Chapter 712

"Can you not stop this... Ishho-san?" Marco’s voice carried a rare hint of frustration as he stood upon the deck, his gaze fixed upon the distant island that sat upon the horizon. From where they were anchored, the landmass appeared little more than a dark silhouette against the endless sea.

Yet everyone aboard knew better. What seemed like a tiny speck from this distance was, in reality, a massive island. And somewhere upon it, two monsters of the sea were preparing to clash. Whitebeard and Rosinante. Even thinking about those two names sharing the same battlefield was enough to make Marco’s stomach tighten.

Beside him stood Issho. The blind swordsman leaned lightly upon his cane sword, the ocean breeze stirring the hem of his purple kimono. Unlike Marco, there wasn’t the slightest hint of anxiety upon his weathered face. His expression remained calm. Peaceful. As though he were simply enjoying the sea air.

Marco found that composure increasingly unsettling. Though both men occupied similar positions within their respective Emperor crews, Marco possessed enough experience to recognize strength when he saw it. And every instinct he possessed screamed the same conclusion. He was not Issho’s equal. The blind swordsman was one of those rare individuals whose presence alone carried an overwhelming sense of weight.

The kind of man who could alter the course of history simply by choosing a side. Yet despite possessing the strength to potentially intervene, Issho, however, showed no intention of doing so today.

"Each man has his own pride," Issho replied calmly. His sightless eyes remained fixed toward the distant island. "Neither is willing to yield where Shirahoshi is concerned." The blind swordsman paused. "And truthfully, Marco-san, you cannot deny that your side’s actions were... unwise."

Marco’s brow furrowed. Issho continued before he could object. "If King Neptune wished to reclaim his daughter, then he should have come as a father." His voice remained gentle. But there was steel beneath the words. "Instead, he brought Whitebeard." The implication hung heavily between them.

"Whether intended or not, that transformed a personal matter into a confrontation." Issho’s fingers tightened slightly around the handle of his cane. "We are pirates, Marco-san." A faint smile crossed his face. "One does not sail into another pirate’s territory, arrive at their doorstep with an Emperor at one’s back, and then ask for favors." The smile faded. "Especially not when that favor involves taking away a member of their family."

Marco remained silent. Because despite how much he disliked hearing it, there was truth in Issho’s words. Still, he couldn’t simply stand aside.

"You know as well as I do that Shirahoshi is Neptune’s daughter." His voice hardened. "Isn’t it only natural that a child should be with her father?" Issho listened quietly. Marco continued. "You call yourselves her family." His eyes narrowed. "But you’re not truly her family."

"Shirahoshi never chose any of this. That child never chose to become part of the Donquixote Family." The words lingered in the air. For several moments, only the sound of waves breaking against the hull filled the silence. Then Issho chuckled softly. Not mockingly. Almost sadly.

"You still fail to understand the true issue, Marco-san." The blind swordsman finally turned his face toward him. Though his eyes could not see, Marco felt as though he were being examined all the same. "The problem was never a father wishing to reunite with his daughter." Issho’s smile faded.

"The problem is how Neptune chose to pursue that goal." His voice grew firmer. "Had he arrived alone, Rosinante would still have refused."

"Had he begged.... He would still have refused... Had he pleaded before the entire world... He would still have refused, but at least that way it wouldn’t have bruised our egos."

Marco’s frown deepened. Issho slowly turned back toward the distant island. Because he understood something Marco did not. "There was never a scenario in which Rosinante would surrender Shirahoshi."

The certainty in his voice was absolute. No hesitation. No doubt. Nothing. The blind swordsman looked toward the horizon. Toward the battlefield waiting beyond it.

"Not to Neptune...Not to Whitebeard...Not to anyone." His expression softened slightly. "Because that child ceased being merely Shirahoshi long ago." The breeze rolled across the sea."She became part of the Donquixote family."

Marco clenched his jaw. The conviction in Issho’s voice unsettled him. There was no arrogance. No boasting. Only certainty. The kind born from years of understanding another person. And perhaps that was what bothered Marco most. Throughout this entire affair, he had been worried.

Worried for Whitebeard. Worried about what this confrontation might become.

Worried that the clash between two Emperors could spiral into something neither side truly wanted. Yet Issho stood there completely at ease. Not because he underestimated Whitebeard.

Far from it. Issho respected Whitebeard immensely. Which meant there was only one explanation. The blind swordsman genuinely believed Rosinante would win.

Not hoped. Not wished. But believed. Absolutely. As though the outcome had already been decided. As though the battle occurring miles away was merely a formality. And for the first time since arriving in Donquixote waters, Marco found himself wondering if perhaps everyone had underestimated just how terrifying Donquixote Rosinante had become.

Marco’s frown deepened. The blind swordsman’s confidence bothered him more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t arrogance. Issho wasn’t the type of man to boast. Rather, it was the absolute certainty in his demeanor that unsettled him. As though the outcome of the battle had already been decided.

As though the blind swordsman couldn’t even imagine a world where Rosinante lost. For a long moment neither spoke. Only the sound of waves crashing against the hull filled the silence.

Then Marco sighed. "I still think this is unnecessary." Issho remained silent. Marco continued. "If things truly get out of hand, someone should stop them."

The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere changed. Subtly. Yet undeniably. The sea breeze seemed to die. The creaking of the ship faded into the background. Even the distant chatter of pirates upon the deck suddenly felt muted. Marco instinctively stiffened. A chill crawled up his spine. Not because of hostility. Because of intent. Slowly. Almost casually. Issho’s thumb pushed against the tsuka of his shikomizue.

Click.

The blade slid from its sheath by barely an inch. A sliver of polished steel emerged. Nothing more. Yet Marco’s pupils constricted. The sensation was immediate. Oppressive. As though an invisible mountain had suddenly settled atop his shoulders. The deck beneath them groaned.

Tiny cracks spread through the wooden planks around Issho’s feet. Not from force. From pressure. The sheer weight of the swordsman’s presence. Issho never turned around. His blind gaze remained fixed toward the distant island. Yet his voice carried none of the warmth it had moments earlier.

"Marco-san." Calm. Polite. And infinitely more dangerous because of it. "If I may offer some advice." The exposed edge of the blade gleamed faintly beneath the sunlight. "Do not interfere."

Marco felt every muscle in his body tense. he phoenix pirate wasn’t afraid. He had stood before Admirals. Emperors. Legends. Yet every instinct he possessed was screaming at him. This was not a request. This was a warning.

Issho continued. "Regardless of who appears to be winning... Regardless of what happens... Regardless of what emotions may cloud your judgment." His fingers rested upon the hilt. The blade remained only partially drawn. Yet Marco had the distinct feeling that if it left its sheath completely, the sea itself would split apart.

"Do not interfere." The words were repeated softly. Yet somehow carried more weight than before.

Marco narrowed his eyes. "Are you threatening me?" To his surprise, Issho chuckled. A genuine chuckle. The tension eased slightly. But only slightly.

"No." The blind swordsman shook his head. "I am trying to keep you alive." Marco’s expression hardened. Issho finally turned his face toward him. Though blind, it felt as though those clouded eyes pierced straight through him.

"You misunderstand something." The swordsman’s voice grew quieter. "If Whitebeard loses, I will not allow anyone to interfere."

Marco’s heartbeat quickened. "And if Rosinante loses?" For the first time since the conversation began, Issho smiled. Not mockingly. Not arrogantly. Simply as though Marco had asked something obvious. "Then I certainly will not allow anyone to interfere." Silence. Marco stared. Issho gently pushed the blade back into its sheath.

Click.

The oppressive pressure vanished instantly. The sea breeze returned. The ship seemed to breathe again. Several nearby pirates unknowingly released breaths they hadn’t realized they were holding. Issho adjusted his grip upon the cane sword.

"Their pride is on the line." His voice returned to its usual calm tone. "The promise Whitebeard made... The promise Rosinante made... The future of Shirahoshi. All of it has led to this moment." He looked once more toward the distant island.

"And men like them..." A faint smile crossed his face. "...would rather die than have someone else decide the outcome for them."

Marco remained silent. Because deep down—he knew Issho was right. The warning hadn’t been issued out of loyalty. Or arrogance. Or confidence. It had come from understanding. Issho knew exactly what kind of men were about to clash. And he also knew that if anyone attempted to step between them, they might earn the wrath of both.

****

The island had fallen silent. No birds sang. No insects chirped. Even the wind itself seemed reluctant to move. The very world appeared to be holding its breath. Two men stood facing one another. Two absolute monsters. Two legends. Two men carrying bounties so absurdly high that no one else alive could compare.

The strongest pirate of the old era. The strongest pirate of the new. Whitebeard casually shrugged off his captain’s coat, allowing it to fall upon the grass behind him. The white cape fluttered briefly before settling. His weathered face remained calm. But his eyes had sharpened.

This was no friendly spar. No exchange between comrades. No contest of pride.

Both men knew exactly what this battle represented. A promise. A principle. A line neither was willing to cross. Rosinante crouched slowly, scooping a handful of dirt from the ground. The loose soil slipped between his fingers. For a brief moment, his gaze lowered. Almost regretful.

Then he looked up once more. "You know..." His voice was calm. Measured. "You can still walk away, Newgate-san." The dirt fell from his hand. "Nobody will think less of you for it." He slowly rose to his feet. Shusui remained sheathed at his waist. The black blade seemingly asleep. Rosinante sighed. One final offer. One final chance.

"Because if we do this..." His golden eyes hardened. "There’s a very real chance you die here."

Whitebeard’s response was immediate. A scoff. A grin. And absolute certainty.

"Gurararara!" The old Emperor planted Murakumogiri firmly into the earth. The impact alone cracked the ground beneath him. "Then it’d be a death worth having!" The moment the words left his mouth—he moved.

BOOM!

The island exploded beneath Whitebeard’s feet. The earth shattered. Massive cracks raced outward for hundreds of meters. Entire chunks of stone were launched skyward. The force of his acceleration alone resembled a natural disaster. One instant he stood still. The next he was already upon Rosinante.

Murakumogiri roared through the air. Conqueror’s Haki erupted from Whitebeard’s body like a raging storm. Crimson lightning danced across the massive bisento. Armament Haki coated every inch of the weapon. Then—the Gura Gura no Mi awakened. Reality itself fractured around the blade.

Cracks spread through the air. Space trembled. The atmosphere screamed beneath the pressure. Whitebeard brought the weapon down. Not merely with strength. But with every ounce of power that had allowed him to stand atop the world for decades. The heavens split before the strike had even landed.

BOOOOOOM!

The sound resembled the birth of a star. Yet Rosinante never flinched. Never retreated. Shusui left its sheath. A single smooth motion. Elegant. Simple. Deadly. The black blade sang. Light erupted from Rosinante. Pure primal Conqueror’s Haki burst outward in a tidal wave. Black lightning intertwined with golden arcs. The very atmosphere seemed to bend around him.

His own Armament Haki flooded into Shusui until the blade appeared to swallow all surrounding light. Then he swung. The upward slash met Whitebeard’s descending strike. And the world broke. The weapons never touched. They never even came close. A gap of several inches remained between Murakumogiri and Shusui.

Yet neither strike could advance further. An invisible wall had formed between them. The collision of wills. The collision of kings. The collision of monsters.

BOOOOOOOOM!

A pulse of energy exploded outward. The ocean surrounding the island instantly sank. Then rose.

Walls of water hundreds of meters tall erupted from the sea. Tsunamis raced in every direction.

The sky above fractured beneath the pressure. Clouds vanished. Simply erased. A second pulse followed. Then a third. Then a fourth. Each stronger than the last.

The sea trembled like a living creature. Massive tidal waves rolled across the horizon. Entire stretches of coastline vanished beneath surging water. The island itself suffered even more.

The ground beneath the two monsters split apart.

Mountains cracked. Forests were uprooted. Ancient bedrock fractured. The landmass physically shifted beneath their feet. As though the island itself could no longer bear the weight of their existence. Neither man moved. Neither yielded. Both stood firm. Locked in place. Conqueror’s Haki flooded the battlefield.

Black and crimson lightning tore through the heavens. The sky above split open. A massive scar appeared among the clouds stretching far beyond the horizon. Even from dozens of miles away, ships upon the sea felt the pressure. Animals fled in terror. Every instinct screamed the same warning.

Run. Run while you still can. At the center of it all stood two figures. Whitebeard’s muscles bulged as he pushed Murakumogiri forward. The old Emperor’s grin widened. Bloodlust. Excitement. Respect. Everything mingled together.

"GURARARARA!" His laughter thundered across the battlefield.

"You truly underestimate me, Rosinante..." Whitebeard’s voice rolled across the battlefield like distant thunder. The old Emperor’s grin widened. "I didn’t stand at the apex of the seas for decades for nothing!"

The world answered his will. CRACK...CRACK...CRACK...!

Reality itself fractured. The Gura Gura no Mi responded as though awakening from a long slumber. Invisible fissures spread through the air around Whitebeard. The very space surrounding him began to distort. The atmosphere twisted. Bent. Warped. As though the laws of the world themselves were struggling to remain intact beneath the force he exerted.

Rosinante’s eyes narrowed. For the first time since the battle began, he felt genuine danger. Not from Whitebeard’s haki. Not from his physical strength. But from the monstrous Devil Fruit that had once earned its wielder the title of the man capable of destroying the world.

BOOOOOOM!

Whitebeard swung Murakumogiri. The air shattered. A colossal crack raced across the battlefield. The ground beneath Rosinante erupted. Entire sections of the island were ripped apart as invisible tremor waves tore through bedrock like paper. Mountains exploded. Forests vanished. The sea surrounding the island rose violently as if trying to flee. Rosinante disappeared.

BOOM!

The location he had occupied a fraction of a second earlier imploded. The earth collapsed into a crater hundreds of meters wide. Whitebeard was already moving. Despite his enormous size, he crossed the battlefield like a cannonball. Murakumogiri descended again. Rosinante met it head-on.

SHATTER!

Black lightning exploded. The sky split apart. Conqueror’s Haki surged from both men. The collision generated a shockwave powerful enough to flatten everything within several kilometers.

Ancient trees were uprooted. Massive boulders launched into the heavens. The island screamed beneath their feet. Yet neither yielded.

Whitebeard pressed forward. Each swing of Murakumogiri carried enough force to sink islands.

Enough force to erase entire countries. Enough force to split seas. Rosinante met every strike. Shusui danced. A black arc. A silver flash. A blur too fast for ordinary eyes.

BOOM!...BOOM!...BOOM!

Each clash produced a detonation rivaling a meteor bombardment. The ocean surrounding the island became a raging nightmare. Gigantic tsunamis spiraled outward. Clouds vanished from the sky. The horizon itself trembled. Whitebeard laughed.

"GURARARARARA!" The old Emperor felt alive. It had been years. Years since someone could stand before him and meet him blow for blow. Years since someone could force him to unleash everything. Murakumogiri roared. The Gura Gura no Mi awakened further. Suddenly the sea itself fractured. Rosinante’s eyes widened.

A crack appeared upon the ocean. Not metaphorically. Literally. The sea split apart. Miles of water separated as if an invisible giant had cleaved the ocean in two. The resulting pressure erupted upward. An entire wall of seawater rose toward the heavens. Whitebeard thrust his bisento forward.

The tsunami followed. An ocean. literal ocean. Weaponized. Rosinante exhaled slowly. The world around him became silent. His Observation Haki expanded. The battlefield slowed. Every droplet. Every movement. Every fluctuation in Whitebeard’s muscles. Everything entered his perception.

Then—Shusui moved. A single slash. No wasted motion. No flourish. No roar. Just perfection. The blade sang. A crescent of pure haki erupted from the black blade. The flying slash expanded. One hundred meters. Five hundred. One thousand. The ocean itself split before it. The tsunami parted. The heavens divided. The attack continued. Straight toward Whitebeard. Whitebeard’s grin widened.

"THAT’S MORE LIKE IT!" His fist clenched. Silver lightning exploded around his arm. The awakened tremor power condensed around his knuckles. Then he punched.

BOOOOOOOOM!

The slash and quake collided. For a brief moment, the world stopped. Then everything exploded.

The island beneath them fractured completely. Massive chasms ripped across the landscape. Entire sections collapsed into the sea. The resulting shockwave traveled hundreds of miles.

Far away—Ships rocked violently. Whitebeard’s crew, those still standing after that onslaught of haki lost their footing. Sea Kings fled. Even the weather itself seemed disturbed. At the center of the destruction stood two monsters. Blood finally dripped from Whitebeard’s shoulder. A shallow wound. Yet blood nonetheless. The old Emperor looked down. Then laughed.

"GURARARARARA!" The sight only excited him further. Rosinante, meanwhile, flexed his right hand. The bones in his arm ached. Even with his haki. Even with his monstrous physique. Whitebeard’s strikes felt like colliding with an island moving at full speed.

No. Worse. Islands could be broken. Whitebeard simply kept coming. The Emperor suddenly vanished. Rosinante’s instincts screamed as future sight caught Whitebeard’s actions. Murakumogiri appeared from above. The heavens themselves seemed to descend. Rosinante crossed Shusui overhead. The impact landed.

BOOOOOOOOOM!

The island beneath them shattered. Everything within miles disappeared beneath the force. A mushroom cloud of dust rose into the sky. For several seconds the battlefield vanished beneath destruction. Then—a green slash erupted from within the cloud. The dust split apart. Whitebeard leaned back. The attack grazed his chest. A line of blood appeared.

Rosinante emerged. Shirt torn. Blood running down his forehead. Golden eyes burning brighter than ever. The ground beneath his feet cracked. Conqueror’s Haki exploded outward. The pressure was so intense that nearby boulders began floating into the air. Whitebeard’s grin widened. Rosinante smiled. Both men understood. There would be no holding back. No compromise. No retreat. Only victory. Or defeat. The sky darkened. Black and crimson lightning filled the heavens. The sea continued to rage. The island was dying beneath their feet.

Yet neither cared. Two kings. Two legends. Two men carrying the weight of their promises upon their shoulders. And as they launched themselves toward one another once more, the world itself seemed to tremble in anticipation. Because every living thing could feel it. This was no ordinary battle.

This was a clash between monsters whose names would echo through history. A battle destined to be remembered alongside God Valley. Alongside Roger and Whitebeard. Alongside the greatest confrontations the seas had ever witnessed. And neither Rosinante nor Whitebeard intended to lose.