Eryndor's thoughts returned to the present.
He glanced at Whitebeard, whose body was covered in IV tubes.
"You really have gotten old, Newgate."
Whitebeard roared with laughter.
"Gurararara! Even old, I can still fight you to the bitter end!"
Eryndor drained his cup in one swallow.
"Haha, I'd rather not bully you. You're too old—your strength is fading."
The words instantly angered some of the crew.
"Watch your mouth! Pops is the strongest there is!"
Marco said nothing. As the ship's doctor, he knew his captain's condition better than anyone.
"You didn't come all this way just to mock me, did you?" Whitebeard said, pouring more sake down his throat. Marco frowned at the reckless indulgence.
Eryndor laid a newspaper flat on the table.
"I'll be direct: the Holy Grail is real."
His words caused an uproar.
"He said it's real—the Fifth Emperor himself admitted it!"
"No way! How could a wish-granting machine exist?!"
"He's crazy—like the Golden Lion lost his mind too!"
Though many scoffed, Blackbeard's ears pricked higher at the claim.
Whitebeard's face remained calm.
"Even if it exists—so what?"
Eryndor's eyes narrowed, as if probing.
"Don't you want to know… where it is?"
The ship fell into stunned silence.
"The Fifth Emperor actually knows the location of the Holy Grail?!"
Eleventh Division Captain Kingudo sneered.
"If that's true, why didn't he take it himself? Why come to us? This reeks of conspiracy…"
But in the blink of an eye, Eryndor appeared before him. His calm gaze bore into Kingudo.
"You think I need the Holy Grail? Or you think I need conspiracies?"
Suddenly, the man worth over a hundred million felt his heart crushed in an invisible grip.
The "short" pirate before him—barely two meters tall—pressed on him with a weight greater than the ocean depths.
He was sure—one wrong answer, and he would die on the spot.
Desperate, Kingudo shook his head with all his might.
And in the next moment, Eryndor was back in his seat opposite Whitebeard.
Kingudo gasped as if dragged from death's door, collapsing onto the deck.
The whole Whitebeard crew drew in a sharp breath.
Eryndor sipped his sake.
"You should toughen up your sons. You've sheltered them too much."
Whitebeard's gaze darkened.
"My children don't need your guidance."
Eryndor laughed.
"Fine, fine. Back to the point. Are you interested in the Grail?"
Whitebeard's tone did not waver.
"I've no wishes left to grant. Everything I want is already here on this ship."
Eryndor rose to his feet.
"If that's the case, then I'll take my leave."
He turned to go. Whitebeard didn't stop him.
But many of the crew fidgeted in frustration. Pirates had no resistance to treasure—let alone a universal wishing machine.
Blackbeard kept his goofy smile, but cursed inside.
"Bastard, don't leave it half-said!"
"Bah, whatever. The Grail isn't my true goal anyway."
Just as Eryndor was about to disembark, a young voice called out:
"Wait, Lord Eryndor!"
He turned. It was Ace.
"I'm interested!" Ace declared loudly.
Whitebeard chuckled.
"Ace, what wish do you have?"
Ace tugged down his hat.
"Of course—to help Pops become Pirate King."
"If the Grail's that powerful, maybe it could cure Pops' illness too. Right, Marco?"
Marco nodded.
"If it truly is omnipotent… it's possible."
Ace laughed.
"Then let's try it! Lord Eryndor, where is the Grail?"
Eryndor only smiled, saying nothing.
Suddenly Ace hissed, clutching his hand.
"So hot! What the—?!"
The entire Whitebeard crew glared sharply.
"Eryndor, what trick is this?!"
Eryndor raised his palm to calm them.
Moments later, the pain subsided. Ace looked down—
On the back of his hand burned a red sigil of three strokes.
"What is this…?"
Eryndor stepped closer, smiling.
"The proof that the Grail has chosen you."
Ace's brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
Eryndor straightened.
"Allow me to tell you a story."
At once, the deck fell silent.
"Long ago—a thousand years in the past, when gods still walked the world…"
The crew gaped in shock.
"Did he say a thousand years ago? Before the World Government even existed?"
"Gods… still alive in this world? Then myths… were real?!"
"Don't forget—this is Eryndor. To him, no secret of the sea is hidden."
Marco listened calmly.
"Three great mage families joined together to perform a Grand Ritual.
From their magic was born the Holy Grail—an omnipotent vessel that could grant any wish.
The Grail chooses those with the strongest desires, granting them Command Seals and the ability to summon heroic spirits.
Those chosen are called Masters. The summoned spirits are Servants.
They battle in a free-for-all war. The last Master-Servant pair standing… claims the Grail."
"This is the Holy Grail War.
And now, the Grail has chosen the young man on your ship."
The Whitebeard Pirates erupted in a storm of voices.
"It's like the warrior festivals of Elbaf! So Ace has already joined the war?!"
Ace stared at the Command Seal, his expression conflicted.
Blackbeard, still "unconscious," quietly turned his hand. Beneath it, a red mark burned deep into his skin.
The searing pain had nearly made him scream. He endured in silence, unnoticed.
"Damn it… am I chosen too?!"
"Good thing I held back. No one saw…"
Whitebeard said nothing, lost in thought.
"How do we know this isn't a lie?"
Eryndor met his gaze.
"You'll know if you try. Don't you find this new era… a bit boring?"
Whitebeard's mouth curved.
"And the rules of this war?"
Eryndor's answer was simple.
"Defeat every other participant. Survive to the end. That's all."
Even Whitebeard felt a flicker of interest. As Eryndor said—was he really meant to die hooked up to tubes, in this dull age?
Ace was already chosen.
He was Whitebeard. How could he not seize the Grail for his son?
"Gurararara! Sons—do you want the Grail?!"
The crew roared back as one:
"Yes! We'll take it and cure Pops!"
With a single motion, Whitebeard ripped the IV tubes from his body, his titanic six-meter frame rising to its full height before Eryndor.
"I don't need it! But my sons can use it! Gurararara!"
Eryndor smirked inwardly. They already treated the Grail as their family's treasure. How confident.
But that was fine. The more invested they became, the more entertaining it would be.
Whitebeard laughed.
"Will you join the war yourself?"
Eryndor shook his head.
"Think of me as the Overseer. The Grail means nothing to me. I just enjoy stirring the pot."
His gaze shifted to Ace. His hand rested on his famed blade, Themis.
"You can summon your Servant at any time. Perhaps the one you call forth will be… an old friend of your father's."
Ace's excitement returned.
"Servants… you mean famous heroes from history? That's so damn cool!"
With a beat of wings, angelic and bright, Eryndor leapt skyward.
"The fun's only just beginning!"
He vanished into the horizon.
Ace whispered softly to himself:
"Servants… Could a Pirate King count? Roger…"