The cannonball struck the left hull of the Oro Jackson with a deafening roar. An explosion blossomed on impact, and the shockwave sent the entire ship tilting sideways. Seawater exploded upward in plumes, crashing down over the deck like a rainstorm.
"What a pain in the ass..."
Wiping the saltwater from his face, Gol D. Roger stood tall at the helm. Behind him, his crimson captain's coat flapped wildly in the wind stirred up by the blasts.
Despite his words, his face was lit with a wide, carefree smile.
"Rayleigh, maybe it's time we stop running and have it out with Garp."
He glanced at his first mate with a gleam in his eye, flashing a row of brilliant white teeth.
"The Marines dumped their supplies. We can't shake them."
Standing beside him, Rayleigh, still with a head of golden hair and a dignified air, twitched the corner of his mouth.
"Garp's still got some distance to close. You just want a fight."
Roger scratched his head with a laugh, caught red-handed.
"Can you blame me? That stubborn bastard's been chasing us for three days straight! We haven't even had a proper nap!"
He gestured toward the deck, where a young Shanks and Buggy stood with drawn daggers, nervously eyeing the distant warship. Both had dark rings under their eyes, looking like they'd been punched in the face by exhaustion.
"Guys like us can handle it. But those kids? They're barely holding on."
Rayleigh frowned. He knew Roger was right. Veterans like them could fight for days, even weeks, without sleep. But the kids—they were just boys.
"I'm fine!! Captain Roger!! I can keep going! Not a problem!"
Shanks stepped forward, biting his tongue to fight off the wave of fatigue drowning his senses.
Buggy, barely upright, rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah... sure."
A sudden buzzing roar filled the sky.
More cannonballs sliced through the smoke above, falling like a storm of black meteors, dense enough to blot out the sun.
"ROGER!! YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY!!"
Garp's voice thundered from across the sea.
"So damn loud, Garp!!" Roger snapped back.
At his side, Rayleigh calmly stepped forward. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword.
With a single leap, his figure vanished—reappearing midair.
His blade sang free of its sheath, unleashing a storm of radiant swordlight. The arcs of his slashes intertwined into a spiraling vortex—a whirlwind of pure sword aura.
The twisting gale rose with a scream, colliding with the rain of cannonballs.
One by one, the shells detonated midair. Fire and metal burst across the sky, painting it orange-red like a grand fireworks display.
The Roger Pirates had faced the Marines too many times to be surprised. This wasn't their first barrage.
As long as the ship held, they had room to escape.
Rayleigh landed smoothly, but frowned.
The mast groaned. The sail, which had been taut and forward, suddenly snapped backward.
The iconic gold-skulled jolly roger warped.
Rayleigh's eyes narrowed.
A windstorm howled across the sea. Waves rose like snarling beasts.
Their speed plummeted.
"What happened!?" "The wind shifted!?" "No way!" "Spencer, report!"
The crew turned to their navigator.
Spencer, gripping the rigging with white knuckles, shook his head.
"This wind isn't natural! It's not climate—it's being manipulated!"
That could only mean one thing.
Rayleigh exhaled slowly.
"Prepare for battle."
No one asked questions. Weapons were drawn. Eyes sharpened. The deck bristled with tension.
Rayleigh turned to Roger, voice low.
"Well, looks like running isn't an option anymore."
Roger blinked, then activated his Observation Haki. His eyes lit up with excitement.
Rayleigh turned toward the distant sea.
Through towering waves and clouds, a Marine warship tore through the ocean like a spear.
On its sails, the bold black kanji for "Justice" stood stark against white canvas.
"Garp's reinforcements... have arrived."
Two tall figures stepped onto the bow.
Cloaks of pure white snapped in the wind. Their presence, sharp as steel, locked onto the Oro Jackson.
Rayleigh's eyes narrowed.
"That kid... he looks like Garp's son."
From across the sea, Dragon smiled.
He raised a hand. In his palm, a swirling orb of dark green wind began to form.
The sphere spun wildly, stretching, expanding, spiraling faster and faster.
It devoured the sky, twisting upward and downward at once.
In seconds, a monstrous waterspout towered above the sea.
"Tempest: Great Burial!"