People are sailing and synthesize the devil fruit of phantom beast sp

Just as Sengoku was in total chaos, the communications department forwarded a video recording.

The projection lit up on the wall, displaying the full extent of Golden Lion Shiki's atrocity.

He had molded an entire island into a sphere with a single hand, crushing hundreds of thousands of lives in the process. The sheer brutality of it left Sengoku reeling with grief and fury.

When Shiki hurled the island into the ocean, it triggered a tsunami thousands of meters high—waves so monstrous they slammed into surrounding islands, devastating everything in their path. The number of casualties was impossible to count.

"Damn it… damn it all!" Sengoku's face turned pale green with rage. Things were spiraling completely out of control.

"Golden Lion Shiki… I didn't expect these ancient monsters to resurface one after another," said Xia, watching the video with a frosty smile. She showed no sign of being disturbed by the horror on-screen. Nak, too, looked on with apathy, his expression unreadable.

It was clear neither of them was even slightly alarmed by Shiki's reappearance.

"As planned—continue the war atop Marineford," Nak said, shaking a bottle of wine in his hand. "Now that the Golden Lion is here, we may as well wipe them all out in one fell swoop."

"This is madness," Sengoku retorted flatly. "You're seriously suggesting we draw Shiki into the battle too? We barely have a handle on Roger and Whitebeard, and now you want to bait another legend into the fray? Are you trying to get us all killed?"

"I said we need him," Nak growled.

Suddenly, he crushed the wine bottle in his hand. In the next instant, a terrifying wave of Conqueror's Haki burst out from him like a tsunami.

Sengoku's eyes widened in disbelief. "Conqueror's Haki…?"

Nak's presence had been so subdued up to this point—yet now he stood radiating an overwhelming aura. The sheer intensity of his Haki rivaled that of Whitebeard himself.

Shockwaves rippled throughout the base. Senior officers across the Navy Headquarters sensed it immediately.

Many vice admirals dropped to their knees under the pressure, unable to endure the force. Even Smoker staggered, clutching his head.

Fujitora, Aokiji, Tea Dolphin, and other top-tier admirals stormed into the marshal's office. Their eyes darted from Nak to Xia, startled that two complete strangers were radiating such powerful energy.

"Who the hell are they?" one marine whispered.

"They look like Celestial Dragons…" Kizaru muttered, instantly feeling the gravity of the situation. His warning silenced the room.

Xia sat cross-legged, her voice void of emotion. "Do you not kneel before Celestial Dragons? Are you planning to rebel?"

Everyone turned to Sengoku. After a moment of internal struggle, he gave a nod, confirming their identities.

"We're all admirals. We're not required to kneel," Kizaru replied calmly.

Generals and admirals were granted certain privileges—even the Celestial Dragons could not demand a kneel.

Xia acknowledged the strength of the gathered officers. Their auras confirmed they were indeed elite. She decided not to press the issue further.

"Prepare suitable accommodations for us," she said coldly. "And continue the war at the top. There will be no backing down."

Orders from the top echelons of the Celestial Dragons were absolute.

Nak stepped forward again, bottle still in hand. "Send word to the News Office. Tell Morgans to broadcast that Gol D. Roger has arrived at Marineford. Make it loud enough that Golden Lion Shiki hears it and comes straight here."

Faced with the might of the Celestial Dragons, Sengoku had no choice but to swallow his frustration. That same night, he relayed the order to Morgans.

Morgans initially hesitated—he didn't want to fabricate news of such magnitude. But once he learned the directive came directly from the Celestial Dragons, he dared not defy it.

He edited the headline and had the new edition published immediately, his hands tied.

Somewhere in the Grand Line...

A red-hulled ship was anchored at an uninhabited island. The air on board was heavy, tense.

Shanks held the newspaper in his hands, disbelief etched across his face.

"Captain, do you think this is legit?" asked Ben Beckman, the ship's vice-captain. He exhaled a puff of smoke as he held up a copy of the same paper.

The contents were baffling.

As a former member of Roger's crew, Shanks was one of the few who knew him best. Still, even he couldn't make sense of what he was reading.

The rest of the crew looked to him, hoping for answers.

But Shanks stood there silently, lost in memories. His mind was a whirlpool of emotion.

"I don't know if it's real or fake," he finally said, "but I'm going to that battlefield."

A dangerous light flickered in his eyes.

He owed Roger everything. Without him, there would be no Red-Haired Shanks. That debt of gratitude had never faded.

Now that Roger's son—Ace—was in danger, Shanks could not sit idly by. If this news was true and Roger really had returned, then there was no way he'd abandon Ace either.

The only way to learn the truth was to see it with his own eyes—on the battlefield.

Ben Beckman grinned, tapping the pistol on his belt. "Looks like it's time to get serious. Been a while since we flexed these muscles."

The rest of the crew grew visibly excited. They had all long wanted to see their captain's former leader—the legendary Pirate King.

Could he really have come back from the dead?

Just then, another News Coo swooped in and dropped a fresh newspaper at their feet.

"No way, that was fast," Yasopp muttered, scooping up the newspaper and tossing a coin into the air to pay for it.

He opened it mid-step, scanning the headlines. Major news always made the front page.

But just as he approached Shanks again, he froze in place.