The Roger Pirates, who had vanished from the New World without a trace, finally surfaced again on a blazing summer island in the West Sea called Raman Island.
There, the Toboso family was living through a nightmare.
Their pride and hope, Captain Mullin of the navy, had been branded a traitor and pirate.
The neighbors only knew the surface story. In their eyes, Mullin was the righteous officer who had once struck his superior for abusing civilians, and then disappeared into the Grand Line and "turned pirate."
No ordinary officer knew the truth.
They did not know that Captain Mullin had been sent on a top secret espionage mission. They did not know that the Commodore he had injured, Commodore Basilio of Marine Headquarters, had been searching for a way to get revenge ever since.
For years, it was only the CP organization's "protection" and the repeated pressure from higher up that stopped Basilio from laying hands on the Toboso family. As long as Mullin lived and his mission continued, his parents, his younger sister, and the newborn nephew were left alone.
The moment Captain Mullin's life paper burned out, everything changed.
With his death, his family became useless pieces on the board. The CP agents withdrew overnight, no longer guarding and no longer watching.
And Basilio moved.
He led his men straight to the Toboso estate, intending to arrest Mullin's parents, his sister, and even the baby nephew as accomplices of a pirate.
To protect their daughter and grandson, Mullin's parents forced their daughter, Toboso Dulcinea, to flee with the child. They told her to board a passenger convoy heading for the Grand Line and find her husband there, a gunpowder merchant who supplied powder to the navy and pirates alike.
They stayed behind to confront Basilio.
By the time the commodore left the Toboso estate, the house was in ashes and Mullin's parents were dead. When he learned that Dulcinea and the child had boarded a ship bound for the Grand Line, he immediately ordered a pursuit.
He would catch the mother and son before their convoy reached the Red Line and the currents of Reverse Mountain. No one related to Mullin would escape.
··
When the Oro Jackson reached Raman Island, black smoke was still rising from the ruins of the Toboso home.
Roger and the others quickly went ashore to ask the neighbors what had happened.
Angry voices flooded their ears. People cursed Commodore Basilio and the marines who had burned the Toboso house. They spoke of Mullin as a stubborn but good man, forced to become a pirate only because the navy had turned its back on justice.
As they pieced the story together, the crew's faces darkened.
Roger clenched his fists.
Rayleigh's expression turned grim.
Without another word, the Roger Pirates set sail again, turning the bow toward Reverse Mountain. They would have to push the Oro Jackson at full speed if they wanted any chance of intercepting Basilio before he caught Dulcinea's ship.
··
A few days later, the warship under Commodore Basilio's command overtook the civilian convoy near the entrance to the Reverse Mountain currents. In front of passengers who were only one step away from entering the Grand Line, marines stormed aboard and dragged Dulcinea and her infant son away as "accomplices of a pirate."
They were so close to escape, yet still could not reach it.
Basilio locked mother and child in the brig aboard his warship.
Driven by spite, he tormented Captain Mullin's sister, using the baby as a threat and a bargaining chip. Dulcinea endured it all in despair, swallowing every insult and humiliation because any resistance might cost her son his life.
It was the navy.
The navy that her brother had given his life to.
The same navy that had burned her parents alive.
She could barely even tell who she hated more: Commodore Basilio, or the brother whose choices had dragged their family into this abyss.
By the time the ship turned back into the West Sea, only the thought of dying with her son in her arms kept her sane.
Then the world exploded.
Cannon fire slammed into the hull. The deck shuddered. Shouts and screams echoed overhead. For a moment, Dulcinea thought it was yet another nightmare.
Then the door of the brig was torn off its hinges.
Silhouetted in the smoke, she saw pirates pouring into the corridor, cutting down marines with terrifying ease. At their head was a man with a familiar straw hat and an even more familiar aura.
The captain her brother had spoken of with such quiet respect.
Gol D Roger.
Anger, grief, and hatred twisted together in Dulcinea's eyes. Her brother was dead. These pirates were his comrades.
She did not want to be rescued by them.
Basilio lurched into the passage, pistol in hand, roaring orders. Dulcinea moved before anyone else could.
With a strangled cry, she lunged and sank her teeth into his throat.
The commodore staggered back, blood spraying across the brig door.
By the time he hit the floor, he was already dying.
Dulcinea spat blood, turned to Roger's stunned crew, and with trembling hands pushed her child toward them.
She begged them to take her son to the Grand Line, to find his father, to give the boy a life away from all of this.
Before anyone could stop her, she took her own life.
The brig fell silent except for the cries of a small blue haired boy.
Roger closed his eyes for a moment. Then he picked the child up.
A baby, blue hair sticking up in soft tufts, stared back at him with bright, wet eyes.
His name, they learned, was Buggy.
The son of a gunpowder merchant in the Grand Line, a technical specialist who researched explosives.
Dulcinea left only that request behind.
In the end, after a long, heavy silence, the Roger Pirates took the boy with them. Another orphan, another burden, another tiny life carried aboard the Oro Jackson.
··
Their assault, however, did not go unnoticed.
Before the Roger Pirates reached the warship, the marines had already managed to send out an emergency signal. Whether Basilio lived or died, Headquarters knew exactly where his ship had been attacked.
By the time the Oro Jackson rode the currents of Reverse Mountain and disappeared into another sea, the news had already spread.
The Roger Pirates had appeared in the West Sea.
Every faction that dreamed of reaching the Final Island, of seizing the last treasure and the secrets of the world, stirred at once. Hunters, rival pirates, shadowy agents of the underworld and the World Government all turned their attention toward the trail Roger had left behind.
To the Five Elders, it was too neat to be a coincidence.
A Celestial Dragon convoy had been annihilated in the West Sea. Now, the most dangerous pirate crew in the world had just resurfaced there.
The blame was pinned on the Roger Pirates in an instant.
Only a crew of their level could erase a Celestial Dragon fleet without the world even noticing, and the Five Elders already wanted them dead for stepping onto the Final Island.
As they saw it, Roger had simply added another sin to his name.
After discussion with the Celestial Dragons, the decision came quickly.
The Roger Pirates would be prioritized.
They would not, however, give up on the New World. Heavy forces remained committed there, waiting to pounce when the war between the two overlords finally erupted.
One thing was certain.
They would never allow the Hell Pirates to unify the New World.
The blonde Five Elder, Saint Peter, personally took command of the hunt. He led one Knight of God, Sagon, four CP 0 three person squads, and two CP 9 six person teams into the four seas.
Their target was the Roger Pirates.
··
In the New World, Brook read through the reports in his tactical office without much change of expression.
"So, you ran to the West Sea, Roger…"
He tapped the edge of the chart with one finger, eyes glinting. Antonio, Hiruba, and Moore Thomas had already sent the summary: how much of the World Government's hidden power had moved to chase Roger, and how much remained behind.
The answer made Brook click his tongue.
For an organization that had ruled the world for eight hundred years, their reserves of high end combat power were terrifying.
Marine Headquarters had barely budged.
Even if Roger drew away many of the covert elites, Brook still had to reckon with the open forces stationed in the New World.
If he wanted to bring down Rocks, he would have to fight under the gaze of three Knights of God acting as admirals, the two admiral candidates Sengoku and Zephyr, and more than a dozen top vice admirals like Garp .
All of them had already entered the New World, garrisoned on islands around God Valley, waiting for the first sign of chaos to swoop in and reclaim every member nation.
"Yohoho… so I am still not strong enough."
Brook laughed, a dry, rattling sound that held more fighting spirit than frustration.
"But it is almost time for Pluton to stretch its wings."
Roger had not drawn away as much force as Brook had hoped, but he had still peeled off a significant amount of the World Government's hidden fangs.
In the end, Roger was useful.
"What a shame Rocks refuses to listen. If we could drag him along to punch the navy together, we would make a real killing."
Brook sighed theatrically, then leaned over the strategic map.
Rocks would not cooperate with the marines. He would not work with Brook either. He simply barged toward battle whenever he pleased, relying on his monstrous personal strength to uphold his reputation as the strongest man in the New World.
Brook's fingers moved red flags across the map, pinning them into key islands.
Wano. Zou. Fishman Island. Elbaf. The Ice Kingdom.
"Elbaf and the Ice Kingdom should be able to march another army," he mused.
Rumor said the corpse of the ancient giant, Oars of the Sky Kingdom, lay frozen in the Ice Kingdom's eternal glaciers, the titan who had once frozen to death there.
Brook smiled.
"Abefu should love a body like that."
And beyond that, he still needed to confirm whether the old ice demon rumored to haunt that land was truly dead.
If not, the power of an ice giant would not be wasted.
-------------
After the Roger Pirates conquered the Final Island and the name of the Pirate King spread across the world, the legend of the "great treasure" ignited a new peak in pirate expeditions across all four seas and the Grand Line.
For the World Government, the timing could not have been worse.
With Heavenly Tribute increased to make up for the New World's losses, life in many member nations became unbearable. Rebellions flared, pirates multiplied, and unrest spread like a disease.
To regain footing in the New World, Marine Headquarters pulled large numbers of elite forces from the four seas and the first half of the Grand Line. The result was simple: everywhere else became even more unstable.
··
New World, Ancient Giant Island.
A shadow like a living mountain loomed over the shore.
An enormous, distorted giant trudged up onto the land, dragging the carcass of a massive sea beast behind him. He was several times taller than the forty to sixty meter tall ancient giants who once dominated the island, towering like a walking cliff.
Now, on this Ancient Giant Island, only a few dozen of those old blood giants remained. Their race was on the brink of extinction, living in conditions even harsher than the frost giants of the Ice Kingdom.
Ever since Boars the Unfortunate had frozen to death in the Ice Kingdom four or five hundred years ago, the ancient giants' environment had worsened with every passing century. If nothing changed, they would disappear even without any enemy invasion.
"Phew… this is going to be my new home from now on."
The colossal stranger spoke in a low, rumbling voice as he hauled the sea beast into the shallows. With practiced movements, he began to clean it and set up his favorite dish: salt grilled sea monster.
His name was San Juan Wolf, the biggest giant in the world.
He didn't come from Elbaf or the ancient tribes of the New World, but from a small giant village in the West Sea.
He was a mutant, his body abnormally huge and his appetite even more terrifying. When he turned sixty, his own people had finally driven him out. He ate too much, took up too much space, and frightened everyone around him.
Only his parents had stood by him.
They had told him there was a place in the New World where the world's largest race lived, a land of ancient giants.
"Go there," they had said. "Among the ancient giants, you'll belong. They won't look at you like a monster."
San Juan Wolf was not only a mutant giant. One quarter of his blood came from a pufferfish Fishman. That fusion of bloodlines gave him unnatural swimming ability and allowed him to hunt Sea Kings as easily as other people caught tuna. It was thanks to that heritage that he had crossed the Calm Belts and reached the New World from the West Sea.
In truth, his "normal" height was only three or four times that of his parents. Most giants stood over twenty meters tall. San Juan Wolf's stable height was around seventy to eighty meters.
The problem lay in his mutation.
When his emotions spiked and he grew angry or agitated, the pufferfish bloodline activated. His body swelled like a living balloon, expanding up to one hundred eighty meters tall.
To his tribe, that was no longer a person. That was a natural disaster.
He was, by birth, a walking engine of destruction.
Under normal history, that alone would have made him one of the most terrifying criminals in the world. Eventually the World Government would capture him, erase him from the records, and lock him in Impel Down where only a handful of people would remember his name.
His size would shrink in confinement, then expand again the moment he returned to open battle, just as he would one day stand as tall as Marineford's fortress.
He had no Devil Fruit.
He could swim, he could sink warships, and his constantly shifting size came purely from his mutant body.
Now, as the fat of the Sea King sizzled and the scent of salt grilled meat drifted over the island, a young ancient giant wandered out of the forest.
He had light green skin, two upward curving horns on his head, long fangs that jutted from his mouth, and wild red hair. A skull pendant hung heavily against his chest as he rested a massive sword on his shoulder.
"Hey, big guy over there! Who are you? How come I've never seen you before?"
The kid's voice was loud and direct, his eyes full of curiosity instead of fear. He was only thirty five years old, still a child by giant standards, but as a descendant of Boars he feared nothing.
"Phew… this is great."
San Juan Wolf stared at him, eyes stinging.
"A child taller than my parents. Looks like I really came to the right place."
He had been rejected his whole life for his size. Now, he stood on the island his parents had told him about. Here, maybe, no one would look at him with disgust.
"Are you an ancient giant too? How come you don't have horns or fangs?"
The boy tilted his head, studying him. The giant in front of him was even bigger than any elder he knew.
"Hello there. My name is San Juan Wolf. I'm a giant from the West Sea."
San Juan scratched his head shyly and let out a silly laugh. Then he tore off half of the salt grilled Sea King and held it out to the strange ancient giant boy.
"Oh, thanks! I'm Little Oars Jr. I'm a demon who's going to be as strong as the ancestor Boars!"
Little Oars stabbed his sword into the ground and accepted the meat with both hands. Without a hint of suspicion, he bit into it, eyes lighting up at the taste.
Giants were that simple.
Give them meat or wine, and strangers became friends.
"Haha, I believe you will. I'm hoping to find someone as big as me too!"
San Juan Wolf still wore that dopey smile, nothing like the fearsome monster the World Government would describe years later.
"You're huge! You're taller than Uncle Robert, Uncle Pershing, and Uncle Wadlow, the tallest ones on the island!"
Little Oars looked him up and down, awe written all over his face. The newcomer was bigger than every ancient giant he had ever seen.
"This is actually my smallest size."
San Juan Wolf rubbed his neck, a little embarrassed.
He was forcing himself to stay around seventy to eighty meters tall, but even so, he was still over ten meters taller than the tallest elder on the island.
Hundreds of years ago, the strongest of the ancient giants, Boars himself, had stood around sixty seven meters tall. Now, the current champion of Ancient Giant Island barely reached sixty.
If San Juan Wolf ever lost control and swelled two or three times larger, towering at one hundred eighty meters, how would these ancient giants react?
Would they still accept him as one of their own, or see him as another calamity?
The thought made him uneasy. He wanted friends, not more fear.
Just as Little Oars Jr finished the last bite of salt grilled Sea King and turned around to drag his new friend back to meet the tribe, the sky shook.
A golden ship roared across the heavens above them.
Excited shouts of boys and girls echoed from its decks.
"Whoa, what a huge giant! He's way bigger than Uncle Saul from Cake Island!"
Princess Kanna leaned dangerously over the rail, eyes sparkling, her voice carrying all the way down to the ground. Even Hades, the eldest prince, couldn't hide his excitement. They had barely arrived at the legendary Ancient Giant Island and were already greeted by such a colossal figure.
But what made Little Oars and San Juan Wolf truly freeze was not the golden ship.
It was the steel shadow behind it.
In the distant sky, a terrifying metal battleship was sailing through the air like a floating fortress, almost three hundred meters long.
It was a flying steel castle, blotting out half the horizon.
"This… this thing floats?"
Little Oars Jr stared upward, face turning pale.
Were these enemies?
Had war come to their forgotten island?
There were only a few dozen ancient giants left. They had no way to withstand a real invasion.
If those ships had come to wipe them out, the ancient giants would vanish from the world.
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