The frozen surface of Marineford’s crescent bay continued to collapse, cracks splitting wider by the second.

Crack… crack…

The sound alone was enough to make one’s scalp prickle.

Both Marines and pirates abandoned their fights, rushing desperately toward the shore.

Among them were many Devil Fruit users—if they fell into the sea, there would be no way to swim to safety.

The massive, lumbering Pacifistas toppled into the water as well, nearly all of them lost at once.

Some larger chunks of ice broke free but still floated on the surface, uneven in size, forming cages like octagonal arenas. They penned Marines and pirates together, as though demanding they slaughter each other to the bitter end.

Vice Admiral Strawberry, who had been fighting under Admiral Akainu against Whitebeard himself, had just been forced back by Marco and the other commanders of the Whitebeard Pirates.

But everyone sensed it—Whitebeard could not last much longer.

His chest was pierced near the heart, the left side of his forehead was torn away to the point his brain was visible.

That he still lived, that he could move, that he could wield blade, Haki, and Devil Fruit power—this was what stunned Strawberry most.

This is no longer human.

But even as he was marveling at the indomitable will of “the Strongest Man in the World,” the ice beneath him fractured without warning.

Caught between fissures, Strawberry leapt high into the air.

He kicked off in Moonwalk, batting aside stray bullets with his twin swords, before finally landing safely back on solid ground.

“What is happening here…?”

Stroking his long beard, Strawberry listened to the screams of those who sank helplessly into the waves, his narrow eyes opening slightly in concern.

What was Admiral Aokiji doing? Why was his ice breaking apart?

But Kuzan’s figure was nowhere to be seen. Even his Observation Haki detected nothing.

Could it be…? A bad premonition rose in his chest.

At that moment, a soldier recognized him—the tall hat perched on his head like a chef’s toque made him unmistakable.

The soldier stumbled over, saluted hastily, and shouted:

“Vice Admiral Strawberry, sir!”

Strawberry gave a brief nod, then looked back over the sea.

He noticed that not only Marines but also pirates were running toward the shore. His eyes hardened.

“Prepare the cannons!”

“But sir, some of our men are still—”

“Execute the order!”

The soldier hesitated, then obeyed with a clipped, “Yes, sir!”

Moments later, cannon fire erupted in succession.

Explosions lit the bay, the bombardment aimed at pirates but inevitably tearing through Marines as well. The ice fractured faster under the impacts.

Strawberry’s expression never changed, neither sorrowful nor joyful, as he observed the chaos. Then—among the fleeing masses—one figure stood apart.

A black-haired beauty. Barefoot upon the ice, wielding a bloodstained spiked club at odds with her delicate appearance, a white hat hanging at her waist.

She advanced with unhurried grace, skating across the surface.

“Alvida of the Iron Mace,” Strawberry murmured, “pirate of the Davy Jones crew.”

He had noticed the arrival of the Black Ship, had felt the surge of Jones’ Conqueror’s Haki. From his memory, he recalled their wanted posters in full detail.

This woman—bounty 125 million berries—he remembered well.

Female pirates with bounties over 100 million were rare indeed.

If not for the war’s focus on Whitebeard’s crew, Strawberry would already have moved against Jones’ men to prevent them from festering into a greater threat.

But now, the time was right.

“Target that woman!” he ordered, voice sharp.

“Yes, Vice Admiral Strawberry!” the gunners barked in reply.

Strawberry stepped forward, reversing his twin blades, their edges pointed downward. He slashed in a motion like the jaws of a sabertooth closing shut, releasing a storm of cutting wind that tore toward Alvida.

She heard the shriek in the air, looked up, and instinctively swung her mace. The winds dispersed in a clash of force.

“Who dares ambush me?!” she snapped.

But that brief pause proved costly.

A cannonball landed at her feet.

Boom! Fire and smoke erupted skyward, the ice beneath her exploding into a vast crater. Anyone nearby who slipped would plunge directly into the sea.

Alvida’s form vanished in the blast.

“Devil Fruit users are powerless in the ocean. Nothing to fear,” Strawberry said flatly, not even bothering to check her fate.

Instead, his gaze turned toward the true center of Marineford.

Neither the storm, nor the shattered ice, nor any other calamity could shift the spotlight away from him.

Whitebeard.

The dying titan now stood alone, balanced atop the largest surviving ice floe.

By fortune of the collapse, there were no more allies to guard him, no Marines close enough to press him.

At last, he had a chance to breathe, to gather himself.

This upheaval—all of it—was the work of the Davy Jones Pirates.

Whitebeard had hoped for salvation from Luffy’s breakout force from Impel Down. Yet the true disruption came from this other crew.

Others might not have realized it, but Whitebeard knew. The sea’s rebellion had been born from Jones’ power.

It was Jones’ Conqueror’s Haki that halted Ace’s execution.

At first, Whitebeard hadn’t understood his aim. But when he saw Rayleigh and Buggy—pieces moved onto the board—he understood.

Reinforcements. Allies shifting the tide back to our side.

But their methods were indiscriminate, and many of his own men had suffered in the chaos.

Whitebeard did not care. He knew Akainu would return, knew his own battered body was already a burden to his sons.

Now was not the time to quibble about means. No one could save everyone.

What mattered was that Ace had been freed. His last mission was clear.

With a thunderous roar, Whitebeard bellowed to the sky, his voice crashing louder than the storm.

All eyes turned to him, horror etched on their faces.

He still has strength left?!

Without pause, the Tremor-Tremor Man swung his colossal fist.

The quake tore toward Marineford’s buildings, streets, and harbor.

The world shuddered. The letters “MARINE” cracked and fell from the Headquarters’ facade.

Breaths across the battlefield froze.

Whitebeard turned then, shouting to his sons—the survivors of his crew—commanding them to take Ace and withdraw.

As for himself—he would stay. He would hold back the enemy, absorb the fury of Marineford.

As long as the Whitebeard Pirates lived on with Ace, he could die without regret.

“Yes, Whitebeard… there’s no other way for you,” Strawberry muttered, stroking his beard. “You’ll remain behind… and die under our siege.”

It was as the Fleet Admiral had predicted.

But Sengoku had warned them: a dying Whitebeard was the most dangerous of all.

Now he was a madman with nothing left to lose—willing to do anything to protect his children.

That quake just now proved Sengoku’s foresight true.

“I should regroup with Admiral Akainu,” Strawberry decided, stepping forward—

—only to halt as the cannon fire abruptly ceased.

Puzzled, he turned back.

The gunners by the shoreline lay sprawled in blood, every last one cut down.

Standing among their corpses was a white-haired, red-skinned six-armed fishman.

“Hachi the Octopus.”

“Eh? Who called me?”

Dripping wet from the sea, Hachi blinked, confused, then noticed Strawberry.

He froze, staring at the Vice Admiral’s tall hat for a long moment.

“Bounty: 90 million berries. Former member of the Sun Pirates. Now of the Davy Jones crew,” Strawberry recited coldly from memory.

“The Sun Pirates… I haven’t heard that name in years.”

Hachi’s eyes widened. “Ah! I remember now! It was you… it was you!”

His mind reeled back to that day. Fisher Tiger escorting a freed human slave home—betrayed, ambushed by Marines.

And the man leading them had been this very officer, Strawberry—then only a Rear Admiral.

“So the remnants of the Sun Pirates remember me after all.” Strawberry raised his twin blades and charged. “But I have no memory of you. Were you simply too weak to notice?”

Fisher Tiger’s death was a scar carved into Hachi’s soul.

Seeing his killer now, his eyes burned crimson.

His six swords ignited, glowing red-hot, and he hurled himself at Strawberry.

Their clash rang out, steel clashing in a storm.

But Strawberry’s Haki made him stronger. Blow by blow, Hachi was forced backward.

“You have some strength. But nothing that matters,” Strawberry sneered.

Feigning an opening, he baited Hachi forward.

One blade caught Hachi’s strike, while the other plunged into his exposed abdomen, twisting deep.

Hachi cried out in agony, staggering back as blood spattered across the ice.

But then—the Seal of Contract burned faintly. The bleeding stopped, the wound closing slowly before Strawberry’s eyes.

The Vice Admiral frowned, glancing at his sword in disbelief.

“My blade pierced you cleanly. How can this be? Even a fishman’s body couldn’t stop the blood so quickly…”

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