The Grand Line churned with increasing instability. News, even if suppressed by the World Government, traveled on the wind and currents.
The infamous rampage of "Fish-Man Tiger" through Mariejois, a daring act of defiance by a single Fish-Man against the celestial dragons, had ignited smoldering resentments across the globe.
In its wake, the balance of power shifted precariously.
Kaido, the "King of Beasts," and Big Mom, the "Queen of the World," solidified their monstrous influences, their power bases growing unchecked in the chaos.
And whispers confirmed it: the mysterious "Red-Haired" Shanks, once apprentice of Roger Pirates, and mere captain, now stood as the Fourth Emperor, the seas acknowledging his immense, unparalleled strength.
Amidst this rising tide of anarchy, the Gorosei, the shadowy elders who pulled the strings of the world, felt the urgent need to reassert control. The "Seven Warlords of the Sea," project was deemed critical.
It needed to be pushed to completion.
In Marineford, the air was thick with the scent of sea salt and simmering frustration.
Fleet Admiral Kong, the very embodiment of the World Government's martial might, found himself increasingly summoned to the Holy Land, pulled into endless, arcane deliberations with the Gorosei.
His solution? A temporary promotion. He appointed Sengoku as an Acting Fleet Admiral.
Thus, it was that Sengoku, the "Buddha," now sat in Kong's sprawling, albeit slightly cluttered, office.
The weight of the Fleet Admiral's responsibilities, even temporarily, was already etching new lines of stress onto his forehead.
He gripped a pen so tightly his knuckles were white, trying to maintain composure as Vice Admiral Borsalino delivered his report.
"So kowai Sengoku san! kowai!" Borsalino drawled, his voice a languid, almost bored hum that somehow managed to perfectly convey his insincerity.
He was reclining in a plush armchair, one leg casually draped over the armrest, his long, lanky body a picture of feigned exhaustion.
"Truly, it was so scary! First, the 'Dark King' Rayleigh, such a terrifying old man! almost split me in half, you know? So fast, so strong! So scary!"
He paused, a theatrical sigh escaping his lips.
"And then, oh my, then he appeared."
Sengoku felt a vein begin to throb ominously on his forehead. He knew exactly who "he" was.
Borsalino leaned forward, his golden eyes wide with an exaggerated terror that was utterly unconvincing.
"The 'Devil Swordsman,' Guts. In his full armor, Fleet Admiral-san. The one that causes people to, you know, go utterly insane with fear just by standing there. The corruption was palpable. My very boots were shaking! My entire body was trembling! So, naturally, I had to give the retreat order, didn't I? For the sake of the brave Marines, of course."
To punctuate his performance, Borsalino dramatically held up both his hands, which began to shake with an unnaturally violent tremor, a clear, obvious act.
Sengoku's disgust was almost palpable.
The act was so patently fake! so clearly designed to grate on his nerves.
He watched Borsalino's shaking hands with a grimace.
From the other side of the office, where he was sprawled across a sofa, seemingly asleep, Vice Admiral Garp suddenly let out a booming laugh, his characteristic "GAHAHAHA!" echoing through the room. Kong, seated at a nearby table, idly polishing his bald head, chuckled deeply, a rumbling sound that made the room vibrate.
"Oh, it's not easy, is it, Sengoku?" Kong boomed, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
"Being Fleet Admiral? All that responsibility, and dealing with... that."
He gestured vaguely at Borsalino, who continued his ridiculous pantomime.
The collective mirth was too much. With a frustrated growl, Sengoku snatched a banana from a fruit bowl on his desk and hurled it with surprising force directly at Kong's head.
It landed with a soft thwack, bouncing off his skull. Without missing a beat, Sengoku then grabbed a handful of senbei crackers from a nearby pouch and accurately pelted Garp, who yelped in mock outrage, catching some of the crackers in his mouth.
"Just shut up, both of you!" Sengoku roared, rubbing his temples.
Kong, peeling the banana, took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "Nom nom. Speaking of responsibility, nom nom, Sengoku," he said, swallowing.
"The Gorosei have been rather insistent. They want to push the Warlord project. And they've made a specific request."
He paused, looking towards a dignified woman with long, braided grey hair, standing quietly in the corner, a faint, amused smile playing on her lips and her body quivering.
Not you too, Tsuru! Sengoku looks in disbelief at how hard Tsuru holds her laughter.
"Tsuru. You're more... approachable than most of us." Said Kong before throwing the banana peel at Garp's face, startling him up who started to fall asleep again.
NUHAHA! Kong laughed with his hand slapping his lap.
Tsuru, the "Great Staff Officer," merely inclined her head, her smile unwavering, watching the antique of her superior.
"The Gorosei have requested that you deliver an invitation to the 'Devil Swordsman,' Guts."
Kong continued, his voice serious now.
"An invitation to become one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea."
He looked back at Sengoku, a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.
"And honestly, Tsuru, they believe... your particular abilities might be useful. You have a way of washing away the corrosion that affects the mind, don't you? Something... that Guts seems to cause in his wake."
Sengoku froze, the anger on his face replaced by a profound weariness. The "corrosion."
He knew exactly what Kong was talking about. The pervasive, existential dread, the madness, the nightmares that seemed to follow Guts like a shadow, clinging to anyone unfortunate enough to truly witness his true nature or stand in his presence for too long.
To send Tsuru, with her powers of cleansing, into that...
Tsuru simply nodded, her serene expression giving nothing away.
"Understood, Fleet Admiral-sama."
She said, her voice calm and clear, as if she were being asked to deliver a mundane message, not to confront a living nightmare.
***
Fish-man Island
The air in the Fish-man Island was clean, fresh, and filled with the gentle, rhythmic sounds of an underwater kingdom.
The horror that affected the whole Fish-Man island.
The terrifying phantom screams of the damned, the bleeding red moon, the choking fear that had gripped the populace just moments ago – all had vanished, swept away by the astonishing, benevolent energy that had surged from Robin.
The plaza, though still bearing the grim evidence of the supremacists' demise, now shimmered once more with the soft, ethereal light of coral.
Guts, his hand still resting on Robin's back as they walked, felt the residual hum of the Berserker Armor slowly fading, leaving behind only the familiar ache in his bones. Robin, though still a little wobbly on her feet, walked beside him, her arm linked through his, her eyes downcast.
The sounds of Gargar, now back at the pier, cheerfully resuming his guard duty, were a distant, comforting rumble.
Robin's mind, however, was a whirlwind.
Her memory replayed the terrifying vision, the vivid, agonizing images that had surged from Guts when Fukaboshi's detached words had sparked his madness.
She saw the beautiful woman with long, flowing wheat-colored hair, her face radiant with compassion, moving among the masses, preaching hope, offering solace. Then, the sickening twist: the smiles turning to sneers, the outstretched hands transforming into fists, the pelting filth and stones.
And then, the true horror. The cheering crowds, the tearing of her clothes, the agonizing, despairing cries of the woman who keeps calling her Father.
The joyful clapping, the rape, the desecrated body tossed to dogs, all under the cold, impassive gaze of the nobles.
Robin felt her stomach churn, a fresh wave of nausea, despite being miles away from the true vision.
But what truly sent a jolt of icy realization through her was the final, grotesque twist: as the radiant woman's form distorted into a mask of agony and defilement, her features had, for a fleeting, terrifying instant, overlapped with her own.
It was her.
It had been her, in Guts's mind, in the space where that horrific memory played out.
She knew then, with chilling clarity, what truly drove Guts into that abyss of madness. It wasn't just the memory of the past horror; it was the possibility, the unbearable, terrifying prospect of her – "Devil Child" with a bounty on her head – experiencing something so utterly vile, so fundamentally destructive to body and spirit.
She was the trigger.
Is that... Guts's daughter? The thought flickered through her mind, astonishing in its suddenness.
She looked at Guts's profile as he walked beside her, his face grim and unyielding, yet seemingly ageless. How old was he, truly? Centuries? Or maybe more?
A man haunted by past nightmares, protecting the echoes of a past love, or a child, that somehow resonated with her own existence.
The possibility made her heart clench with a complex mix of sorrow and concern.
From a fierce, protective loyalty to her own.
As they approached the main entrance of the Ryugu Palace, the ministry was already in a state of ready welcome.
Fear still lingered in the air, a palpable tremor beneath their polite greetings, but the soldiers and officials were impeccably organized.
They guided Robin and Guts through ornate, pearl-inlaid corridors to a magnificent, sprawling banquet hall.
The table was laden with an array of exquisite, luminous dishes: shimmering kelp salads, succulent, perfectly steamed deep-sea fish, platters of exotic, jewel-toned underwater fruits, and fancy, sparkling drinks served in delicate shell goblets. The aroma alone was intoxicating.
Guts, ever pragmatic, wasted no time. He headed straight for the drinks, grabbing a large, frothing mug of what appeared to be some kind of potent, bubbly seaweed ale.
He downed half of it in a single gulp, the liquid barely touching the sides.
Just then, King Neptune, having composed himself, entered the hall.
His regal uniform was pristine, though a faint tremor still ran through his massive hands.
He took a seat at the head of the table, directly opposite Guts and Robin, his eyes, usually jovial, now filled with a deep solemnity.
"Esteemed guests," Neptune boomed, his voice still a little hoarse.
"On behalf of the entire Ryugu Kingdom, I offer my deepest apologies for the disgraceful conduct of our citizens earlier today. To the 'Devil Swordsman,' Guts, and the 'Devil Child,' Nico Robin—no one should be subjected to such fear and hatred. And as for what occurred in the plaza… it was born of ignorance, and a festering, misguided pain."
He lowered his great head in a gesture of solemn, reverent humility.
"If I may ask… what brings beings of your stature to our humble Fish-Man Island?"
Robin, setting down a piece of steamed fish, offered a small, polite smile. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice calm and composed.
"We are indeed looking for something. However, at this moment, the nature of what we seek... is not yet entirely clear."
Neptune pondered, stroking his magnificent beard.
"Not clear, you say?"
He looked at her, his brow furrowed thoughtfully.
"We would be honored to help in your quest, whatever it may be."
Robin, ever graceful, shook her head gently.
"We appreciate the generous offer, Your Majesty," she replied, "but for now, we simply need time. Time to gather our thoughts, and perhaps, for what we seek to reveal itself."
Neptune nodded, accepting her decision.
"Very well. Then, at the very least, allow us to offer you the full hospitality of the Ryugu Palace. You shall stay here for as long as you wish, as our honored guests."
He then turned to his assembled guards.
"And to avoid any... misunderstandings, our most elite soldiers will remain at your side, day and night."
Guts grunted, taking another long swig of his ale. He glanced at Robin, who met his gaze with a faint, knowing smile.
Safety, luxury, and time to think. It was far more than they usually found.
"We accept," Robin said, her voice clear.
Guts gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of agreement, his eyes already assessing the various exotic dishes.
The King smiled, a genuine warmth returning to his face.
"Excellent! Then, let us celebrate your safe arrival!"