Everyone saw that Lucian Thorn had no good ideas either, so they shifted their attention away from him.
For a moment, silence filled the war council room.
But that brief silence became the final spark that ignited the powder keg.
"Enough!"
The 7th Division Captain, Rakuyo, slammed his fist down on the sea chart, making the compass on the table jump wildly.
"Wasting time!"
"Relying on a rookie—what use could that possibly be?!"
His scarlet eyes swept across the room, suppressed fury exploding once again.
"I say we stop discussing!"
"Everyone! Every ship! We charge into Marineford right now!"
"With our fists and blades, we'll take Ace back!"
Those words completely detonated the repressed atmosphere.
"That's right! What's the point of negotiating with those Navy bastards!"
"Even if it's a mountain of blades and a sea of fire ahead, I'll be the first to rush in!"
"Kill them all!"
"Rescue Ace!"
The flames of vengeance that Marco had just barely suppressed flared up again, this time even fiercer.
The war council chamber instantly shifted from a tense strategy room into a chaotic marketplace.
The captains—men who were usually heroes shaking seas in their own right—were now completely consumed by rage.
They quarreled, they roared.
Every so-called "plan" they shouted out was nothing more than a way to throw their lives away.
Marco opened his mouth, wanting to restrain them again, but realized his voice was like a whisper before a tidal wave of rage.
Looking at those twisted faces distorted by anger, a deep sense of helplessness washed over him.
It was useless.
No one would listen anymore.
Lucian Thorn still stood in his corner, watching the near-chaos unfold with no change in expression, as though witnessing a farce unrelated to him.
At the very height of this chaos—
BOOM!!!
A thunderous impact shook the air, so heavy it made hearts skip a beat.
It wasn't a fist on the table.
Nor a stomp on the floor.
It was Whitebeard.
The hand without the IV tube smashed down on the armrest of his massive throne.
The entire council chamber—and even the whole Moby Dick—shuddered violently from that single blow.
All the quarrels.
All the roars.
All the fury.
Were silenced in an instant.
The air froze.
Time stood still.
Only the heavy breathing of the over-agitated captains remained.
"Enough."
Whitebeard finally spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the unstoppable weight of a thousand-ton vessel breaking through ice.
He rose slowly from the throne.
That colossal frame loomed over the council chamber, his shadow engulfing everything.
He didn't even bother to look at any of his sons.
"Shut your mouths!"
"Look at yourselves—what a disgrace!"
"A bunch of fools blinded by anger!"
"And with that, you think you can face the world's strongest Navy?"
"In this state, you think you can save Ace?"
Whitebeard's voice suddenly rose, turning into thunder that shook the very bones.
"What you're doing is marching to your deaths! Do you want Ace to watch every single one of you die in front of him?!"
His words poured over them like a bucket of ice water.
Every captain trembled, the feverish blaze on their faces instantly giving way to shame as they lowered their heads.
Yes… going now would only be suicide.
Whitebeard scanned the now-silent room. His voice returned to its usual steady rumble.
"From this moment, the meeting is over."
"End all pointless arguments."
"Each of you—return, sharpen your blades, polish your cannons, and prepare yourselves to be at your peak!"
He paused, eyes burning with undying fire.
"Remember this!"
"We're going there to save him!"
"Not to die!"
With that, he ignored them all, turning his massive frame toward the exit.
No one dared to speak.
Every head was lowered in shame at their earlier loss of control.
His heavy footsteps echoed further and further away.
When Whitebeard's towering figure passed by Lucian Thorn in the corner, his stride faltered—just for the briefest moment.
Barely half a second.
So subtle almost no one noticed.
Then he strode on without looking back, leaving the chamber.
…
Night.
Dark as ink.
The Moby Dick, proud vessel of an era, sailed silently under the moonlight.
The uproar and fury of the day had long since faded.
On deck, the crew obeyed Pops' orders, quietly making their final preparations.
The scrape of whetstones on blades rang sharp in the air.
The shine of oiled cannons gleamed cold as frost.
Every man was prepared for the coming war.
No one noticed.
A lone figure slipped away to the great whale's head of the Moby Dick.
The highest place on the ship.
Lucian Thorn sat cross-legged, letting the freezing sea wind buffet his thin clothes.
His eyes were closed, his expression calm, as though one with the night itself.
He waited.
He knew.
They would come.
He didn't know how much time passed.
Two sets of footsteps echoed closer across the silent deck.
One heavy as a mountain, each step making the planks groan.
The other light, barely audible at all.
Lucian slowly opened his eyes.
He didn't turn back.
He simply gazed at the horizon where sea met sky, speaking calmly:
"Pops… and Marco… you're here."
In the moonlight, two figures stopped behind him.
At the front stood that mountain of a man—Whitebeard.
At his side, the man with pineapple-shaped hair—Marco.
Marco looked at Lucian's calm back, doubt in his eyes finally settling into certainty.
He had known it.
This mysterious genius youth absolutely had a plan!
Whitebeard didn't speak. He only stood there, his all-seeing eyes fixed quietly on Lucian Thorn's back.
The sea wind tugged at his great cloak, snapping it like a banner.