At the border between the first and second halves of the Grand Line, a vast archipelago composed of the world's largest red mangrove trees—the Yarukiman Mangrove—floated quietly on the sea.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the colossal canopies above, scattering dappled rays that danced with the shimmering rainbow-colored soap bubbles rising from the ground, forming a surreal and dreamlike spectacle.
This was the Sabaody Archipelago.
A required stopover for all pirates dreaming of entering the New World.
And also a lawless playground for the Celestial Dragons, the World Nobles.
Chaos, sin, ambition, and hope coexisted here in a twisted yet oddly harmonious balance.
Whoosh—!
A streak of blue flame tore through the clouds, disappearing from the horizon at a speed nearly impossible to track with the naked eye.
A second later, it descended with precision into a deserted section of the mangrove forest, far from the urban zones.
As the flames dispersed, Lucian Thorn and Marco emerged from within.
"Whew..."
Lucian let out a long breath. Only when his feet touched the solid roots of the massive red trees did a sense of reality finally settle in.
He looked up at the blue sky above, utterly shaken.
So this... is the real Sabaody?
From the back half of the Grand Line, where the Moby Dick was anchored, to the mid-point of the route—this journey would've taken ordinary pirate ships several months. Yet under the wings of the Phoenix, they had covered it in less than three days.
This speed… was bordering on light-speed.
"Alright, kid, wipe that wide-eyed look off your face."
Marco patted Lucian's shoulder, teasing him with a grin.
"From here on out, we'll need to keep a low profile."
Lucian nodded in understanding.
This wasn't the New World. The title of First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates was too well-known here. If exposed, they could easily draw the attention of a Marine Admiral.
The two quickly changed into casual clothing they had prepared in advance.
With minimal disguise, Marco and Lucian gave each other a quick nod—then melted into the bustling crowds of the archipelago.
On the streets, pirates, bounty hunters, merchants, and tourists from every corner of the world jostled for space.
Giant soap bubbles carried passengers upward, forming Sabaody's iconic "Bubble Car" transportation system.
In the distance, auctioneers barked out prices, and the muffled booms of slave collars detonating echoed faintly—but the people around remained unfazed, their faces devoid of emotion.
Lucian watched it all quietly, a strange feeling welling up in his chest.
This is Sabaody—a place where light and darkness are laid bare on the same table.
"Stay close."
Marco's voice called from ahead.
Clearly familiar with the area, he expertly led Lucian through several chaotic backstreets, skillfully avoiding rowdy pirate gangs, and finally stopped in front of a plain-looking bar.
The sign above the door had playful English lettering:
"Shakky's Rip-off BAR."
Marco didn't hesitate. He straightened his collar and pushed open the creaky wooden door.
Ding-ling—
A small bell above the door chimed crisply.
Inside, the lighting was dim. The air carried a mix of alcohol and the scent of a woman's cigarette.
Behind the bar stood a stylish, short-haired woman who was elegantly cleaning a glass. She glanced up at the newcomers, the corners of her lips curling into a knowing smile, but she said nothing.
She was Shakky, once a member of the Rocks Pirates.
But Lucian and Marco's eyes were instantly drawn elsewhere—the man drinking alone in the corner, reading a newspaper.
He wore a simple floral shirt, had a head full of silver hair, round-framed glasses, and a neatly trimmed beard on his chin.
He looked like a regular retired old man—peaceful, calm, without an ounce of hostility.
Yet both Lucian and Marco could feel it clearly—beneath that harmless exterior was an ocean-deep pressure.
A terrifying power forged through countless battles and tempered by the rise and fall of an era.
The "Dark King," Silvers Rayleigh!
Right-hand man to Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King—legendary vice-captain of the Roger Pirates!
As if sensing their gaze, Rayleigh slowly lowered his newspaper and looked up. His deep-set eyes behind the glasses calmly met theirs.
"Oh? If it isn't Marco."
His tone was mild and casual, like greeting an old neighbor he hadn't seen in years.
"What wind blew you here?"
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Marco took a deep breath and stepped forward, giving Rayleigh a respectful bow.
"Long time no see, Mr. Rayleigh."
"Take a seat."
Rayleigh gestured to the chairs opposite him and poured himself another drink.
"So tell me... what trouble brought you to this old man's doorstep?"
He'd already seen through it all.
Marco didn't bother with pleasantries. Sitting up straight, his expression turned serious.
"Mr. Rayleigh, I came to ask for your help."
"Oh?"
Rayleigh took a sip, his face unreadable.
"The Whitebeard Pirates needing help? That's newsworthy."
"Ace... our Second Division Commander... was captured by the Marines."
Marco's voice lowered.
"They plan to execute him publicly at Marineford."
Rayleigh's hand froze mid-air.
Even the bar's atmosphere seemed to freeze in that instant.
He gently placed his cup down, the soft clink echoing with finality.
Clearly, he already knew about the public execution.
"Roger's boy, huh..."
Huh? Mr. Rayleigh, you knew about Ace's identity?
"Of course. He's my captain's son, after all."
A long sigh slipped from the legendary pirate's lips, filled with emotion and complexity.
"So… you're going to war with Marine HQ?"
"Yes."
Marco answered firmly.
"No matter the cost, we must bring Ace back!"
"I hope you'll lend us your strength."
Marco's eyes were filled with sincerity.
"For the sake of your bond with Pops in the old era... and for Ace, the only son of Captain Roger!"
He was speaking humbly.
Because he knew full well—this man had the power to change the course of a war in an instant.
Yet, after listening, Rayleigh merely fell silent.
He refilled his glass and slowly shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Marco."
Even though he's Roger's son...
"I'm a retired old man now. I don't want to meddle in this era's conflicts anymore."
His voice was calm, but the rejection was clear.
"Besides..."
Rayleigh glanced out the window at the rising and bursting soap bubbles. His gaze softened.
"I've got something to protect now."
"I can't afford to act recklessly like I used to."
Forgive me—I can't help you.
The hope on Marco's face instantly crumbled into disappointment.
He had considered many possible outcomes—but he hadn't expected Rayleigh to turn them down so decisively.
Just as he opened his mouth, ready to try one last plea—
Lucian, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly stepped forward and approached the table.
"Mr. Rayleigh."
Lucian's voice wasn't loud, but it reached Rayleigh's ears clearly.
Rayleigh's eyes settled on the unfamiliar young man, a flicker of surprise flashing in them.
Lucian met his gaze directly—there wasn't a hint of nervousness. Instead, he smiled, brilliantly and with a bold edge of provocation.
"If you don't want to get involved, that's fine."
After all, like you said—you're old now.
We came today for something else, too.