The dazzling sunlight shimmered across the rippling sea as the Red Force cut through the waves. Suddenly, "Red-Haired" Shanks gave an order.
"Stop here. Don't go any farther."
Ben Beckman, the "Right Hand of Red-Hair," shot him a questioning look, then raised a hand toward the helmsman and called out, "Heave to! Drop anchor!"
Under the helmsman's careful steering, the Red Force gradually slowed to a halt. With a heavy clank, a rusted iron anchor splashed into the sea below.
Cigarette in his mouth, Beckman stepped up beside Shanks. "What's wrong?"
"There are men of Davy Jones beneath the waves," Shanks replied calmly. "I came here to see him, not to start a fight."
"I figured as much," Beckman shrugged. "Just avoiding any… misunderstandings. But seriously—you're really going in there alone?"
"Relax, Beckman." Shanks turned around and raised two fingers. "First, I'm not that fragile. Second, Davy Jones, for all he is, happens to be a man who keeps to his code."
"You mean that so-called 'Right of Hospitality'? No one respects that anymore—certainly not pirates like us."
The Right of Hospitality was an ancient custom among kings, nobles, and knights who prided themselves on honor. It forbade them from harming a guest invited under their roof—violation meant divine punishment.
But it had been broken too many times, and no one had ever seen those offenders smitten by the heavens or cursed by some higher power.
In time, people stopped believing in it altogether.
"I trust my judgment of Davy Jones," Shanks said with a grin. "He's surprisingly old-fashioned—almost archaic. The more I see of him, the more I think he really is that 'Demon King of the Deep Sea' from legend."
Beckman blew out a smoke ring. "The one from centuries ago, huh? Fine by me. If he throws you out in pieces, we'll come scoop you up. Just… try not to lose your other arm."
Shanks burst out laughing, the sleeve of his missing arm fluttering in the sea breeze.
Not long after, a patrol of fish-men and merfolk from Davy Jones's fleet approached and began questioning them.
They had already been tracking the movements of this Yonko's ship, reporting back to Silent Island even as they surrounded the Red Force.
Once, the mere sight of that red-haired flag would have sent them scattering in terror.
But things were different now—they had another Emperor standing behind them.
Davy Jones's sudden rise as one of the new Four Emperors had shocked the world, and even the lowliest of his followers were still getting used to their newfound confidence.
Things they once dared not do—they now could.
Surrounding the Red Force wasn't about being able to defeat the Red-Haired Pirates—it was about fulfilling their duty as members of the Davy Jones Pirates.
Shanks propped one leg on the gunwale, smiled down at the sea, and said to the fish-men and merfolk below,
"Would you mind telling your Captain, Davy Jones, that Red-Haired Shanks wishes to speak with him?"
The fish-men exchanged wary glances until their leader finally spoke up. "Wait here. Don't do anything reckless."
"Don't worry—we won't make a move," Shanks promised. "Tell Captain Davy Jones my ship will remain here. I'll come ashore alone to meet him."
The leader nodded, swam a short distance away, and took out a Den Den Mushi to report.
Moments later, he returned. "Let them through!" he ordered.
The formation opened up.
Shanks lowered a small wooden dinghy from the Red Force and, under his crew's watchful eyes, climbed aboard.
Gripping a single oar in his left hand, he dipped it into the water and rowed powerfully—each stroke sending the boat gliding forward like it had been launched from a catapult.
Every time the boat began to slow, he drove the oar into the waves again, propelling it forward once more.
After several bursts of this, the little craft skimming the water like a skipping stone, the silhouette of Silent Island soon came into view.
When the boat reached shore, Shanks saw a group waiting to receive him. The first familiar face he recognized was Jinbe.
"It's been a long time, Jinbe," Shanks greeted, embracing the large, broad-shouldered fish-man. "Didn't expect to find you among Davy Jones's crew."
Jinbe grinned, baring the two sharp fangs of his lower jaw. "I trust Captain Davy Jones—and I trust the judgment of Fish-Man Island."
Shanks said no more, following Jinbe through Silent Island toward Davy Jones's stronghold.
Along the way, he passed patrols of pirates and glimpsed ships drilling maneuvers offshore. Soon, a gray fortress came into view.
With so many Devil Fruit users among Davy Jones's crew, constructing a castle was hardly a challenge.
Many watched Shanks warily as he passed. He remained calm, even smiling and waving at them in greeting.
Finally, he met Davy Jones himself—the newly crowned Emperor stood before the great doors at the base of a tower, long-stemmed pipe in hand, clearly waiting for him.
After Jinbe bowed and offered his respects, his duty was done; he quietly withdrew.
Davy Jones's facial tendrils writhed slightly as he spoke, pipe stem still clamped between his teeth. "Shanks—come, climb up with me."
Shanks glanced into the dark doorway and replied easily, "All right."
Davy Jones turned and stepped inside, his heavy boots echoing softly against the stone.
Shanks followed. The tower's interior was bare—gray, dim, and austere. They reached a spiraling staircase and began ascending toward the top.
For some reason, Shanks felt a strange nostalgia—as if he were once again that young man standing before Captain Roger and first mate Rayleigh, uneasy and humbled.
He chuckled to himself. Looks like this time, I'm the one being overwhelmed by someone else's presence.
"Shanks," came Davy Jones's voice from ahead, smoke and sea-salt scent drifting back toward him. "Our territories aren't exactly neighbors. You came all this way—what's your purpose?"
Through an opening in the battlements, Shanks gazed out over the moat below. He didn't bother with pretense. "I came to make peace."
"You came to make peace?" Davy Jones turned his head, glancing at the red-haired man. "Now that's something new. Why?"
"Because in a war between you and Charlotte Linlin, your chances aren't great. Even if you win, it'll be a pyrrhic victory."
Davy Jones raised a brow. "Even if that's true—if she and I both end up gravely wounded, wouldn't that benefit you, another Emperor?"
"Frankly," Shanks said, shaking his head, "I don't want to see the fragile balance of the seas collapse again. Believe it or not, before the Paramount War, I tried twice to dissuade Whitebeard."
Davy Jones smiled faintly. "I believe it. From what I know of you, that sounds exactly like something you'd do."
Shanks blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. "Didn't expect that to be your impression of me."
"What did you try to dissuade Whitebeard from?"
Shanks gestured toward the three deep scars slashing diagonally across his left eye.
"The first time, I went to warn him—to call Ace back. I'd sensed the danger of Blackbeard. Sure enough, Ace was defeated by him."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"The second time, I tried to stop him from attacking Marineford. He refused to listen. All I could do was hold off Kaido and Big Mom to buy him time—but in the end, he died, and his crew was nearly wiped out."
By then, the two had reached the tower's summit. Standing at the parapet, they looked down at the fortress below and out toward the misty mountains of Silent Island.
Smoke curled from Davy Jones's pipe as he asked, "So, are you here to persuade me to surrender to Charlotte Linlin?"
"That's not what I mean at all," Shanks replied earnestly. "But I'd like to act as a mediator—help the two of you reach an accord. That is, if you both have the will to stop this war. Once I leave here, I'll go to her next."
Finally, Shanks bowed his head slightly and said solemnly:
"Please—give me this one favor."
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