Meanwhile, on the turbulent waters of the East Blue, Shiki stood on the deck of a massive warship, frowning at a detailed map spread before him.
For once, his face was filled with genuine frustration.
"Jihahahaha! Finding the islands around Loguetown is easy enough. The troublesome part is avoiding all those damned Marine eyes.
"If we act carelessly and they spot us, they'll surround us from every direction. We could always start fighting immediately, but then the entire Marine force would come down on us before the operation had even properly begun…"
Before he could finish, a graceful crimson figure descended silently onto a jagged reef beside the ship.
The newcomer carried the heavy scent of blood and had appeared as soundlessly as a ghost.
He stood perfectly still, almost blending into the surroundings, yet the powerful presence radiating from him made it impossible to overlook his arrival.
"Shiki, it's been years, but it seems age has only made you more pathetic."
The newcomer was none other than Red Count Redfield.
He gently stroked the cursed blade in his hand while his dark-red cloak snapped wildly in the roaring sea wind.
Mockery and amusement shone in his eyes as he looked at Golden Lion.
"Do you really need to sneak around so cautiously just to move a few insignificant islands?"
The moment Shiki heard that familiar voice, his eyes lit up.
The gloom vanished from his face, replaced by wild delight.
"Redfield! You old bat actually came out of retirement?"
His voice trembled with excitement as he strode forward, clearly intending to give his long-lost old acquaintance an enthusiastic embrace.
A faint smile appeared on Redfield's lips.
"Ron asked me personally. It would have been rather rude not to grant him this small favor."
…
After a brief pause, Redfield continued,
"Besides… the sight of countless islands from the Four Blues floating across the heavens would suit my particular sense of beauty rather well."
Their gazes met.
For a moment, each saw traces of the ambition and camaraderie they had shared in their younger days.
The grudges forged at God Valley faded like smoke on the wind.
Redfield gave the cursed blade in his hand a light flick of the wrist. His vast Observation Haki immediately spread outward from his position like a surging tide, precisely scanning the surrounding sea.
A moment later, he spoke with complete confidence.
"There are three islands fifty nautical miles southeast of here that would suit our plans perfectly. Only around a thousand Marines are stationed there."
"Now that's efficient!"
Shiki's face lit up with delight as he drew both swords in a flash of cold steel.
"I'll move the islands. You clear away anything that gets in our way!"
Power erupted from his body as he prepared to begin the operation.
...
Across the East Blue, the clear blue sea stretched to meet the horizon while a salty breeze swept freely over the waves.
A Marine patrol formation was carrying out its routine voyage in perfect order.
Five imposing warships cut through the water like steel beasts, their cold metallic hulls displaying the power and authority of the Marines.
A Marine Major stood tall at the bow of the lead vessel, his steady gaze sweeping across the surrounding sea.
Without warning, an inexplicable chill ran through him.
It pierced his thick uniform and sank straight into his bones, making him shudder as goose bumps spread across his skin.
The deeply unsettling sensation immediately placed him on high alert.
"All hands, prepare for combat!"
The Major's tense, decisive shout had barely left his mouth when a blood-red figure appeared silently atop the main mast like a ghost.
It was the legendary Red Count.
His dark crimson cloak fluttered gently in the sea wind, resembling both a living flame and a sinister flower blooming in the darkness.
The feared cursed blade Grimm rested quietly at his waist, its edge gleaming with a cold light that seemed to conceal endless secrets and murderous intent.
Standing high above them, Redfield looked down at the Marines thrown into confusion by his arrival.
A trace of lazy contempt appeared in his eyes as the corner of his mouth rose.
"This route is closed."
His deep, magnetic voice struck every listener's heart like a hammer.
"Open fire!"
The Major roared the order in fury.
Dozens of cannons thundered at once, their deafening blasts shattering the calm over the sea.
A dense barrage surged toward the crimson figure like a torrential downpour. The shells streaked through the air with long trails of flame, carrying lethal force toward their target.
Redfield remained perfectly calm before the overwhelming attack.
He merely shook his head, without even reaching for his sword.
Slowly, he raised his right hand.
An invisible yet terrifying pressure spread outward from him like ripples across a still lake.
Then something extraordinary happened.
It was as though an unseen hand had slowed the flow of time across the entire sea.
The rapidly approaching cannonballs reached the space ten meters around Redfield and suddenly seemed to plunge into transparent resin.
Their speed dropped sharply.
One after another, the shells stopped in midair.
Their spinning heads still released stubborn metallic whines, yet they could no longer advance even an inch. They hung beneath the blood-red light of the setting sun like a swarm of metal insects trapped in place, creating an eerie and unnatural sight.
At the same time, every trace of life seemed to vanish from the previously frantic decks below.
The soldiers loading the cannons became motionless statues.
Some remained bent over beneath the weight of heavy shells, their faces still frozen in concentration.
Others had opened their mouths to shout, but no sound emerged. The fighting spirit in their eyes rapidly drained away like a receding tide, leaving only hollow confusion behind.
The helmsman still gripped the wheel as though desperately trying to change course, but his body had already gone limp and slid to the deck without another movement.
A deathly silence swallowed every ship.
Only the sea wind continued to blow, its low moan passing between the masts.
Even the gulls that had been soaring freely overhead could not escape the strange disaster.
Their wings were caught halfway through a beat, abruptly restrained by some invisible and irresistible force.
They dropped from the sky like kites with severed strings.
The once-lively creatures fell without the slightest struggle, like puppets whose strings had been cut.
A series of dull splashes and thuds followed as the unfortunate birds struck the silent decks or plunged directly into the cold, dark sea.
Only a few faint sprays of water rose before immediately disappearing, emphasizing the eerie cruelty of the scene.
The vast stretch of ocean fell into absolute stillness.
Only the tireless waves continued striking the hulls in steady succession.
Within the oppressive silence, their rhythmic sound resembled a mournful requiem for everything that had been brought to a halt.
Each impact seemed to question the cruelty of fate, but no answer ever came.
At the center of it all, Redfield stood proudly atop the towering mast.
His cloak fluttered gently behind him like a crimson banner, displaying his overwhelming authority.
Below him, the crews of every ship had fallen into a deep unconsciousness, left as rigid as living statues.
Pain remained twisted across their faces, yet not one of them could move so much as a finger.