"To be perfectly honest... killing the children who lost their fathers might've been the kinder option."
The Commodore's mocking voice sliced through the bitter sea wind, every word like a dagger, sharp and unflinching, stabbing deep into the hearts of those who heard.
The expressions on the faces of the Roger Pirates shifted, ever so slightly.
They hadn't set sail out of greed or bloodlust, not like the others. They followed Captain Roger out of loyalty, admiration — drawn in by the force of his spirit and the vastness of his heart. They willingly threw themselves into the storms of the sea, chasing after something far more than plunder.
And in truth, they rarely even raided treasure.
But on this path of vengeance and freedom —
in the heat of the clash, the thrill of the blade, the chaos of bloodshed —
how many of them had stopped to think about the consequences left in their wake?
"So what are you trying to say, Marine boy?"
Rayleigh's voice cut in, cold and sharp, the change in his crewmates' expressions not escaping his eye.
Darren simply raised both hands, palms up, with a casual shrug.
"I'm saying this: once you take up arms and fly the Jolly Roger, don't talk to me about mercy."
"That red-haired brat who follows you around — don't think his hands are clean. He's soaked in blood. And to me..."
He grinned, a wolfish flash of teeth, then waved dismissively.
"He's no innocent kid."
And with the final word, it happened.
A storm of suspended bullets and cannonballs — previously held in tense stillness — screamed through the sky with devastating speed, arcing toward the stranded Oro Jackson, its sails ruined, unable to flee.
"You little bastard!!"
Roger roared, his voice booming like thunder as he slashed forward.
A spiraling wave of sword energy erupted like a raging cyclone, engulfing the incoming salvo mid-air.
A series of deafening explosions lit up the storm-dark sky, columns of fire and black smoke twisting upward into the heavens.
A scorching blast wave surged outward, rocking both pirate ship and warship alike.
A shadow burst forth.
Through the shroud of ash and fire, Roger charged out like a force of nature, his captain's coat flaring crimson behind him, his eyes burning blood-red.
A streak of lightning flashed through the thunderclouds, stark and white, illuminating the fury carved into Roger's face.
He soared high, blade in hand, hurtling straight toward Darren on the bow of the Marine ship.
A crushing aura erupted from his body — like a mountain crashing down or the ocean bottom dropping out — and fell upon the Marines like a tidal wave.
A pressure unlike anything before surged downward. Dozens of Marines went pale, their breathing caught in their throats, limbs heavy as if the air itself had turned to stone.
Roger's presence wasn't just powerful — it was monstrous. Like facing death itself. Just standing before it sapped the will to move.
"He's like a demon...!"
Tokikake gritted his teeth, his chest tight with pain.
Beside him, Gion braced herself with both hands on her blade, face ghost-white.
And Darren — the main target of Roger's Conqueror's Haki — narrowed his eyes sharply.
The force slammed into him like a sledgehammer, choking the air from his lungs and rattling his ribs. Instinctively, he tried to unleash his own Haki in defense...
But it wouldn't rise.
It was being crushed. Suffocated.
The darkness closed in, suffocating and dense.
And yet, Darren grinned.
"I'm not your opponent."
A thunderous voice exploded above him.
From the smoke and wind emerged a flash of white — a massive figure wearing a dog-headed Marine cap descended like a phantom, fist cocked back and crashing down like a falling star.
Roger slammed into the deck of the Oro Jackson like a cannonball from the heavens.
The sheer impact split the planks open, shaking the entire ship and sending waves crashing in every direction as half the vessel dipped beneath the waterline from the force.
"Dammit... Garp, you always get in the way!"
Roger staggered from the wrecked deck, blade in hand, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. He looked up toward the Marine vice admiral now standing confidently on the prow of the warship, arms crossed.
"Bwahahaha! Roger, I can't let you kill the kid now, can I?"
Garp looked down at Roger's bruised, swelling jaw — and laughed. Laughed like all the exhaustion and irritation of the last three days had just been blown away with one punch.
That felt good. Damn good.
He turned to Darren, clapped him hard on the shoulder, and burst out laughing again.
"You're Darren, right? Hah! Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."
"Your methods are dirty, your heart even dirtier — but I like that!"
Garp had seen right through Darren's sabotage of the pirate ship's sails. And the way he goaded Roger into an opening? That alone was worth praise.
And now that the Oro Jackson had lost its sails, escape was no longer an option.
The thought made Garp's eyes glint with approval.
This kid... not bad at all.
Maybe once he graduates from the academy, I'll snatch him up as my adjutant...
The idea lodged itself in Garp's brain like an anchor.
"What about me, old man? I nearly sank their ship! I blocked Roger's sword! Doesn't that count?!"
Nearby, Dragon puffed up his chest, eyes gleaming as he looked to his father with childlike hope — like a student waiting for a gold star.
Garp raised an eyebrow, dug a finger into his nose.
"Eh, you did alright. Just a bit too hot-headed."
He tapped his temple.
"In battle, you've gotta use this thing. I've told you a thousand times — you should take a page from Darren's book."
Dragon froze on the spot.
Gion and Tokikake swore they heard the sound of his heart shattering.
Garp paid no mind. He turned back toward Roger's crew, cracking his knuckles one by one like snapping beans, a wide grin stretching across his face.
"Well then... how about we settle this the old-fashioned way?"
His dog-headed warship rammed hard into the side of the Oro Jackson from behind.
The Roger Pirates' expressions all changed.
Dozens of iron-hooked ropes soared through the storm, latching onto the railings of the pirate ship with precise, practiced motion.
"Grappling hooks! Engage!!"
A Marine officer with a brown cap unsheathed his saber and bellowed the order.
Hundreds of blades flashed in the stormlight — cold, gleaming, and merciless.
The roar of guns followed.
Elite Marines, swift and ruthless, swarmed the ropes, scaling toward the Oro Jackson under cover fire from their comrades.
Boarding battle... was about to begin.