time.
His left hand grasped Bahuang's hilt, securing the black blade back at his waist.
The sword seemed to sense its master's state—
Its hum fading into silence.
Then—
He bent down.
His right hand still gripped Dragon's neck, holding the unconscious man firmly.
His left reached out—
Seizing the back collar of Shanks's black coat.
With both arms exerting force—
Two figures who had once shaken the world—
Now hung like heavy burdens at his sides.
Shanks's body scraped across the ice, producing a faint dragging sound.
Dragon hung limp, utterly lifeless.
Gern stepped forward.
One step at a time.
Toward the distant edge of the ice—
Toward the direction of Wano Country.
His figure, set against the vast pale expanse, looked solitary—
Yet unyielding.
Behind him—
Two long trails stretched across the frozen plain.
...…
At the same time—
Within the isolated land of Wano, sealed by towering waterfalls and treacherous mountains—
The smoke of war had yet to disperse.
On Onigashima, the island groaned under unbearable strain, cracks splitting through it with thunderous force.
Flames raged across the fortress.
Buildings collapsed.
The once-proud banners of the Beasts Pirates flapped in tatters under the violent winds.
The outcome of the war had not fundamentally changed with Momonosuke's death.
If anything—
The grief and fury of losing him had carved even deeper into the hearts of the Akazaya samurai.
That sorrow—
Transformed into a near-maddened will to fight.
Within the palace battlefield—
Big Mom, Charlotte Linlin, roared with a madness born of being driven to the brink.
At the start, both Kid and Law had been completely forced into a corner by her overwhelming power.
But after the awakening of their Devil Fruits—
The tide had shifted.
Law, through his awakened abilities, generated internal shockwaves within Big Mom's body—forcing her to cough up blood.
Kid followed immediately—
Using his awakened powers to assign magnetism to Big Mom herself—
Then unleashing Magnetic Clash—
Driving his attacks straight into her!
For the first time in a long while—
The "Iron Balloon" felt true pain.
Not the external damage inflicted by Gern—
But an internal agony, unavoidable and uncontrollable, caused by the Ope Ope no Mi.
In that moment—
The Emperor famed for her soul manipulation and iron-like defense—
Was being pushed into a desperate corner by two members of the "Worst Generation."
Trafalgar Law, his face pale as death, blood constantly spilling from his lips—
Had compressed his "ROOM" to its smallest possible size—
But to the highest level of density.
Every spatial shift.
Every internal shock—
Struck precisely at the weakest points of Big Mom's defenses.
With his awakened ability—
He wielded the principles of penetration and impact to a terrifying degree.
And Kid—
His body drenched in blood—
His massive mechanical arm, "Punk Rotten," glowing red and warping from overload—
Paid no heed to the strain.
He dragged every piece of metal on the battlefield—
Blades, firearms, shattered structures—
Under the command of his magnetism—
Forming a monstrous magnetic construct—
Relentlessly smashing against Big Mom's iron body!
...
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