Three more minutes passed.
For a battle between an Emperor-level fighter and Admirals, a few minutes should have meant nothing. In that span, they shouldn't even have exchanged many serious blows.
Yet after just three minutes—
Both Aramaki and Kizaru had grown solemn.
It wasn't because of Ace's raw strength.
Something else was wrong.
The air was getting colder.
Not abruptly—but steadily. As if winter was quietly settling in.
The Grand Line's weather was unpredictable, yes. Summer one moment, winter the next.
But Marijoa was different.
Located atop the Red Line, its climate was controlled. Stable. It did not fluctuate like this.
And this change—
Had only begun after Ace arrived.
Both Admiral-level strong felt it.
Instinct told them Ace was involved.
But logic refused to agree.
Ace was a Logia user.
The Fire-Fire Fruit.
Even an awakened fire Logia should turn its surroundings into a burning domain—heat rising, damage increasing, flames lingering.
Yet the opposite was happening.
The temperature was dropping.
Kizaru noticed something else.
Two things, in fact.
First—
From reports he'd overheard from Cipher Pol: when Ace first landed on Marijoa, he declared an attack.
But nothing happened.
And after that, at irregular intervals, Ace would speak a number.
Then later, a smaller number.
Again.
And again.
Counting down.
Why would anyone do that in a serious fight?
The second thing disturbed him more.
Ace hadn't used his fire abilities even once.
No flames.
No heat.
Not even Logia intangibility.
Kizaru had landed clean hits—hits Ace should have dispersed through.
But Ace took them.
Flew back.
As if—
His Devil Fruit wasn't responding.
And that—
That was something Kizaru couldn't ignore.
" 0 "
---
Two more minute passed.
Snow began to fall from the sky.
" -11 "
Ace said calmly.
That was enough.
Kizaru understood.
Those numbers—
They weren't random.
They were temperatures.
And that only made the situation more abnormal.
Just then, Kizaru sensed movement.
Until now, with Observation Haki, he'd felt many presences around Marijoa—monsters, fighters close to his level, others slightly weaker.
All of them hidden.
Watching.
Waiting.
But now—
Four figures stepped out into the open and began walking toward the battlefield.
Their presence was heavy.
Then a voice rang out, carried clearly through the cold air.
"Admiral Kizaru, Knight Aramaki "
"You are granted permission."
"Permission to engage without restraint."
"You may now battle the intruder with your full strength."
"Capture him as soon as possible."
A pause.
"We will assist as well."
---
The clash halted.
Both sides pulled back as Ace's gaze shifted toward the newcomers.
Four figures stood there.
He recognized them instantly.
"Well, well," he said. "If it isn't the infamous Knights of God."
The moment the words left his mouth, all four turned their attention to him.
Their killing intent sharpened.
And beneath it—
Surprise.
That name wasn't something an outsider should know.
Ace looked at them calmly.
His eyes shifted to one of them.
"And you're here too… Figarland Shamrock."
Hearing Ace speak his name so casually, Shamrock's expression shifted.
Confusion came first.
How could this man know his name?
How could he know about the Knights of God—a truth buried so deeply that even the highest Admirals of the Navy were never informed? A secret known only to a handful of living beings.
And then came anger.
Not the reckless kind.
The offended kind.
The kind born when a man who considered himself a god was spoken to as if he were equal—or worse, inferior.
Shamrock was a Celestial Dragon. A Knight of God. A being above low-life.
And yet Ace spoke to him as though he were nothing special.
That alone was unforgivable.
Shamrock released his Conqueror's Haki.
It surged outward like a divine decree, crushing the air, bending the ground beneath his feet.
Ace didn't flinch.
He answered in kind.
His own Conqueror's Haki erupted, vast and overwhelming, slamming head-on into Shamrock's will.
The clash split the heavens.
The clouds above Marijoa tore apart, pushed away from each other as if reality itself refused to contain their dominance.
Ace watched Shamrock's rage with calm eyes.
"Well, well, well," he said lightly.
"I really do see the resemblance now."
Shamrock's gaze sharpened.
"The same cruelty," Ace continued, voice steady, cutting.
"The same rotten way of thinking."
A pause.
"At least in your entire family, only Shanks turned out normal."
The battlefield went silent.
"Maybe he wasn't corrupted by your bloodline," Ace went on, unfazed.
"Or maybe he simply refused to rot the way you all did."
Shock rippled through everyone present.
Shamrock, however, snapped.
His fury exploded.
He unsheathed his sword in a single motion and vanished, reappearing before Ace as he swung with the intent to cleave him in two.
Ace stepped forward.
His fist was already drawn back—Conqueror's Haki roaring, Armament Haki layered tightly around it.
Punch and blade met.
They didn't touch.
A few centimeters separated them.
Yet the pressure was unbearable.
The air screamed.
The ground beneath them shattered as their wills collided, neither able to push the other back.
Ace spoke again, his voice calm even in the storm.
"I don't know whether you truly don't know the truth," he said,
"or whether you're a cold blooded monster."
Shamrock's eyes trembled.
"Your father killed your mother, when you were just one year old in God Valley island in West Blue" Ace continued coldly.
Silence.
"He abandoned you. Just like your brother. Left both of you to die."
The world seemed to stop.
"You should thank Dragon," Ace said.
"He's the one who saved you."
Shock turned into something darker across the battlefield.
"And yet here you are," Ace went on, eyes locked onto Shamrock's,
"still serving the man who killed your mother."
His voice hardened.
"A dog on the World Government's leash."
Shamrock's breathing grew uneven.
"At least Shanks broke free," Ace said.
"He walked away."
A beat.
No one spoke.
Kizaru looked up at the sky.
Aramaki looked down at the ground.
Both pretended not to hear a single word.
The other Knights of God remained still—not intervening, not retreating.
They were watching.
Interested.
Ace straightened.
"Figarland Shamrock," he said, voice carrying absolute authority.
"I'll give you a choice."
The pressure intensified.
"Break that leash.
Stop being a dog of the World Government."
Ace's eyes sharpened.
" Or die. "
Ace looked like a god, judging a mortal and handing down a choice.
Inside, however—
Did I say too much?
Yeah… I definitely said too much.
Looks like I provoked him.
No— I poked him with a stick.
A very sharp stick.
Great. Now he's 100% fighting me to the death.
Ace mentally sighed.
Ah well, he was going to fight me to the death anyway.
At least now he's not all calm and dignified and commanding.
Angry enemies make mistakes.
Another thought followed, strangely philosophical.
I think some great guy once said—
Before defeating an enemy, you must defeat him psychologically.
The first battle with your enemy is not on the field, but in his mind.
Ace paused.
Did I defeat him psychologically?
A beat.
No idea.
But I definitely pissed him off to death.
While Ace was lost in his internal monologue, and Shamrock was plotting to slice him into a thousand pieces, feed them to a dog, and cut the dog into thousand pieces and repeat the process a thousand times—Outside, the world seemed a different place entirely.
---
Thousand Sunny
Luffy, perched somewhere with a mix of excitement and worry, was momentarily stunned. Not by the spectacle of Ace's incredible moves or the fight between Ace and the Admirals, but by the revelation about Shanks—his story, his connection to Celestial Dragons.
For Luffy, none of that mattered; celestial dragon or not, bloodline didn't define a person, only their heart did, he was just sad after hearing Shanks story and the conflict in his family.
---
Far away, in Whitebeard Pirates' territory on Sphinx Island, silence reigned.
Whitebeard sat at the center of the town, eyes fixed on the massive screen before him. Anger simmered beneath his calm exterior—not because of Shanks being a Celestial Dragon, nor because of his connection to the Knights of God—but because of Ace.
Ace.
His son had gone to Marijoa, the very stronghold of the World Government, where the mightiest warriors stood, and chosen to face them alone. Ace hadn't asked for permission. He hadn't called for support. He had thrown himself into a battle against overwhelming odds. And Whitebeard, watching from Sphinx Island, was powerless to intervene immediately.
A surge of frustration coursed through him. Even if he pushed himself to his absolute limits, no matter how fast he moved, it would take more than a day to reach Marijoa.
That helplessness only fueled his fury. Yet he would watch. Every wound Ace received, every strike from the World Government, he would engrave in his memory. And if Ace fell, the World Government would pay—personally.
Whitebeard understood Ace's resolve. He understood why his son was fighting to the death. The World Government had declared war on the Whitebeard Pirates. Ace had chosen not to wait. He had chosen to act.
But even so, Whitebeard's chest ached with guilt. He had failed to instill the confidence in his sons that they could survive against such a force. He had failed to give them the assurance that they could face the impossible and endure.
And in that moment, Whitebeard knew: his son was not just fighting for survival. He was fighting for justice, for pride, for something far greater than himself. And Whitebeard, despite his distance, would see it all. Witness it. And when the time came, the World Government would feel his wrath.
Meanwhile, the members of the Spade Pirates' eyes burned red. They knew the truth: until now, the World Government had been keeping a cautious distance waiting for all the Celestial Dragons to evacuate.
But now—with the arrival of the Knights of God—the true battle was about to begin.
The air was thick with anticipation, and the world waited.
---