The images on the light screen advanced rapidly.
Austin’s narration also kept pace: “The direct fuse for the Marineford War was the arrest of the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates…
Portgas D.
Ace, by the Marines, and his sentence to public execution.” The scene shifted.
The execution platform.
Ace knelt on the platform, his hands bound by Sea Stone handcuffs.
His head was bowed, his expression obscured.
Aboard the Moby Dick, the real Ace trembled violently.
He saw himself.
Himself, kneeling on that execution platform.
“What…?” The voice squeezed out of his throat, incredibly raspy.
Marco was the first to react, quickly walking to Ace’s side, but he did not know what to say.
Whitebeard’s expression was grim.
Thatch stood among the crowd, staring intently at the light screen.
Teach’s hands stopped trembling.
He had finally heard the key information: the future Ace was captured?
Who did it?
Would doing this affect his own plans?
He needed to stay calm.
He needed to think about what to do next.
The prophecy on the light screen would not give him time to think.
“Whitebeard assembled his entire force, uniting forty-three New World pirate crews for a frontal assault on the Marine Headquarters, Marineford.” “On the Marine side, the Three Admirals Akainu, Kizaru, and Aokiji were all deployed.
The Seven Warlords of the Sea joined the battle collectively.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku personally took command.” “Strength: 100,000 men.” The image on the light screen was a panoramic bird’s-eye view of Marineford.
The encircling walls had not yet risen.
The plaza was densely packed with white military uniforms, arranged in neat rows, a forest of blades and guns.
In the real plaza of Marineford, Marine soldiers wearing those same white uniforms looked up at this scene, none of them making a sound.
They saw their future selves.
Standing on the battlefield.
Sengoku’s face had turned extremely dark.
No one needed to explain what this meant.
This was a war where all stakes were on the table.
The images on the light screen switched rapidly.
The war began.
Whitebeard jumped down from the Moby Dick.
Giant pirate ships burst forth from the seabed.
The sea surface was torn apart by the power of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit.
Tsunamis overwhelmed the land.
Aokiji extended a hand, “Ice Age.” The entire sea surface froze into an icy plain.
Tens of thousands of pirates charged across the ice.
Cannon fire filled the sky, and blade light flashed wildly.
Austin’s narration was accompanied by a musical score.
Low drumbeats, the rhythm getting faster and faster.
“Throughout this war, Whitebeard fought while ill.
His body was inserted with medical tubes.
A heart attack could have occurred at any moment.” On the light screen, Whitebeard threw a punch.
The air cracked.
The atmosphere vibrated.
Cracks were shaken into the buildings of half of Marineford.
“But even so, even with all Three Admirals attacking, they could not stop him.” Aboard the Moby Dick, several nurses covered their mouths.
Whitebeard remained silent; watching himself fight felt a bit strange.
In the light screen, his back looked older.
Older than he was now.
His body was covered in bandages, and an IV bottle hung at his waist.
Every step he took was with great effort.
“But ultimately…” Austin’s narration suddenly dropped in pitch.
The music cut off.
The screen froze on a scene: Whitebeard facing Akainu.
A fist of magma pierced through Whitebeard’s chest.
It went straight through from the front.
Half of his face was burned away.
On the Moby Dick, everyone’s breathing stopped.
Sixteen commanders and 1,600 crew members all stopped breathing together.
Ace’s lips were trembling.
Marco’s blue flames were flickering violently.
Thatch took a step back, bumping into the mast.
Whitebeard did not move.
He sat on his giant chair, one hand gripping the armrest, looking at his future self being pierced by magma on the light screen.
“Keep watching,” he said only two words.
His voice was flat, unnaturally flat.
The images did not stop.
Austin’s narration continued.
“By the end of the Marineford War, Edward Newgate had sustained a total of 267 sword wounds, 152 bullet hits, and 46 wounds from cannon fire.
Plus that punch from Akainu.” The numbers popped up one by one, striking the light screen.
“But his back…” The scene cut to Whitebeard’s back.
It was completely clean.
“Did not have a single scar.” Austin’s voice rose at this moment, carrying a tremor that even he himself did not notice: “In his entire life, Edward Newgate never bore a scar from running away.” The entire ocean saw that image.
Whitebeard died standing.
Standing tall in the center of the battlefield.
His feet were nailed to the ground.
His white cloak was lifted by the sea breeze, flapping loudly.
His eyes had rolled back, but his body did not fall.
The sea breeze blew against him as if blowing against a tombstone.
On the pier of Foosha Village, Luffy squatted on the bow of a ship, his mouth wide open, unable to say a word.
He did not know Whitebeard.
He had never met this person.
But when he saw that back, his eyes grew hot.
“What an amazing old man…” Luffy’s voice was very soft.
Marineford.
The plaza was in deathly silence.
100,000 Marines saw the image of a pirate dying while standing, and no one made a sound.
Akainu stood on the steps, his gaze heavy.
He saw the image of himself piercing Whitebeard’s chest on the light screen.
The fist of the high-temperature fruit, magma splashing, piercing through the body.
He showed no change in expression.
What needed to be done, he would do.
It was true in the past, and it would be the same in the future.
Kizaru pushed his sunglasses up.
The light screen was reflected in his pupils.
He did not speak.
At a time like this, even he did not feel like putting on an act.
Aokiji had his hands in his pockets, his head bowed.
He was thinking about a question.
What exactly were the Marines protecting?
Sengoku leaned his hands on the windowsill, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.
“The Marineford War.” He chewed these words in his mouth, “At Marineford.” He turned back to look at Garp.
The smile was gone from Garp’s face.
“Garp.” “Don’t ask.” “I haven’t even spoken yet.” “I know what you want to ask…” Garp’s voice was muffled.
Sengoku was stunned for a moment.
He knew?
He knew about the whole thing?
“Garp.” Sengoku lowered his voice: “It says the future.
If all of this has not happened yet…” “Then let’s not let it happen.” Garp turned around and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” “Back to eat rice crackers.” Sengoku watched his back walk out and did not call him back.
Garp walked into the corridor and stopped.
The corridor was empty, and outside the window was the golden light screen, still playing images.
He was the only one in the corridor.
The old man leaned against the wall and looked up.
On the light screen, Whitebeard was dead.
267 sword wounds.
152 bullets.
46 cannon blasts.
Not a single scar on his back.
“Stubborn old man…
you sure know how to play the hero,” Garp cursed in a low voice.
His voice was a bit hoarse.
…
New World, Moby Dick.
The sound of crying filled the deck.
Some crew members knelt on the ground, while others pounded the deck.
Several nurses crouched in the corner, covering their faces with their sleeves, their shoulders shaking.
The commanders’ reactions were all different.
Marco’s blue flames had completely enveloped his body.
He gritted his teeth and punched the mast.
The mast cracked halfway.
Thatch leaned against the railing, his face pale.
Vista gripped his sword hilt, his hands trembling.
Whitebeard threw away his broken wine cup and took another one.
“Gurararara.” He laughed.
Everyone’s gaze focused on him.
“267 sword wounds, 152 bullets,” Whitebeard recited.
“After taking all that, they still could not knock me down.
Not bad.” “Pops…” Marco’s voice was tight.
“What are you crying for?” Whitebeard took a gulp of wine and wiped his mouth.
“My figure before death was worthy of the title of the Four Emperors!
You should be happy for me!” “Besides, I’m still alive right now, standing here.
The things that thing said have not happened yet.” He paused.
“Since it has not happened, there’s a possibility of changing it!” As soon as these words came out, the crying on the deck gradually subsided.
Whitebeard’s gaze swept over everyone—over Marco, Thatch, Vista, over every commander and every crew member.
“Alright.” Whitebeard retracted his gaze.
“Keep watching.
That strange voice does not seem to be finished yet.”