While Buggy, Kuro, Law, and Hachi were hauling Moria’s treasure chest after chest onto the Terror Ghost, Perona was packing her own belongings, while Alvida, Mikita, and Porche busied themselves with other tasks.

The Terror Ghost had smashed through Thriller Bark’s giant maw-like gate, sailed past its dark waters, and now moored against the island ship’s shoreline.

When Davy Jones personally led a strike force into the mast mansion, the Terror Ghost had been assailed by hordes of zombies.

But between the ship’s own firepower and the defense mounted by Mikita and Porche, none of the attackers returned alive.

Now, the two women were dragging the corpses of zombies to the side, stacking them into a grisly mound to be burned. Among the heap was even one of the first captives—Hildon, the human-faced bat.

Moria had stolen Hildon’s shadow, then released it, sending it back to its original body. The result: Hilton reverted into a lifeless bat, unmoving and cold.

Before long, the corpse-mound went up in roaring flames. Thick black smoke spiraled skyward like an accusatory finger. The stench was so vile that the women covered their noses and withdrew.

Davy Jones stood at the rail, both hands resting on the gunwale. His cold, gray-blue eyes fixed silently on the distant inferno.

Footsteps approached from behind. Without turning his head or relying on Haki, Davy Jones already knew who it was—Crocodile.

He remembered the gait of everyone aboard.

And so did the Terror Ghost.

“Crocodile,” Davy Jones said evenly. “About what Bartholomew Kuma mentioned—that the Whitebeard Pirates and Marine Headquarters may soon clash in an all-out war… How credible do you think that is?”

Crocodile’s gaze flicked toward the captain’s back. He understood that Jones was treating him as one of his strategists. His own past made him especially suited to answer.

After all, he had ties to both potential combatants.

Once, Crocodile had suffered defeat at Whitebeard’s hands. Later, he had been one of the Shichibukai, aligned—at least nominally—with the Marines. He knew both sides well.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he paused, running his fingers along the edge of his golden hook before finally speaking.

“At first, I didn’t believe Newgate would be foolish enough to launch such a suicidal attack. He has no way to win. Even if he somehow stormed Marineford and freed Ace, Kaido and Big Mom would seize the opportunity to carve away most of his territory.”

“At that point, with heavy losses to his crew and his domains in enemy hands, every one of Whitebeard’s old enemies would come knocking. He’d drown in endless troubles. No… such a move makes no sense.”

“But Kuma’s words gave me pause. He claimed the Whitebeard Pirates are already mustering. And knowing Kuma, he doesn’t tell frivolous lies—even to an enemy.”

“In truth, Fleet Admiral Sengoku is cunning. I suspect much of the ‘intelligence’ about Ace’s execution and Whitebeard’s supposed mobilization has been deliberately leaked. Sengoku wants the rumor itself to corner Newgate—forcing his hand.”

“If Whitebeard abandons Ace, his decades-old reputation for honor and loyalty collapses. Kozuki Oden’s fate would be dredged up again, and his bond with his men would fracture. But if he does move to save Ace, then either he’s destroyed at Marineford, or his territory is devoured by the other Yonko.”

“No matter which path he takes, from the moment Ace fell into Marine custody, Newgate was already doomed.”

Crocodile’s analysis was merciless, his tone laced with grudging respect for Sengoku’s ruthless strategy.

Davy Jones asked again:

“Why doesn’t Whitebeard form an alliance with the other Yonko? They’re all pirates. Shouldn’t the Marines be their common enemy?”

Crocodile shook his head.

“Not a chance. The others would welcome a war between Whitebeard and the Marines. They could reap the spoils from the sidelines.”

“If they allied with him in a frontal assault, every ounce of credit and glory would fall to Whitebeard, the most renowned of them all. None of the others would play second fiddle like that.”

Even his old shipmates Kaido and Big Mom wouldn’t stoop to such a role. And as for Shanks—despite his decent relationship with Newgate—he wouldn’t risk his crew either.

Jones’s facial tendrils twitched, like thoughts stirring in the depths.

“I recall you once lost to Whitebeard. Surely you’d want to side with the Marines, crush him, and take your revenge?”

Indeed, Crocodile yearned for vengeance. But as a schemer, he reined in his personal grudges, and instead spoke with cold calculation.

“Intervening directly in the Whitebeard–Marine war is pointless—unless we gain something tangible. What we should do is seize Whitebeard’s territories while he bleeds.”

“Kaido and Big Mom, gluttonous as they are, can’t swallow it all. Inevitably, some islands will remain. When the Whitebeard Pirates lie broken and bloodied, that’s when the feast begins for the New World.”

“…You’ve left out the last of the Yonko,” Jones noted.

Crocodile hesitated, but finally spoke his mind.

“Red-Haired Shanks is… an anomaly. You can’t judge him by normal logic. His bond with Newgate runs deep. I doubt he’ll throw himself into the slaughter. More likely, he’ll block Kaido and Big Mom under the guise of guarding Whitebeard’s rear. In doing so, he earns their goodwill—then later, quietly inherits their remnants.”

Jones studied him.

“So you’re rather pessimistic about Whitebeard’s future.”

“No matter what he does, he loses much,” Crocodile replied. “It’s only a matter of what price he chooses to pay.”

“Then according to your vision,” Jones pressed, “if we move to seize his territory, what should we strike first?”

This time, Crocodile did not hesitate.

“Fish-Man Island, of course. It’s right before us. From there, we radiate our influence across the New World.”

Jones had already intended to go there, but still asked:

“What’s so special about Fish-Man Island?”

Crocodile straightened, raising his golden hook with a knowing smile.

“Fish-Man Island and Reverse Mountain are the twin chokepoints of the Grand Line. Controlling either means strangling the flow of countless ships. The profits are enormous. And Fish-Man Island has the added advantage of geography: ten thousand meters beneath the sea, easily defended, nearly impossible to assault.”

“Throughout history, there have been times when relations between the World Government and Ryugu Kingdom soured to the brink of war. Yet no matter what, the Government never managed to conquer Fish-Man Island. The price was too high—and even if taken, it couldn’t be held. Discrimination against fish-men and merfolk only deepens the problem.”

“Whitebeard claimed the island as his territory for many reasons. But two were decisive. First, the Great Pirate Era unleashed by Gol D. Roger left Fish-Man Island ravaged by raiders, desperate for a powerful protector to restore order. Second, Newgate had a personal bond with King Neptune of Ryugu. The king once aided him, and so trusted him more than any other.”

Jones tilted his head.

“Then why do you think we can hold Fish-Man Island?”

Crocodile glanced at the captain’s face. He couldn’t speak bluntly, so he cloaked his words.

“Because you are chosen by destiny. Fish-Man Island will bow to you. To vie for supremacy in the New World, we need a foothold—and there is no better candidate than Fish-Man Island.”

Jones gave no clear reaction, leaving Crocodile uncertain of his thoughts.

“Since both Fish-Man Island and Reverse Mountain are so critical,” Jones continued, “why hasn’t the World Government stationed a Marine base there, or forged a true alliance with Ryugu?”

Crocodile shook his head.

“Arrogance, perhaps. The Celestial Dragons dwell atop the Red Line, in the Holy Land of Mary Geoise. They wallow in decadent luxury, untouched by the sea. Since no tide ever reaches their lofty perch, they’ve never feared the dangers below. Why should they care about chokepoints that don’t touch their world?”

Fish-Man Island was nearly impregnable. But then again—so was Mary Geoise.

Miracles like Fisher Tiger breaching it were exceedingly rare. And even he hadn’t been able to penetrate its depths; else he never would have left alive.

By now, Alvida and the others had finished burning the zombie corpses and returned to the ship with Buggy’s group, who had finished clearing out Moria’s treasure.

They chattered noisily, speculating on how much the hoard was worth. They had even asked Perona, but without an accountant aboard, she couldn’t give them an answer.

As the gray horizon began to blush faintly with dawn, the Terror Ghost swung its prow seaward.

“Captain, where are we heading now?” Alvida called, holding down her white hat before the wind snatched it away.

Jones answered calmly:

“Down into the depths. We sail for Fish-Man Island.”

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