January 23, 1516 Sea Calendar.
In a nondescript, heavily fortified office on an undisclosed island, Guernica meticulously penned the final lines of his latest report.
His desk, stark and metallic, held only a few documents and a small, black Den Den Mushi. Just as he put down his pen, the snail-like creature on his table began to vibrate, its eyes flaring with an unnatural, cold intensity.
Buru buru buru...
Guernica reached out, pressing the receiver to his ear.
"Click."
"Yes, Your Excellency, this is Guernica." His voice was calm, professional.
The Den Den Mushi's features began to contort, mimicking the stern, elderly visage of one of the Five Elders.
Saint Marcus Mars's voice, deep and resonant, filled the line. "Report."
"Except for how often Guts and Rayleigh spar, there's nothing significant to report, Your Excellency," Guernica stated, his tone even.
"I see," Marcus Mars mused, a hint of dry amusement in his voice. "So it's true Rayleigh tries to groom Guts to become another Roger."
The snail's eyes seemed to narrow, as if peering directly into Guernica's thoughts.
"Any chance Guts will take it? To become a pirate and look for One Piece?"
Guernica didn't hesitate. "None, Your Excellency. I am sure about that. Guts even threw away the Jolly Roger Rayleigh secretly put on his ship."
He had personally witnessed the Black Swordsman's disdain for the symbol of freedom he refused to embrace.
"Hmm." Mars shifted focus. "And Nico Robin. Tell me of their visit to Ryugu Kingdom last April. And the possibility of Robin knowing the content of the Poneglyphs, or deciphering them." The gravity in Mars's voice tightened the air around the Den Den Mushi.
"They spent a significant amount of time in Ryugu, Your Excellency," Guernica reported, a smooth, practiced lie weaving into the truth. "They even picnicked directly in front of the forbidden object. However, Robin's fascination, from what I could discern, was solely on the object itself, its unique composition, not its content. Scholar's curiosity, perhaps. She seemed more interested in the material, the craftsmanship." He continued, layering his deception.
"I often checked her journal and even put my insights regarding oceanography there, correcting a few minor geological observations she'd made about the sea floor around Fish-Man Island. There's nothing about ponegyphs inside her journal, Your Excellency." A slight pause.
"I checked every book, every journal, and none mentioned ponegyphs, Your Excellency."
A long silence followed, the Den Den Mushi's eyes unblinking.
"And the Sea King, Gargar," Mars finally continued, the line of inquiry shifting again.
"The possibility of Guts controlling Sea Kings, or any animals?"
"If by 'controlling' you mean beating them up first to make them submit, then yes, Your Excellency," Guernica replied, a faint, almost imperceptible amused smile touching his lips beneath his mask.
"Guernica," Marcus Mars said, his voice now laced with undisguised irritation. "Stop talking nonsense."
A pause, then a sharp command. "Your monitoring task is complete. Return to Mariejois. Laskey's position has been vacant for too long, and it's time to resume your training program."
With a final, decisive click, Marcus Mars ended the call.
The Den Den Mushi reverted to its dormant, snail-like form.
Guernica leaned back in his chair, a silent, internal sigh escaping him. The report was finished. His duty, for now, concluded. He gathered the papers, his mind already shifting to his next assignment – "Training Program."
He would need to say goodbye to Guts and Robin. It would be... different, this time. Their relationship had shifted dramatically in the past two years.
Robin, who had initially ignored him with a cold indifference after his revelation in Sabaody, had slowly begun to acknowledge him again.
She had even stopped her deliberate silence.
It had happened after he had presented them with the macabre proofs of Guts's demand: the grotesque, severed heads of Spandine and Laskey, delivered in a sealed, official Marine box, along with the documents that proved their authenticity.
Spandine, the orchestrator of the Buster Call, his face frozen in a rictus of what could only have been terror or agony, a fitting end for the man who had ordered the destruction of Ohara.
And Laskey, another name Guts had demanded, the one who killed Olvia by order.
Guernica had done his part.
***
Uninhabited Island
For six grueling days, the uninhabited island near Amazon Lily had become their crucible.
The clash of steel and unseen forces echoed through the dense jungle, a symphony of brutal, relentless spar.
Rayleigh, the Dark King, moved with impossible grace, his body a blur, his Haki a tangible force.
He easily split Guts in two at first, knowing the "Devil Swordman" possessed a terrifying, almost frustrating inability to truly die, he always aimed for vital points, for crippling blows, for absolute victory.
But after two relentless years of these life-or-death spars, a chilling reality had settled over Rayleigh.
He couldn't even break Guts's Armor now, a black, monstrous shell that shimmered with an unseen energy, and it wasn't even in its full, terrifying form.
His armament haki is already that strong.
Rayleigh had initially entertained the wild thought that Guts somehow became stronger every time he died, that each resurrection granted him a new, horrifying advantage.
But no, it was something far more primal, far more terrifying: it was Guts's monstrous adaptability.
The man was a combat savant, absorbing every blow, every lesson, every death he experienced, integrating it into his very being.
Rayleigh found himself constantly evading movements he hadn't needed in decades. He had almost got split by the Dragon Slayer countless times, its massive blade whistling past his ear, carrying a dreadful momentum.
Each near-miss meant he lost a chance to counter-attack, forced onto the defensive by Guts's sheer, relentless ferocity.
And what was worse, what truly unnerved the legendary pirate, was Guts's unique Haki.
Rayleigh had taken to calling it Executioner Haki, just to make it sound cool.
It wasn't merely oppressive like Conqueror's, or focused like Armament, or perceptive like Observation.
This Haki was a spiritual poison.
It was corroding his mind and spirits, weakening him slowly from the inside out. It even confused him, making him instinctively attack when he should defend, and defend when he supposedly should attack.
And with every swing of the Dragon Slayer, the air filled with the wailing and the screaming of tortured souls, numbing his perception, making him see the illusion of his body being cut apart, limb by agonizing limb.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity compressed into six days, they stopped.
Rayleigh, seeing the deepening shadows on his soul, called a halt before his body could be corroded further.
He knew, with an unsettling certainty, that he would need to ask Robin to cleanse his corrosion first.
Rayleigh collapsed onto the grassy ground, panting, his chest heaving, his powerful body aching in ways it hadn't since his prime, and he felt the absurdity of him still growing stronger.
Guts, ever the stoic, simply stabbed his Dragon Slayer on the ground beside him. He sat, then leaned his back against its cold, flat side, his breathing deep and even, seemingly unaffected by the brutal ordeal.
After a moment of shared exhaustion, Rayleigh spoke, a wry grin playing on his lips.
"You know, young man," he wheezed, "I'm not getting any younger. I might not have much time left. I need you to fulfill my dying wish."
His eyes twinkled mischievously. "I leave One Piece in your hands."
Annoyed, Guts reached for a stone nearby and threw it at Rayleigh's head. "You're not dying, old man," he grunted, the rock bouncing harmlessly off Rayleigh's forehead. "And I'm not looking for One Piece."
"Still so stubborn," Rayleigh chuckled, rubbing his head. "You're still young, Guts! You should dream big! Not live like a retired old man." He paused then, truly looking at Guts.
A thought struck him.
He's not getting old a day since the first time they met. His brow furrowed in genuine curiosity.
"Speaking of which, how old are you anyway, Guts? To have a daughter like Robin, already that big?"
As they continued to talk, the familiar silhouette of Gargar emerged from the treeline at the edge of the sparring clearing. Perched gracefully on his immense head was Robin.
She wore the familiar, form-fitting black dress, its long sleeves and ruffled collar a stark contrast to the wild jungle around her. Her dark, long hair flowed in the gentle breeze.
She dismounted Gargar with effortless grace, approaching Guts with a purpose in her stride.
"Father," Robin said, her voice softer than usual, a subtle tremor of excitement beneath the calm.
"I finally know where we should go next." Her eyes, usually so composed, held a new, almost urgent light.
"I heard a Whisper about the founder of Amazon Lily. Her name... it was Nefertari D. Lily. And a kingdom... Blanketed by the sand."