Chapter 704

Marineford, Grand Line

Inside the Fleet Admiral’s office, the atmosphere had long since curdled into suffocating tension. Stacks of reports littered Sengoku’s desk in chaotic piles, some already crumpled in his fists and discarded across the floor. The once immaculate office of the Marine Fleet Admiral now looked like a battlefield of parchment and frustration. Outside the massive windows of Marineford, the sea remained calm beneath the afternoon sun, but inside the room, the pressure felt heavy enough to crack stone.

Sengoku paced relentlessly across the office like a caged beast. His large frame moved back and forth with growing agitation, polished boots striking the marble floor with hard, echoing thuds. Every few seconds he would stop, snatch another report from the table, skim through its contents, then slam it down again with mounting fury.

Vice Admiral Tsuru sat opposite his desk in composed silence. Unlike Sengoku’s storm-like demeanor, Tsuru remained unnervingly calm, one leg crossed over the other as she methodically turned the pages of a thick intelligence dossier. Her sharp eyes scanned each report with the precision of a veteran strategist, though even she could not completely mask the exhaustion hidden beneath them.

The latest intelligence from the New World had been disastrous. Entire pirate fleets burned. Marine covert agents dead. Cipher Pol operatives missing. Entire infiltration cells were erased overnight. And worst of all—the Emperors of the New World had noticed.

"What about the personnel sent after the Bloodsteel Pirates...?" Sengoku finally asked again, his voice low and dangerous.

The question hung heavily in the office. Tsuru did not answer immediately. That silence alone was enough. Sengoku stopped pacing. Slowly, he turned toward her, and the irritation in his expression sharpened into outright anger.

"You’re telling me none of them came back?" Tsuru closed the report in her hands. A single shake of her head confirmed everything. The veins on Sengoku’s forehead bulged instantly.

"Damn it... damn it... DAMN IT, TSURU!" His roar shook the office walls. A nearby shelf rattled violently from the force of his fury.

"How could you be so reckless?" Sengoku growled, slamming both palms onto the desk hard enough to splinter the wood beneath them. "How could you move forward with something this dangerous without consulting me first?!"

If it had been any ordinary officer seated before him, Sengoku would have already thrown them out of the office by the collar. But this was Tsuru. One of the greatest minds the Marines possessed. A woman whose judgment he trusted more than almost anyone else in the world. Which only made this failure sting that much worse.

Tsuru remained silent as Sengoku resumed pacing. His mind was racing. He could already see the consequences spiraling beyond control. The operation itself had not been foolish in theory. Planting disguised operatives among rookie pirate crews and provoking territorial clashes between Emperor factions was strategically sound on paper.

If successful, the New World could have descended into chaos before the World Government ever needed to directly intervene. But the problem was simple. They had underestimated the Yonkos.

"What were you thinking, Tsuru?" Sengoku snarled. "Did you truly believe a few covert provocations were enough to manipulate the Emperors of the New World?" His eyes darkened. "These aren’t fools from Paradise. These are Yonko."

The word itself carried weight. Fear. Power. Absolute dominance.

"Those fools sitting safely in Mariejois look at maps and territories and think the New World is some kind of political game," Sengoku continued bitterly. "But those monsters rule through strength. Through terror. Through instinct." He pointed angrily toward one of the crumpled reports.

"Rosinante alone wiped out an entire infiltration fleet before the conflict could even begin."

Another report. "Kaido executed three undercover cells personally."

Another. "Scarlett’s territory butchered every crew carrying false flags before rumors could even spread."

Sengoku exhaled sharply through clenched teeth. "If you wanted the Yonko tearing each other apart, all we had to do was wait," he said coldly. "Sooner or later, greed alone would’ve pushed them into war."

His gaze hardened further. "But now?" He slammed another document onto the desk. "You’ve done the one thing we couldn’t afford at a time like this." Tsuru finally looked up. Sengoku’s voice dropped lower. More dangerous.

"You reminded them that the World Government is still trying to manipulate the New World from the shadows." Silence consumed the room again. Heavy. Oppressive. Outside the windows, distant seagulls cried across the harbor, but inside the office neither marine spoke for several long seconds.

Finally, Tsuru closed the dossier in her lap. "You’re right," she admitted calmly. "I underestimated how quickly they would uncover the operation." Sengoku scoffed bitterly. "Underestimated?" He laughed humorlessly. "Tsuru... they didn’t just uncover it." His expression darkened further. "They crushed it." The Fleet Admiral slowly sank into his chair, rubbing a hand across his face in exhaustion.

"I didn’t have a choice in the matter, Sengoku..." Tsuru finally spoke, her usually composed voice carrying an unusual heaviness. "The orders came directly from Kong-san himself... and they came on short notice."

Sengoku exhaled sharply through his nose, one hand rubbing against his temple as though trying to suppress the pounding headache threatening to split his skull apart. The mention of Kong only worsened his mood. Because that meant the decision had come from above Marine Headquarters itself.

This had not merely been a failed operation. It had been politics. And Sengoku despised politics. "You do understand Kuzan isn’t going to take this lightly..." Sengoku muttered darkly, leaning himself back heavily into his chair. The wooden frame groaned beneath his weight. "The majority of the personnel assigned to this mission were from SWORD."

At the mention of the covert Marine division, even Tsuru’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Forget Kuzan," Sengoku continued bitterly. "If Garp catches wind of this, he’ll flip Marineford upside down." And neither of them doubted that statement. Monkey D. Garp tolerated many things.

Corruption. Political games. The arrogance of the Celestial Dragons. Even the endless incompetence of certain World Government officials. But one thing Garp absolutely could not tolerate was sacrificing young Marines for schemes crafted by old men sitting safely behind desks. Especially Marines he personally considered the future of the organization.

Tsuru folded her hands atop the report resting on her lap. "It was inevitable, Sengoku," she said quietly. "The World Government was never going to allow a group as radical as SWORD to continue growing unchecked within the Marines."

Sengoku’s eyes hardened. Tsuru continued nonetheless. "And to be honest... only they could’ve pulled off this mission. Ordinary Marines are too disciplined. Too rigid. SWORD agents understand the underworld. They can think like pirates. Blend in like pirates."

"That doesn’t justify throwing them into a slaughterhouse," Sengoku snapped immediately. The room trembled faintly under the pressure leaking from his fury. Tsuru met his glare calmly, though there was visible exhaustion in her eyes now. "You think I don’t understand that?"

"No," Sengoku shot back coldly, "I think you understand it perfectly." Silence. Dangerous silence. Sengoku slowly leaned back in his chair, staring toward the ceiling for several long moments before speaking again. Lower. Sharper.

"Is that what you truly believe, Tsuru?" His gaze returned to her. For the first time since the conversation began, there was genuine disappointment in his eyes. Not anger. Not frustration. Disappointment.

"I thought I could trust you to watch my back while Garp is away..." Sengoku said quietly. "But it seems even you’ve started getting dragged into the politics of those bastards sitting above us."

Tsuru’s expression stiffened faintly. Sengoku noticed immediately. And that alone confirmed his suspicions. His eyes narrowed.

"Don’t tell me..." he said slowly, voice growing colder with each word. "Does this have something to do with your granddaughter?" At the mention of Gion, the atmosphere inside the office shifted instantly. Tsuru’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly atop the report. That tiny movement did not escape Sengoku.

"Damn it..." Sengoku muttered under his breath, leaning back heavily. "So it’s true." Tsuru closed her eyes briefly before answering. "The higher-ups approached her months ago." Sengoku’s jaw clenched. "They wanted influence inside SWORD," Tsuru admitted. "Someone loyal to them."

"And they used Gion to pressure you," Sengoku finished grimly. Tsuru did not deny it. Outside the office windows, thunder rumbled faintly across the distant horizon. The atmosphere inside the room grew even heavier.

"She’s ambitious," Tsuru said at last. "Strong. Talented. Respected among the younger recruits. The World Government sees potential in her."

Sengoku scoffed bitterly. "No," he corrected harshly. "They see usefulness." The Fleet Admiral stood again abruptly and walked toward the window overlooking Marineford. Below, countless Marines moved throughout the base carrying out their duties, unaware of the rot festering behind closed doors at the highest levels of power.

Just then, a suffocating pressure descended upon the corridor leading to the Fleet Admiral’s office. It came without warning. A chilling presence. Heavy. Violent. The very air itself seemed to freeze. Inside the office, both Sengoku and Tsuru immediately fell silent.

Neither of them needed to guess who it was. The temperature throughout the entire administrative wing plummeted sharply. Frost began crawling across the walls outside like veins of ice spreading through stone, freezing over light fixtures and window frames alike. Marines stationed along the corridor instinctively backed away in panic as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed closer and closer toward the office.

Each step carried restrained fury. Not loud. Not frantic. But terrifyingly controlled. Sengoku’s expression darkened instantly. Tsuru slowly placed the report in hand upon the table.

Then—BOOM!

The heavy oak doors of the Fleet Admiral’s office were violently shoved open with enough force that the reinforced hinges nearly ripped clean off the wall. A freezing gust exploded into the room.

Frost surged across the marble floor in an instant, swallowing the office beneath a layer of crystalline ice. Papers froze solid midair. The windows fogged over immediately. Even the tea sitting atop Sengoku’s desk crystallized into slush. And standing at the entrance was Admiral Kuzan.

No—not the lazy, half-asleep Admiral the Marines were accustomed to seeing. This Kuzan was different. His tall frame radiated a cold so intense it felt oppressive to breathe near him. His coat swayed behind him like a storm cloud as freezing vapor rolled from his body in waves. The usual relaxed slouch in his posture was gone entirely. For once, Admiral Aokiji looked every bit like a monster capable of freezing oceans.

"KUZAN...!" Tsuru’s voice rang out sharply, carrying rare authority. "Where do you think you are?" Normally, Kuzan was the calmest among the Admirals. The most level-headed. The one capable of defusing even the most heated conflicts with lazy indifference and dry sarcasm.

But today—today, even the coldest man in Marine headquarters was visibly furious. Kuzan didn’t answer Tsuru. Didn’t even look at her. His ice-blue eyes remained locked solely on Sengoku as he stepped deeper into the office.

CRACK...CRACK...CRACK.

Ice spread beneath every footstep. The pressure in the room became suffocating. Even Sengoku could feel it. Not merely anger. But betrayal. Pure betrayal. Kuzan stopped directly in front of Sengoku’s desk. For several long seconds, neither man spoke. The frost creeping across the room continued thickening until even the walls groaned faintly beneath the cold.

Finally, Kuzan spoke. Low. Dangerously calm. "How many?" Sengoku’s brows furrowed slightly. Kuzan’s gaze sharpened further. "How many of my men died?" The office fell silent again.

Tsuru quietly stood from her chair. "Kuzan—"

"I wasn’t asking you," Kuzan cut in coldly. For the first time in years, Tsuru visibly stiffened at his tone. Kuzan’s eyes never left Sengoku.

"You sent SWORD into Yonko territory without informing me," he said quietly. "Then half the division disappears overnight." A thin layer of frost spread across Sengoku’s desk beneath Kuzan’s fingertips. "And now I hear the operation came directly from the top."

His voice remained calm. That calmness was what made it frightening. Sengoku slowly rose from his chair. "Kuzan, calm down."

"Calm down?" Kuzan finally laughed. It was hollow. Humorless. The temperature in the office dropped even further. Outside the windows, Marines in the courtyard below suddenly looked upward in alarm as snow began falling over Marineford despite the clear skies.

"They used my men as bait," Kuzan said quietly. "And nobody thought I deserved to know?"

"They were Marines," Tsuru replied firmly. "They understood the risks."

Kuzan finally turned toward her then. And for the first time since entering the room, genuine anger flashed visibly across his face.

"No," he said coldly. "They were soldiers following orders." His fists clenched. Ice exploded outward across the office floor. "You sent them into a slaughterhouse even after knowing what the outcome would be."

The memory of the reports flashed through his mind. Bodies frozen in terror. Entire infiltration teams butchered. Warships annihilated before distress calls could even be completed. Most of them young. Many were recruited personally into SWORD by Kuzan himself. Marines who believed they were fighting for a better future. And now they were dead because old men in Mariejois wanted to play political games.

Kuzan’s gaze returned to Sengoku. "Sengoku-san..." Kuzan’s voice came out low and restrained, yet the sheer weight behind it made the frozen office feel even colder. "Please tell me you weren’t aware of this... Tell me those orders—to send SWORD operatives to their deaths—weren’t issued under your authority."

For the first time since entering the room, there was something far more dangerous than anger in Kuzan’s eyes. Disappointment. Not the disappointment of a subordinate toward his superior—

but of a man realizing the person he respected might have allowed innocent soldiers to be sacrificed for politics.

The frost spreading across the office thickened further as Kuzan stared directly at Sengoku, waiting for an answer he desperately wanted to hear. It wasn’t a question. Sengoku remained silent. That silence answered everything. A dangerous stillness settled over the room. Even Tsuru looked tense now. Because she understood something clearly—If Kuzan truly lost control here...

Marineford itself might not survive intact.

Sengoku chose silence instead of immediately answering Kuzan’s question. The Admiral stood motionless before the desk like a glacier moments away from erupting. Frost continued creeping across the walls and ceiling, the cold growing sharper with every passing second. Even the air felt brittle enough to shatter.

Sengoku slowly turned toward Tsuru. "Vice Admiral Tsuru... you may leave," he said heavily. "I would like to speak with Admiral Aokiji in private."

The disappointment in Sengoku’s voice was unmistakable. Not merely toward Tsuru—but toward himself. Because deep down, Sengoku understood this disaster should never have happened under his watch. He was the Fleet Admiral. Political schemes of this scale moving through Marine Headquarters without his awareness was not merely an oversight—it was a failure.

And Sengoku hated failure. Especially when Marines under his command paid the price. He made a silent promise then and there. Once this matter was settled, he would personally speak with Kong regarding the orders that had bypassed him. If the Commander-in-Chief believed he could sacrifice Marines for political convenience without consequence, then even Sengoku was prepared to push back.

"Hmmm..." Tsuru let out a long, weary sigh as she rose from her chair. For the first time in years, the Marine Chief of Staff looked her age. Without another word, she pushed the thick folder of reports closer toward Sengoku’s desk before walking steadily toward the exit. Her footsteps echoed softly against the frozen floor.

She knew she had made a mistake. A grave one. Tsuru was not careless by nature. She was one of the sharpest strategists in the entire organization. But this time, pressure from above, urgency, and political manipulation had clouded even her judgment. Neither Sengoku nor Kuzan spoke another word until the office doors finally shut behind her.

CLICK.

Silence. Heavy silence. Only the faint crackling of ice could be heard. Sengoku exhaled slowly before gesturing toward the chair opposite him.

"Kuzan... take a seat." But Kuzan didn’t move. The Admiral’s expression remained cold and rigid, his towering frame still radiating dangerous pressure throughout the office.

"Tell me you didn’t know, Sengoku-san," Kuzan said again, his voice quieter this time. "Tell me you weren’t aware."

There was still hope lingering in his eyes. Small. Fragile. But there. Because despite everything, Kuzan still trusted Sengoku more than anyone else within Marine Headquarters. Sengoku looked at him silently for several moments before finally answering.

"No," he admitted at last. "I wasn’t aware." Kuzan’s shoulders loosened slightly. The frost spreading through the room eased just a little. But Sengoku continued before Kuzan could fully calm himself.

"That said... I can’t absolve myself of responsibility either." His expression darkened. "I was shortsighted. I failed to notice something this severe unfolding right beneath my nose."

Kuzan lowered his gaze briefly. Part of the rage inside him settled hearing those words. At the very least, Sengoku had not willingly signed off on sacrificing SWORD. But the anger still remained. Because the dead were still dead. The operation had still happened.

And the people lost had not been nameless soldiers to Kuzan. They were his men. Young Marines who believed in a different kind of justice. The kind Garp had envisioned when he personally established SWORD years ago. A division meant to act freely when the chains of politics became too corrupt.

A division filled with Marines willing to dirty their hands for the sake of protecting civilians when bureaucracy failed. And by extension, most of them naturally supported Kuzan. Unlike the rigid hierarchy surrounding Admirals like Akainu or Raylene, Kuzan’s faction was built upon trust and mutual respect. Many of SWORD’s members admired him because he embodied the same ideals Garp carried—a Marine who still valued people over politics. Which was exactly why the World Government feared them.

Kuzan finally spoke again. "They targeted SWORD specifically." It wasn’t a question. Sengoku’s silence confirmed enough. A bitter smile appeared briefly on Kuzan’s face.

"So that’s what this really was..." The temperature in the room dropped again slightly. "A purge."

Sengoku didn’t deny it. "That’s likely part of it," he admitted grimly. Kuzan clenched his fists. The ice beneath his feet cracked loudly.

"They used Marines as expendable pawns just because they didn’t like the kind of justice we followed?" His voice was no longer angry now. It was colder than anger. Far colder. Sengoku immediately recognized the danger in that tone.

"Kuzan," he said firmly. "Don’t lose yourself here." Kuzan laughed softly. But there was no humor in it.

"Lose myself?" he muttered. "Sengoku-san... do you know what the last report said?" He grabbed the folder Tsuru had left behind and slammed it onto the desk. "One of the recovery teams found what was left of a SWORD unit near Bloodsteel territory." His eyes darkened. "They couldn’t even identify most of the bodies."

The room fell silent again. Even Sengoku’s expression tightened. Kuzan slowly lowered his head, his voice becoming quieter.

"I recruited some of those kids myself..." That single sentence carried more weight than all his anger before. Because beneath the title of Admiral... beneath the terrifying power...Kuzan still cared.

"Nothing I say or do now is going to change what has already happened," Sengoku said heavily, his deep voice carrying an exhaustion that seemed to age him several years within moments. "The dead won’t return, Kuzan... and no amount of anger is going to erase that."

The Fleet Admiral slowly lowered himself back into his chair, the wooden frame creaking beneath his weight.

"But this..." Sengoku continued, tapping the stack of reports with two fingers, "this goes beyond a failed operation." His eyes hardened. "It seems the World Government is moving aggressively to bring the Marines entirely under their direct control." The words settled heavily inside the frozen office.

"And targeting SWORD..." Sengoku said grimly, "might very well be the beginning of something much larger." Kuzan’s expression shifted slightly.

Until now, rage had clouded his judgment. The deaths of his men. The betrayal. The realization that young Marines had been sacrificed like disposable pawns. All of it had pushed him dangerously close to losing control. But Sengoku’s words forced him to stop. To think. And once Kuzan began thinking clearly again, the deeper implications slowly revealed themselves.

The frost spreading across the office gradually stopped advancing. His breathing steadied. Sengoku noticed immediately.

Kuzan slowly closed his eyes for a moment before speaking. "They’re scared," he muttered quietly.

Sengoku nodded once. "Yes." Not of pirates. Not of the Yonko. Not even of the growing instability across the seas. The World Government was afraid of losing control over the Marines themselves during all the chaos. SWORD represented everything they despised. Independent thought. Personal justice.

Marines willing to question immoral orders. Men and women loyal to ideals rather than blind authority. And at the center of that influence stood a name that even the World Government could never fully control—Monkey D. Garp.

Kuzan’s gaze drifted toward the frozen window overlooking Marineford below. Thousands of Marines moved throughout the base carrying out their duties, unaware that the very institution they devoted their lives to was beginning to fracture internally.

"They’re preparing for something..." Kuzan said quietly. Sengoku’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"You see it too." Kuzan nodded slowly.

"The Gorosei aren’t the type to make reckless moves without purpose," he murmured. "If they’re willing to openly weaken the Marines internally... then they must believe something bigger is coming." His jaw tightened. "Something they think requires absolute obedience."

A dangerous silence followed. Because both men understood what that implied. War. Not a small conflict. Not another pirate uprising. Something far larger. The balance of the seas was already collapsing. The New World had become a place where the world government no longer held influence.

The Emperors were growing more aggressive. The Revolutionary Army had become bolder than ever. And now even within the Marines, division was beginning to spread. Kuzan finally opened the report folder again, his icy gaze scanning the casualty lists one more time.

This time, however, the anger in his expression had changed. It had become colder. Sharper. More focused. "These idiots in Mariejois..." he muttered darkly. "They think they can keep tightening the leash forever."

Sengoku sighed. "They’ve always believed fear and control are the only ways to maintain order."

"And what do you believe?" Kuzan asked suddenly. The question lingered heavily between them. Sengoku didn’t answer immediately. For a long moment, the Fleet Admiral simply stared toward the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

Then finally— "I believe the Marines are beginning to lose sight of why they were created in the first place." Kuzan looked at him silently. Sengoku’s voice lowered further. "We were meant to protect people."

Not Celestial Dragons. Not political interests. Not the pride of old men sitting atop the world.

People. "But somewhere along the way," Sengoku continued bitterly, "too many forgot the difference between justice and obedience."

Kuzan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The anger inside him had not disappeared. No. It was still there. Burning beneath the surface like freezing fire. But now it was no longer blind rage. Now it had direction. And Sengoku could already tell—the deaths of those SWORD Marines had changed something inside Kuzan permanently.