Far out in the waters beyond the G-18 Fortress of the New World, over a hundred miles away, a pirate fleet centered around a medium-sized white whale ship was retreating at full speed.
The atmosphere aboard was heavy, suffocating even. Grief hung in the salty air. Scattered across the deck were the lifeless bodies of fallen commanders. The surviving officers of the Whitebeard Pirates, led by the Phoenix Marco, stood in silence, their eyes bloodshot and swollen from tears that refused to stop. None of them had truly accepted the truth—that their "old man" was gone.
"Marco! Pull yourself together! Pops wouldn't want to see you like this!"
A blue-skinned fish-man grabbed Marco by the collar, scolding him with a stern, sorrowful face. It was Jinbe—the Knight of the Sea—one of the Seven Warlords, who had raced all the way from Fishman Island to this battlefield.
But by the time he arrived at G-18 Fortress, it was too late. Ace and Whitebeard had already fallen. The Five Elders and Souta Kiryuu's crew were locked in a deadly battle. All Jinbe could do was board the Whitebeard fleet and urge the surviving division captains and subordinate commanders to retreat before they too were swallowed by the chaos.
"I failed Pops... and Ace... I couldn't save them. I couldn't even retrieve his body," Marco said, voice cracking, tears spilling down his face again as guilt consumed him.
Smack!
"Enough of this pathetic act! You're the flagbearer of the Whitebeard Pirates now—stand up, damn it!"
The Ice Witch, Whitey Bay, slapped him across the face, her voice cold and sharp. Her glare could have frozen seawater. As one of the ship's oldest veterans—one who'd joined even before Marco—her authority rivaled his. She'd been among the first to branch off and form her own crew, earning a place of high esteem among the forty-plus allied captains under Whitebeard's banner. Even Marco and Jozu called her "Big Sis."
"Whitey Bay..." Marco murmured, eyes wet but voice steadying. He drew a deep breath, and the fire slowly returned to his gaze. Whitebeard was gone. As commander of the First Division, it was his duty now to protect his family and lead them safely through the stormy seas of the New World.
"The coming days will be chaos. Without Pops' protection, our territories won't hold. We'll be fighting just to survive," Whitey Bay said grimly, voicing the truth none of them wanted to admit. The age of Whitebeard had ended. If they could even cling to existence between the growing powers of the world, it would already be a miracle.
Without their pillar, their unity was crumbling. In barely an hour of retreat, several surviving ally crews had already broken off, sailing away without a word—silently declaring their departure from the Whitebeard Pirates. They saw no future here. Worse, they feared being crushed between Souta Kiryuu's faction and the Beasts Pirates.
Others—like Doma the Cavalier, Raikin Makugei, and the Decalban Brothers, elite captains of the New World—wavered in silence. Even the brothers, who'd joined under Ace and Thatch's guidance barely two years ago, looked uncertain. Only the oldest allies—Whitey Bay, Andre, Eluwon, and Ging—those who had once set sail under Whitebeard himself—stood firm, refusing to abandon the family.
"First, we regroup. Gather the treasures and assets from our territories. Spread the news to every island... then we'll find a way to retrieve Pops' body," Marco said, wiping away his tears. His voice was calm now—cold, resolute. He would get Whitebeard's remains back, no matter what it cost.
Even if that meant making a deal with Souta Kiryuu himself—one he could barely stomach. For Pops' peace in death, he'd give up anything. He would never allow Gecko Moria to turn Whitebeard's corpse into some puppet abomination.
"Fine then. We follow Pops' last command. From this moment on, you're the new captain of the Whitebeard Pirates," Whitey Bay declared solemnly. The other division captains and subordinate leaders nodded in agreement.
"Whitey Bay... I..." Marco hesitated. It should have been Ace, with his Conqueror's Haki, who inherited the captaincy. But now Ace was gone too. The vast Whitebeard Pirates didn't have a single Conqueror left among them.
"Quit whining, you brat!" Whitey Bay snapped, flicking him hard on the head. That was that—Marco's new title as captain was sealed.
Jinbe nodded approvingly. Still, the situation was dire. Between the World Government's fury and the looming threat of Souta Kiryuu and Kaido's armies, the Whitebeard Pirates were sailing through shark-infested waters.
"Let's hide and recover first," Whitey Bay sighed. "Once we're steady again, we'll decide our future—whether to rebuild our own glory... or seek an alliance with the Red-Haired Pirates... or even with Souta Kiryuu."
Meanwhile, on a distant stretch of sea, a lone Navy warship cut through the waves.
Aokiji Kuzan and the legendary "Hero of the Marines" Garp stood on deck, faces grim. They'd escaped too recently—too quickly. If anyone pursued them, they wouldn't make it far.
Vice-Admiral Bogard's injuries had been hastily bandaged, but he was in no shape to fight.
"This won't work," Garp growled. "If they're not chasing Shanks, they'll come after us. Keep running like this and Souta Kiryuu or Kaido will catch us before long."
He was covered in bandages, his face pale but still defiant. Compared to the Whitebeard Pirates, who'd been fleeing for hours, they'd barely been gone ten minutes. If those two dragons gave chase, they were finished.
At that moment, the Beasts Pirates and Big Mom's crew were regrouping their remnants, while Souta Kiryuu himself was delayed by the deaths of Golden Lion and World.
"There are still some landing boats on board," Kuzan said firmly. "Take Bogard and escape separately. If they come after us, you're non-Devil Fruit users—you can dive into the sea if needed."
His dark face was set in grim resolve. With Imu and the Five Elders suddenly retreating, their situation had turned catastrophic. At best, only one of them might survive.
"You expect me to abandon these marines?" Garp barked. Dozens of surviving sailors still clung to life aboard this warship. He refused to leave them behind.
Kuzan said nothing. He wanted to argue, but he couldn't. Loyalty to comrades—that stubborn heroism—was exactly what made Garp who he was.
"If we stay together, we'll all be captured!" Kuzan snapped.
"Then I'll cover your retreat!" Garp roared. Decision made.
"Can you even hold them off?" Kuzan shot him a doubtful look, brow furrowed.
"I can!"
"You can't."
"Shut it! For the sake of the Marines' future, I damn well can!"
The two started shouting, then fell silent at the same time. They both knew the truth—Garp couldn't take on even one of the Yonko anymore, let alone Souta Kiryuu or Kaido.
But then, Garp grinned. That same reckless, fearless grin that had terrified pirates for decades.
"I'm not dying yet. Not while that bastard Dragon's still out there."
His voice carried a strange calm, filled with pride and defiance—the unyielding will of a man who'd spent his whole life laughing in the face of death.
And under that battered flag, the waves roared on.