The warship completed its turn and drove hard through the waves, cutting through white foam as it gradually drew farther away from the Moby Dick.
The atmosphere on the deck remained oppressive.
No one spoke.
There was only the sound of the sea wind howling.
Zaraki leaned against the rail, drinking from the bottle one mouthful at a time. His gaze stared toward the distant direction of the G-18 Branch, and in those black pupils, the pure flame of anticipation for battle ignited once more.
At that moment, Whitebeard's heavy laughter rolled in from behind, crossing the waves and clearly entering everyone's ears.
"Gurararara... What a complete and utter lunatic."
There was a trace of regret in that voice, but even more than that, there was undisguised admiration.
After that, Whitebeard's voice lowered, meant only for the sons gathered near him on the Moby Dick.
"Marco."
"Yes, Pops," the blond man answered.
"Remember this. Nothing that happened aboard this ship today is allowed to spread."
After a brief pause, Whitebeard's voice sank further, carrying authority and certainty that pressed heavily on every pirate close enough to hear it.
"A monster like that wearing a Marine uniform is already a disaster for every villain on the sea."
"If one day he takes off that uniform..."
"This sea will face something far worse than rivers of blood."
The words were not meant to cross the water, but Zaraki's senses were far from ordinary.
He caught enough of them through the wind to understand the meaning.
Zaraki leaned against the cold ship rail and drained the last mouthful of rum from the bottle.
The harsh liquid burned down his throat, making his mind even clearer, and the restless ideas stirred up by the newly unlocked techniques temporarily settled into something he could use.
Monster? Disaster?
He smacked his lips, the taste of strong liquor still lingering on his tongue.
That old man had a pretty good eye for people.
Still, Zaraki did not think those were bad words.
On this sea where the strong devoured the weak, being seen as a gentle sheep would be the real problem.
Zaraki tilted his head slightly.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Gion and Yamakaji standing not far away.
They kept a distance of roughly five meters from him, close enough to speak at any time, distant enough to avoid seeming overly familiar, and carrying a faint trace of caution.
They said nothing more and merely looked ahead in silence, but Zaraki could feel that most of their attention was still locked onto him.
The ordinary Marine soldiers were even more obvious. One by one, they looked as if they had seen a ghost.
Even when walking, they stuck close to the opposite side of the deck.
The way they looked at him was mixed with fear, worship, and the alienation reserved for something outside common sense.
That was fine.
It saved him from being bothered.
His thoughts drifted back to the Moby Dick.
That old man called Whitebeard was indeed interesting.
Whether it was the domineering presence that looked down on the world, or that line, "Come be my son," it all carried a pure, bold grandeur.
Unfortunately, Zaraki did not want a father.
Besides, that ship was hardly full of "family" who welcomed him.
A square face flushed dark red flashed through Zaraki's mind.
The instant he rejected Whitebeard, that man's eyes had shown more than anger.
There had also been a trace of cold, twisted joy, as if Zaraki's refusal had been exactly what he wanted.
There was ambition in those eyes that could not be fully hidden.
Very different from Marco.
'A slightly interesting fellow.'
'Only slightly, though.'
Right now, Zaraki's mind was filled with thoughts of that target worth one billion berries.
"Thunder Breathing..."
Zaraki murmured, his fingers opening and closing unconsciously as if gripping a sword hilt.
From Second Form to Sixth Form, the lightning of Rice Spirit, the clustered thrusts of Thunder Swarm, the instantaneous slash of Distant Thunder, the scorching heat of Heat Lightning, the wild violence of Rumble and Flash... countless sword principles flowed through his mind, making his blood boil along with them.
This was much more entertaining than that simple, brutal Thunder Bagua-style strike.
He had to find something sturdy enough and test every move from beginning to end.
"Report!"
A hoarse shout came from inside the cabin.
A communications soldier stumbled and crawled onto the deck, the Den Den Mushi in his hand still wailing nonstop, its expression twisted by fear.
"Emergency relay from G-18 Branch... G-18 Branch..."
The communications soldier panted heavily, tears covering his face.
"The main base... the main base has completely fallen!"
Yamakaji's pupils shrank sharply. He stepped forward and grabbed the soldier by the collar.
"What did you say? What about Jack? Has he retreated?"
"No!"
The communications soldier's voice cracked.
"A surviving relay post sent the final report! He... he's still there! He's tearing the whole base apart... like a madman breaking his own toy!"
Gion's face instantly turned pale.
A base falling and a base being torn apart like a toy were two entirely different things.
The former meant the battle had ended.
The latter meant one-sided slaughter and destruction without mercy.
Zaraki seemed not to hear any of it.
He simply straightened slowly, his gaze passing over everyone and turning toward the distant horizon.
At some point, that horizon had been stained with an ominous dark red.
A wave of dry heat mixed with gunpowder smoke, charred wood, and the smell of blood rushed toward them on the sea wind.
The curve at the corner of his mouth became even clearer.
'Found him.'
He had not seen Jack yet, but the pressure ahead already felt like a challenge.
...
The warship sailed at full speed for nearly another half hour.
When the island that had once served as the Marines' forward barrier in this sea region, the G-18 Branch, finally appeared fully in sight, even Zaraki raised his brow slightly.
The communications soldier's description had been far too restrained.
The harbor had been torn apart.
Countless wrecked Marine ships were scattered through the boiling seawater, their broken hulls jutting up at odd angles.
Most of the fortress walls had collapsed, and the surrounding buildings were burning fiercely. Black smoke shot into the clouds, forming a dark cover that blotted out the sky.
Gulp.
Zaraki heard someone beside him swallow with difficulty, though he did not know which Marine soldier it was.
Faced with such a scene, even the will to fight could be crushed in an instant.
"That is... Jack the Drought..."
Gion's voice was dry as she stared fixedly at the massive figure rampaging in the center of the island.
It was a giant man more than eight meters tall, wearing a metal jaw guard, with two huge tusk-like ornaments curving from his shoulders.
He was dragging two enormous shotel-like blades. With every swing, he easily flattened one of the remaining buildings.
Boom!
With a thunderous crash, the last central fortress collapsed under his strike, sending dust and smoke surging into the sky.