Chapter 27: The Roar of Liberation
The Sabaody Archipelago, the midway paradise of the Grand Line.
As the minutes bled away, the chaos on the island only intensified.
...
The fury of the Celestial Dragons remained a constant, and the agents of CP continued to obey Saint Lorvim's insane order, raining indiscriminate artillery fire across the groves.
Civilians, driven by primal fear, stampeded toward the relative safety of the docks.
Amidst the panic, opportunists emerged. Desperate men saw a chance in the anarchy and began looting shops and warehouses, hoping to carve out a fortune from the disaster.
The Marines stationed at Sabaody were stretched impossibly thin. Their priority was evacuating civilians. Their secondary concern was containing the rioters and looters. The hunt for the escaped arena slaves had fallen to the very bottom of their list.
With Vice Admiral Garp's arrival, the Marines finally had a focal point, a pillar of strength. They began to actively resist the CP agents' bombardment, creating pockets of relative calm. For a moment, the port area became a tangled mess of CP agents, Marine soldiers, sobbing civilians, wild-eyed looters, and terrified freed slaves. It was impossible to tell who was who in the swirling dust and smoke.
And just as the chaos seemed destined to swallow the entire archipelago, a deafening ROAR tore across the sky, shaking the very bubbles in the air.
ROOOOAAAAARRR!
The sound was all-consuming. It vibrated in the chest, rattled the teeth, and sent a primal shudder down the spine of every living thing on the island. Even the most grizzled old sea dog couldn't identify what manner of beast could make such a sound. It spoke of something ancient and raw, a tremor of fear that bypassed the mind and seized the heart.
...
Saint Lorvim, the Celestial Dragon, heard the roar.
The man, whose courage was as thin as the bubble helmet he wore, let out a shrill squeak. His eyes rolled back, his legs gave out, and he collapsed into a twitching heap on the ornate platform. The protective bubble popped. A dark stain spread across the front of his pristine white suit. Foam bubbled at the corners of his mouth.
"My Lord!" his CP guards cried out, their bombardment orders forgotten. They swarmed around him, less out of genuine concern and more to hide the disgraceful sight from prying eyes. The "dignity" of the World Nobles had to be preserved at all costs.
With that, the ridiculous, indiscriminate shelling finally sputtered to a halt.
Seizing the opportunity, the Marines, emboldened by Garp's presence, swiftly subdued the remaining confused CP agents.
The panicked civilians, frozen mid-flight by the roar, stared around in bewildered silence.
The looters, their bloodlust cooled by the terrifying sound, dropped their stolen goods, legs trembling.
In a bizarre twist, the roar that had heralded such violence became the catalyst that stilled the chaos on Sabaody.
And so, the question hung in the suddenly quiet air:
Who… or what… had made that sound?
...
It wasn't that no one saw.
Many had been fleeing toward the docks, and dozens of eyes had turned toward the source of the sound.
One merchant captain, clinging to the rail of his ship, had even raised his telescope for a clearer look. When his first mate asked him what he saw, the captain opened and closed his mouth, words failing him.
What had he seen?
A man? A monster? Something else entirely?
The image was burned into his mind, a scene he knew he would never forget.
...
On the deck of a medium-sized vessel, a massive figure stood.
It was tall, powerfully built, with two dark green, curved horns rising from its head. Its skin was a deep crimson, and its broad shoulders were armored in plates of shimmering golden scale.
A monster?
No.
This was something from a darker myth. A demon, straight from the old sailors' tales.
The creature leaned forward, thick hands gripping the deck timbers. Its legs bent, coiling power into its stance. Then, the demon opened a maw lined with sharp fangs, and its form seemed to shift and streamline. The muscles grew taut, its spine arched slightly, revealing a line of jade-green scales along its back.
It took a deep, shuddering breath that seemed to pull the very air tight around it. Then, it aimed its roar.
The captain's telescope followed the line of attack to the dock. There, standing alone amidst the wreckage, was a man with graying hair, a Marine justice cloak whipping in the unnatural wind. He clenched his fists, planted his feet, and stared the roaring storm right in the face.
ROOOOAAAAARRR!
The sound became a physical thing—a howling, grinding tempest of compacted air and invisible force that ripped across the water.
The old Marine roared back, a wordless shout of his own, and threw a mighty punch forward!
BOOM!
The collision was cataclysmic. The captain quickly lowered his telescope. He was a merchant, not a warrior. He couldn't comprehend this level of battle, and he didn't want to. He just wanted his ship and his crew to survive this madness.
"The Grand Line… it truly is a sea of monsters since the Great Pirate Age began," he muttered, turning away.
...
The captain didn't watch, but the duel reached its conclusion all the same.
Garp's fist, sheathed in supreme Armament Haki, met the distorted, roaring blast head-on. The impact exploded outwards, kicking up a colossal cloud of dust and debris that blanketed the waterfront.
When the smoke cleared, Garp looked up. The ship was already a shrinking speck on the horizon, speeding away on the recoil of its own attack.
"Huh?"
Garp blinked, then grunted in understanding. If that kid—Vergil—wanted a real fight, he would have stood his ground on the shore. The whole point of that flashy move was to create a massive counter-force to propel the ship away at tremendous speed. He'd never intended to see the battle through.
"Tch. And I was just starting to have fun," Garp grumbled, flexing his hand. Then he felt a faint sting on his cheek.
He touched it. His fingers came away with a tiny smear of red. A thin cut, no longer than his thumbnail, marred his face. It was superficial, but it was there. Garp had been nicked.
"This is…"
He'd only coated his fists in Haki, leaving his face exposed. That wasn't the surprising part. The surprise was the nature of the injury. The attack was a roaring storm of force. Why did it cut?
A slash? A blade?
Garp replayed the sensation. The overwhelming force was one thing, but laced within that gale was something else—a razor-sharp, slicing intent. A tiny, incredibly fine edge of Armament Haki, blasted forward and dispersed within the roar, giving the attack a secondary, cutting property.
The realization made Garp's eyes widen slightly.
Just minutes ago, during their first exchange of blows, Garp had sensed it clearly: Vergil did not know how to use Armament Haki. He was certain of it.
He'd also been certain that with the right training, the boy's monstrous potential would let him learn it quickly.
But this quickly?
Had that "tiny amount" been intentional control, or was it simply all he could muster in the handful of seconds between learning and applying it?
Garp fell silent.
If Vergil could one day funnel a massive amount of Armament Haki into a technique like that… what kind of devastation could he unleash?
The more pressing, and unsettling, point was this: after just a few brief clashes with a master, Alvin Vergil had not only perceived the principle of Armament Haki… he had taken his first, immediate step across its threshold.
"Armament Haki…"
Garp scratched his head, staring at the empty horizon where the ship had vanished. A slow, reluctant grin spread across his face, mingling with a frown of deep thought.
"Did he just… copy it from me?"
(End of Chapter)
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