Every cannonball fired toward the port side slowed dramatically the moment it came within a hundred meters of the ship, as though seized by an invisible hand.
Then, guided by a gentle yet irresistible force, each shell traced a bizarre arc before silently plunging into the sea.
Working together, the two of them created an absolute zone of safety around the vessel.
The G-8 Fortress’s infamous saturation bombardment—once feared by countless pirates—had been reduced to little more than a ridiculous fireworks display, incapable of so much as tearing a corner of the ship’s sail.
In just a few minutes, the first line of defense that G-8 prided itself on had been battered beyond recognition, with nearly half of its artillery batteries rendered inoperable.
“How…
how is this possible…?” Vice Admiral Will collapsed into his command chair in despair.
The supposedly impregnable fortress he had always taken pride in looked laughably fragile before this group of monsters.
Meanwhile, the battered sailing ship calmly passed through the most dangerous bombardment zone and was about to enter the fortress harbor.
Rocks glanced at the steel fortress, already descending into chaos, then swept his eyes over his crew, each one radiating murderous intent and an overwhelming thirst for battle.
A cruel grin spread across his face.
“The warm-up’s over.” “Men, land ashore!” “Beat every last thing on this island that still draws breath into submission!” At Rocks’ command, the weathered ship charged forward with a ferocity completely at odds with its shabby appearance, slamming straight into G-8’s main harbor.
BOOM!
The reinforced bow, specially strengthened by Dorum, struck like a battering ram, smashing a massive breach through the sturdy dock.
Wood splinters and chunks of stone exploded into the air as the entire fortress trembled.
“Wahahaha!
I’m here!” Gatz was the first to leap ashore.
His massive body crashed onto the ground, shattering the granite paving beneath his feet.
Hoisting his giant anchor over one shoulder, he charged through the Marines like a raging bull loose in a japanese shop.
Every barricade and defensive line that dared stand in his way was ripped apart with overwhelming ease by his monstrous strength.
Silver landed immediately after him, but vanished into the shadows the instant his feet touched the ground.
He moved across the battlefield like the Grim Reaper itself.
Every time he reappeared, another group of Marines collapsed.
His attacks were silent yet lethally precise, targeting command personnel and heavy artillery positions, creating chaos and panic far beyond what a direct assault could accomplish.
Dorum followed close behind, carrying his gigantic battle axe like a walking fortress while clearing a path for his companions.
Ordinary swords merely threw off sparks when they struck his body, unable to leave so much as a scratch.
As he sent enemies flying with effortless swings of his axe, he also critiqued the fortress like a professional engineer.
“The foundation’s decent enough, but the concrete’s too weak.
The load-bearing capacity could be better.” “Tsk, tsk.
They really skimped on the steel reinforcement in these walls.
No wonder they cracked after one hit.” Rocks and Newgate strolled leisurely behind the others as though taking a walk through their own backyard.
They didn’t even need to lift a finger.
The sheer pressure of their Conqueror’s Haki alone was enough to make the vast majority of ordinary Marines lose consciousness, collapsing with terrified expressions before they could even fight back.
“Gurararara!
These brats can’t even take a beating.” Newgate yawned, looking thoroughly bored.
Inside the command tower, Vice Admiral Will watched the horrific carnage through a Surveillance Den Den Mushi.
His face had turned ashen.
He knew conventional defenses had become completely meaningless.
“All officers of lieutenant commander rank and above, assemble at the central plaza immediately!
Initiate the Iron Wall contingency!” Will roared out his final order.
“I’ll deal with them myself!” He ripped off his Vice Admiral coat, revealing a lean, muscular physique covered in countless vicious scars.
As the Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral entrusted with defending G-8, he was no figurehead—he was a veteran master of hand-to-hand combat.
Yet amid the chaotic battlefield, one person’s actions stood completely apart from everyone else’s.
Ryne.
After stepping off the ship, he didn’t join the fighting at all.
Carrying nothing more than an ordinary-looking lunchbox, he calmly avoided every battlefield and walked toward the largest building inside the fortress— The Marine cafeteria.
His objective was simple: Inspect the enemy kitchen’s ingredient stockpile.
Several Marine second lieutenants who had been scattered by the fighting spotted the lone child.
After a brief moment of surprise, delight spread across their faces.
“Grab that kid!
He’s got to be the pirates’ weak point!” “A brat thinks he belongs on a battlefield?
You’re asking to die!” The three Marine officers immediately surrounded Ryne, grinning viciously at the chance to earn merit.
Ryne stopped walking and frowned slightly as he looked at them.
“Kitchen area.
Unauthorized personnel are not permitted.” His voice remained perfectly calm.
“Huh?
What’s this brat babbling about?” The leading officer rushed in first, bringing his saber down in a merciless overhead slash without the slightest hesitation because his opponent was only a child.
Ryne didn’t dodge.
Just as the blade was about to reach him, he casually stepped to the side while flicking the lunchbox in his hand upward at an impossible angle.
Bang!
The reinforced bottom of the lunchbox slammed squarely into the officer’s jaw.
With a dull crack, the Marine’s eyes rolled back as he was sent flying backward, spraying blood and broken teeth from his mouth.
The other two Marines froze in shock.
Ryne gave them no time to recover.
His small figure darted forward with the agility of a wildcat, the lunchbox becoming a blur.
Bang!
Bang!
Two more heavy impacts echoed through the air.
One Marine took a crushing blow to the temple, while the other was struck at the base of the neck.
Both collapsed instantly.
From beginning to end, Ryne’s expression didn’t change .
To him, it was no different from casually swatting away three annoying flies.
He glanced at the unconscious Marines before weighing the lunchbox in his hand with satisfaction.
Dorum had custom-made it for him from leftover shipbuilding materials.
It was practically indestructible.
“I told you not to disturb a chef while he’s working.” Muttering to himself, Ryne continued walking toward the building from which the faint aroma of cooking drifted.
Meanwhile, in G-8’s central plaza, Vice Admiral Will had gathered the fortress’s remaining elite forces for a direct confrontation against the main strength of the Rocks Pirates.
“Rocks!
Edward Newgate!” Will fixed his gaze firmly on the two men, his aura surging.
“This is a fortress of justice!
I won’t allow scum like you to run wild here!” Rocks couldn’t even be bothered to look at him.
He simply raised a finger and flicked it lightly in Will’s direction.
“You’re noisy.” An invisible force erupted out of nowhere.
Vice Admiral Will’s Armament Haki, the source of so much of his confidence, crumbled like paper before that overwhelming power.
His body shot backward as though struck by a speeding train, blood spraying from his mouth as he smashed through the command tower’s wall, leaving behind a massive hole.
He was utterly outclassed.
Rocks lowered his hand and yawned in boredom before looking past the stunned Marines toward the cafeteria.
“I wonder if the Head Chef’s found anything good yet.” “I’m getting hungry.” G-8 Fortress fell far faster—and far more completely—than anyone had anticipated.
The moment Vice Admiral Will, the highest-ranking commander of the base, was casually flicked away by a single finger from Rocks and embedded into the wall of the command tower, his fate unknown, all resistance within the fortress collapsed.
The remaining Marines completely lost their will to fight.
One after another, they threw down their weapons, crouched on the ground with their hands over their heads, their faces filled with terror and despair.
Calling it a siege would have been generous.
It was nothing less than a one-sided massacre—like a grown adult crushing a room full of kindergarteners.
The members of the Rocks Pirates cheerfully began “cleaning up the battlefield”—or, more accurately, conducting an organized and disciplined armed looting operation.
“Wahahaha!
We’re rich!
We’re rich!” Gatz kicked open the fortress treasury.
The moment he saw the mountains of Berries and gold piled inside, his eyes practically turned into Berries symbols.
like a child in a candy store , he hauled sack after sack of treasure back to the ship, muttering excitedly, “Now I can buy lots and lots of meat!” Meanwhile, Dorum wandered through the ruined fortress like a master craftsman hunting for treasure.
He removed several intact heavy cannons, intending to mount them on his own ship.
Then he emptied the armory of high-strength alloy steel plates, planning to give the vessel a complete structural upgrade.
To him, military-grade materials were far more valuable than gold or Berries.
Silver took an even more direct approach.
He slipped into Vice Admiral Will’s office and emptied the contents of the safe, recovering a thick stack of documents that included the latest nautical charts covering G-8’s patrol waters, Marine deployment maps, and even classified intelligence belonging to the World Government.
Those intangible assets were worth far more than mere money.
Meanwhile, the holiest place in the entire fortress— the kitchen behind the Marine cafeteria— had already been completely taken over by Ryne.
Like a king inspecting his own domain, he leisurely strolled through the enormous kitchen.
The original chefs had long since retreated into a corner, trembling so badly they hardly dared breathe.
“These potatoes have already sprouted, and you’re still using them?
Are you trying to poison Marine soldiers?” “The cold storage temperature is a complete disaster.
This fish has been dead for at least three days.
Its eyes have already gone cloudy!” “And this cut of beef—none of the connective tissue has been properly trimmed.
Cook it even a little too long and it’ll be as chewy as rubber.
It’s a culinary disaster!” Every time Ryne pointed out another problem, the cooks shivered.
None of them could believe that an eight-year-old child possessed such a sharp and professional eye.
At last, Ryne found something that finally caught his interest inside a locked private cold storage room reserved exclusively for Vice Admirals.
It was a carefully butchered Ironhorn Boar, a rare beast found only on certain islands.
Because it spent its entire life feeding on a unique metallic ore, its meat was exceptionally firm, while its layers of fat were rich in minerals that gave it a distinctive flavor.
Beside it stood several barrels of premium rum from the South Blue, carefully reserved by the G-8 base.
“Mm.
It’ll do.” Ryne nodded in satisfaction.
By the time the crew returned to the cafeteria carrying their spoils, an overwhelmingly rich aroma of simmering meat had already spread across the entire plaza.
At the center of the cafeteria, Ryne was directing several Marine chefs as they worked over a massive iron cauldron—large enough to stew an entire cow—captured from the fortress.
Chunks of Ironhorn Boar simmered together with potatoes, carrots, and other root vegetables.
Golden pork fat slowly rendered into the broth, blending with the vegetables’ natural sweetness and the mellow fragrance of the rum to create an intensely rich, mouthwatering aroma.
The broth had turned a deep, glossy brown, bubbling vigorously as each rolling boil released another wave of irresistible fragrance.
“Head Chef!
What’s this?
It smells incredible!” Gatz was the first to rush over, practically drooling.
“Conqueror’s Stew.” Ryne answered simply.
It was a dish he had improvised using the available ingredients, designed to unleash the ingredients’ full potential in the most direct and domineering way possible, restoring the crew’s strength after what he considered nothing more than a warm-up.
The moment the first steaming bowl of Conqueror’s Stew was served, everyone crowded around.
Rocks speared a piece of slow-braised pork with his fork and took a bite.
His eyes immediately lit up.
The skin was delightfully springy and gelatinous.
The fat was rich without being greasy, melting effortlessly in the mouth, while the lean meat had absorbed every drop of the flavorful broth, making it exceptionally tender and juicy with a lingering hint of rum.
The potatoes and carrots had softened perfectly as well, balancing the richness of the pork.
Most importantly, as the food settled in his stomach, a warm, substantial surge of energy spread slowly throughout his body—far more powerful and soothing than the appetizer Ryne had prepared earlier.
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