The Red Line, Reverse Mountain, Twin Capes.
A colossal oceanic current converged from all four corners of the blue, roaring deafeningly as it forced its way upward through the only gateway leading into the Grand Line.
Floating silently within the turbulent swells adjacent to the Twin Capes lighthouse was Laboon, an island whale of such immense proportions that its silhouette rivaled the landmass itself. Its massive skull was heavily scored with thick, grisly scar tissue—the legacy of decades spent slamming its weight against the unyielding stone of the Red Line.
Waaaaah—!
Suddenly, Laboon unleashed a long, echoing cry that vibrated through the water column, its multi-ton frame shifting violently as it disturbed the surf.
"What's got your tail tangled, Laboon? Are you preparing to split your crown against the masonry again?"
Crocus, the lighthouse keeper and former chief physician to the Pirate King, paused mid-line. Reclined across a canvas deck chair beside the white tower, he lowered his newspaper with a deep frown.
"No... wait. This isn't the frequency of his madness."
Crocus pulled himself upright, his weathered eyes following Laboon's upward line of sight.
Through the dense cloud layer, accompanied by the deep, industrial drone of heavy vector engines, an enormous, pitch-black warship materialized. Descending like an apex predator reclaiming its territory, the vessel sheared smoothly through the fog, settling its iron weight onto the swells directly before the Twin Capes.
The immense, unyielding shadow of the Eclipse unrolled across Laboon's skin.
"So, it's those lawless rookies," Crocus murmured, watching the hull clear the spray. "Six months in the open water, and they've already turned the global ledger upside down."
Tracking the silhouette draped in a dark red trench coat standing at the prow, a complex, analytical reminiscence crossed the old doctor's eyes. His perception could isolate the change; compared to the green outlaw who had crossed this channel half a year ago, the current Ace carried a kingly presence that was significantly more intense—and distinctly colder—than the aura Roger had radiated during their final voyage.
Before Crocus could call out to the bridge, a sudden shift occurred on the deck.
"Yohohoho... Laboon... is that truly your mass in the water...?"
Along the brass rail of the Eclipse, a tall, skeletal figure clad in a immaculate British suit stumbled forward, his fingers locking onto the iron with a frantic, trembling grip. A sudden, intensely hot blue flame seemed to flicker within the dark recesses of Brook's empty eye sockets, his entire frame shaking uncontrollably as his joints rattled against the wood.
Waaah—
Laboon's massive, mountain-like bulk shuddered violently, its eyes—each the dimension of a standard civilian villa—locking directly onto the skeleton standing above the line of the bow.
Fifty winters had slipped past; the political landscape of the world had reconfigured, and the living had turned to dust. But that familiar silhouette, distinguished by the high afro and a soul vibration that penetrated directly to the core of its memory, caused the island whale that had waited in isolation for half a century to let out a long, shuddering cry that sounded precisely like a sob.
"My deepest apologies for keeping your watch open for so long..."
With absolute, professional solemnity, Brook reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a violin that had weathered decades of decay within the Florian Triangle. He rested the tailpiece against his collarbone, drawing a long, clean breath of the salt air.
The notes that left the strings were bright, fluid, and cheerful, yet laced with a bottomless sorrow and an ultimate sense of relief as they drifted across the Twin Capes.
"Yohohoho, yohohoho..."
"Gather up the crew, prepare to set the sail..."
"Riding the winds and waves, we clear the eastern bay, the salt water staining the coat..."
As the favorite anthem of the Rumbar Pirates rolled across the mouth of the Grand Line, heavy streams of water erupted from Laboon's massive eyes like a double waterfall. The creature pounded its flukes against the ocean surface, letting out a series of ecstatic, high-frequency trills as it happily spun its multi-ton mass within the foam.
On the main deck of the Eclipse, Ace, Sabo, and Leona stood in silent alignment, listening to the song of a reunion that had bypassed the boundaries of life and death. Tracking the skeleton playing his heart out against the gale, a quiet emotion softened the sharp lines of their faces.
"A gathering of raw sentimentalists," Ace said softly into the wind.
When the final chord dissolved, Laboon excitedly rubbed its scarred head against the iron plating of the hull, while Brook dropped onto the wood, wailing without a single thought for his image despite his lack of tear ducts.
Ace stepped off the boarding ramp onto the lighthouse pier, Chopper and Indigo marching directly behind his stride.
"Old man Crocus," Ace said, casually tossing a bottle of high-grade South Blue rum across the gap.
"You little terror," Crocus caught the glass smoothly, biting through the cork to take a heavy gulp. His weathered eyes scanned Ace's frame from his boots to his hair. "You've added massive density to your baseline... touching the boundary of a tier-one expert within such a narrow window."
"The steel has been an excellent guide," Ace remarked, tapping the hilt of the Supreme Grade blade resting at his sash. "But I didn't drop anchor to trade old sea stories today. I brought our medical department for an orientation."
Ace stepped aside, exposing the blue-nosed reindeer who was hiding nervously behind his coat.
"Chopper, this is the chief physician to the former Pirate King." Ace introduced the old man, his voice level. "He is the single authority whose clinical records regarding the volatile weather strains and unmapped plagues of the New World can override any text you filtered within the Torino library."
"The... the chief doctor of the Pirate King's brig?!"
Chopper's breath hitched, his small frame freezing before he dropped into a rigid, ninety-degree bow. "Dr. Crocus! It is an honor! My name is Tony Tony Chopper, running the medical division for the Eclipse Pirates! Please guide my diagnostics!"
Crocus paused, then let out a boisterous laugh as he looked down at the reindeer, whose round eyes were burning with an insatiable hunger for advanced clinical knowledge.
"Hahaha! A reindeer that has integrated the Human-Human Fruit? Ace, you've truly gathered a rare pack of monsters for your deck." Crocus set the bottle down, turning his boots toward the interior of the white tower. "Bring your ledgers inside, kid. It's about time I pass the succession of my journals to a hand that can handle the data. If you can digest these files, there won't be a single Plaque strain across the Grand Line that can stall your ship."
"Thank you, Dr. Crocus!" Chopper scrambled through the door, his hooves clicking against the stone.
While the medical department integrated the legacy of the old crew, the officers of the Eclipse maintained a relaxed baseline posture across the Twin Capes.
"Ace," Carina called out. She walked smoothly to the captain's side, a freshly decrypted ledger held tightly in her fingers, her purple eyes dark with a serious focus.
"An asset I established within an underworld broker network just intercepted a closed transmission between a pair of arms syndicates operating along the lower shipping lines." Carina lowered her tone, her eyes scanning the immediate waters. "The logs repeatedly highlight a specific coordinate: Asuka Island."
"Asuka Island?" Ace lifted an eyebrow.
"Correct. The intelligence logs it as a cursed sector. According to the local lore, once every hundred winters, beneath the alignment of a blood-red full moon, a terrifying demonic blade is cleared of its seal." Carina turned the page. "The weapon is registered as the Shichiseiken. The text states it was forged from pure soul-resentment and blood. The moment a common swordsman closes his fingers around the hilt, his consciousness is systematically overridden, turning his biology into a mindless slaughter engine. In exchange, the steel grants the user an unholy demonic flame and the capability to shear through any physical durability."
"Because the hundred-year awakening is approaching, a massive fleet of lawless crews has begun to concentrate within the sector's waters, all attempting to claim that cursed weight for their own decks."
Hearing the name Shichiseiken, a sharp, calculating light flared within Ace's dark pupils. As a transmigrator, his memory instantly isolated the baseline parameters of that specific demonic blade from the old records.
The weapon was an active well of pure soul-resentment. For a flesh-and-blood swordsman, that corruption was an absolute, terminal poison.
But for the skeletal musician currently standing on their deck—a man who possessed zero biological tissue and existed purely as an independent soul entity...
This weapon was structurally equivalent to a customized, ultimate gear deployment.
Ace turned his head, his gaze crossing the deck to find Brook, who was happily drawing his bow across the strings to execute a duet with Laboon that had been delayed for fifty winters.
"A cursed demon blade?" Ace's lips curved into a confident, arrogant smile.
"Carina. Sound the horn. Prepare the thrusters."
"Next coordinate: The Grand Line, Asuka Island."
"Let's go down and harvest a Shura blade that is truly fit to carry the title of the Soul King."
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