The two slowly walked up behind Lucian Thorn.
Marco stood at Whitebeard's side, his brows furrowed as he stared at Lucian's thin yet unnervingly steady back.
He wanted to speak.
But he knew—there was only one person who could speak first.
"Kid."
At last, that mountain-like heavy voice sounded behind Lucian.
"Why didn't you say anything at the meeting earlier?"
His tone was calm, betraying no joy or anger.
"I don't believe for a second that you have no plan."
Just as Marco expected.
Pops had seen through it too.
That boy who had remained calm from beginning to end in the war council, detached like an outsider—his silence itself was the greatest anomaly.
The sea wind howled.
Lucian didn't immediately turn around.
He still gazed out at the moonlit sea, silver-white beneath the night sky.
Why hadn't he spoken?
Because he knew—in that chamber overflowing with rage and the flames of vengeance, any rational plan was powerless.
Those captains, their pride and anger overwhelming all else, those warriors who placed honor and dignity above everything… until they bloodied their heads against the wall, they would never listen to "cunning" words.
What they needed wasn't a perfect plan.
What they needed was despair.
They had to experience firsthand that hot blood alone could never shake the Navy Headquarters, a fortress of iron centuries in the making.
Only when everyone awoke from their fervor, drowned in powerlessness and despair—only then could his plan be heard.
And now, the time had come.
Under the piercing gazes boring into his back, Lucian slowly turned around.
He lifted his head, meeting the imperial eyes that could make the world tremble.
His expression was so calm it sent a chill through Marco's heart.
"Pops," Lucian spoke, his voice carried clear on the sea breeze.
"Before I tell you my method…"
"I only want to ask you one thing."
He paused, each word hammered out like steel, landing heavily in the hearts of Whitebeard and Marco.
"This war…"
"Do you want to win?"
BOOM!
Win?
That single word exploded in their minds like thunder from the ninth heaven.
Marco's expression froze. His usually lazy eyes were now wide open.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
They were going to rescue Ace!
They were going to war with the Navy!
They had imagined countless possibilities—terrible sacrifices, rivers of blood, giving everything to bring Ace back.
But never…
Never had they dared to think of winning.
That was Marineford!
The strongest military force of the World Government!
The absolute fortress guarded by the three Admirals!
Even the legendary Golden Lion had fallen at Marineford.
They were going to save a comrade. To trade life for life. To use the fall of an old era in exchange for a single family member's survival.
Victory had always been a dream too far to grasp.
Whitebeard's colossal frame trembled.
Even after decades of dominating the seas, he could not help but feel shaken by Lucian's words.
Of course, he wanted to win.
He dreamed of it!
But he knew better than anyone the Navy's depth of power.
To save Ace, he had prepared everything.
He had prepared to use his broken body, his aging life, to carve a path home for his children.
He had long abandoned concern for his own survival.
To him, saving Ace was victory enough.
Even if it meant the Whitebeard Pirates breaking apart.
Even if it meant he would never leave Marineford alive.
But now—
This son who had only just joined them, this boy shrouded in mystery—
He was speaking as though it were only natural to demand the impossible.
Victory?
Lucian ignored their shock.
He simply continued, calm but resolute, every word striking like a blade.
"Not a pyrrhic victory."
"Not one bought with countless brothers' lives."
"Not with your death, Pops."
He locked eyes with Whitebeard, his voice suddenly rising, infused with unshakable conviction.
"I'm asking you, Pops!"
"Do you want to crush the Navy in front of the entire world—utterly—"
"And bring back every single one of your family alive?!"
Silence.
A suffocating silence where even the wind seemed to halt.
Marco felt as though an invisible hand clenched his heart, his breathing strangled.
Every single family member?
All of them, returning alive?
That… that was impossible.
Even Whitebeard's chest heaved violently, storms raging in his eyes.
Anger. Shock. Doubt. And buried deepest of all—something he himself had long refused to touch—longing.
Yes.
Who wouldn't want to win?
Who wouldn't want their children to return safe and sound?
He was Edward Newgate, Whitebeard, who had ruled the seas his whole life. When had he ever feared?
But time was merciless. He had grown old, ill.
He no longer believed.
So he had chosen the most tragic yet only path he thought possible.
To trade his life for his son's.
Yet Lucian's words were a key, forced deep into the lock of resignation in his heart, breaking it open.
Time passed.
And passed.
The suffocating aura around Whitebeard slowly ebbed.
He released his grip on Murakumo Giri, letting out a long, heavy sigh filled with both release and resolve.
That gaze, once filled with doubt and scrutiny, now fixed on Lucian with unprecedented gravity and expectation.
"Gu ra ra ra…"
A deep, suppressed laugh rumbled from his chest.
He looked at Lucian as though facing an equal.
"Speak."
"What method do you have?"