One Piece : Brotherhood-Chapter 568

Marineford, Grand Line

The first toll of the bell split the night like a scream.

GONG!

The deep, resonant chime rolled across Marineford, echoing through every corridor, every courtyard, and every heart within the fortress of justice. A second toll followed—louder, heavier—as crimson light bled into the sky.

Then came the third. By the time it faded, the entire base was already in chaos. The once-pristine skyline of Marineford was marred by a rising inferno. One of the administrative buildings—the Records Department—was engulfed in flames, its upper floors collapsing under the heat. Embers danced through the night like angry fireflies, painting the marble walls in shades of gold and blood.

Marines rushed in from every direction—officers shouting orders, boots pounding against the stone as the clang of alarm bells joined the tolling of the great bronze bell above the central tower. Buckets of seawater were passed hand to hand, dials and hoses activated, yet the flames seemed alive, refusing to die.

"Get the emergency squads! Move it!" a vice admiral barked, his voice barely cutting through the chaos.

Smoke coiled into the heavens, staining the moon like ink on parchment. The heat was suffocating, and every gust of wind sent another wave of sparks showering across the courtyard.

"Evacuate the records below the main archive! Save what you can!"

Dozens of marines stumbled out of the burning structure, their white coats charred black, clutching armfuls of half-burnt files. Some fell to their knees, coughing through the haze, as the flames devoured decades of history—classified reports, mission logs, and ancient secrets long buried beneath bureaucratic dust.

And through it all, the bell kept tolling.

GONG... GONG... GONG...

Each toll felt like a heartbeat—slow, deliberate, and ominous. Soldiers and officers appeared one after another, their expressions grim, the glow of the fire reflecting off their medals and eyes alike. For a fortress that symbolized order, the chaos was jarring, almost sacrilegious. The air itself seemed to tremble with unease, as if the world’s strongest military institution was holding its breath.

The night that began in peace shattered with the repeated toll of the great bell.

GONG! GONG! GONG!

Its deep, dreadful resonance rolled through Marineford like thunder across a battlefield. By the third toll, every window in the fortress of justice glowed red. The Records Department was an inferno—the roar of the flames drowning even the cries of the soldiers trapped within.

And then—

"WHAT HAPPENED!? Why haven’t you put out the fire yet!?"

The voice of the Fleet Admiral tore through the chaos like a cannon blast. Sengoku, dressed in his sleeping robes, hair unkempt and face twisted in fury, stormed through the smoke-filled courtyard. Around him, marines scrambled to form fire lines and rescue teams.

"Fleet Admiral!" a soot-covered captain saluted between coughs, his uniform half burned. "We don’t know how it started, sir—the fire just erupted out of nowhere! If not for Admiral Raylene being nearby, the entire department would’ve collapsed with everyone still inside!"

Sengoku’s gaze turned toward the inferno—and sure enough, within the wall of fire, he saw her.

Admiral Raylene moved through the flames like a phantom of light, her coat trailing behind her as she carried limp bodies four at a time. Each step she took seemed guided by unseen eyes, her presence cutting through the chaos. Every marine she passed was pulled to safety, scorched but alive. Her aura burned brighter than the fire itself—a storm of will and conviction.

"Good... at least most of them made it out," Sengoku muttered, his tone sharp but layered with relief. The records could burn. Paper could be rewritten. Lives could not.

He stretched out his senses, his observation haki flooding across Marineford like a tidal wave. Instantly, the world around him became clear—he felt every heartbeat, every tremor, every flicker of panic. But amidst the chaos, many presences caught his attention. Many marines were still inside the immediate danger zone, and the inferno showed no signs of calming down.

"Damn it..." Sengoku hissed, scanning the burning complex as his thoughts raced. "Kuzan would’ve put this out in seconds, but he’s halfway across the New World... Ginshimo’s here, but he can’t risk cutting through the structure with marines still trapped..."

There was no time left to think as the inferno was spiraling out of control. Sengoku closed his eyes. The ground beneath his feet trembled. A golden aura began to leak from his form—gentle at first, like sunlight breaking dawn—then surged, roaring into brilliance.

The marines nearby turned as the air itself began to quake. And then—

BOOM!

A shockwave erupted outward as Sengoku’s body expanded—his frame exploding into divine light. His form grew monumental, his skin turning into radiant gold, his calm features reshaped into those of the legendary Daibutsu.

But this was no ordinary transformation. This was awakening.

The Golden Buddha towered above Marineford’s central plaza—nearly as tall as the fortress itself. His once simple robes now blazed with dozens of golden sashes that unfurled behind him like celestial wings, radiating warmth and power. But it was his arms that left every witness breathless—dozens, no—hundreds of radiant arms unfurled behind him, moving in perfect, godlike synchrony.

Each hand shimmered with golden haki, forming halos that crackled with energy. The sheer pressure of his presence rippled through the air, causing the clouds above Marineford to scatter like frightened doves. Marines froze where they stood. Even the flames seemed to recoil before the might of the awakened Buddha.

Vice Admirals stopped mid-command. Rear admirals looked up, their jaws slack. None of them—not even the oldest veterans themselves—had ever witnessed Sengoku unleash this form.

"Th-that’s..." a young officer whispered.

"The Fleet Admiral’s true power..."

Sengoku brought his palms together, his deep voice resonating like the toll of the great bell itself—calm, yet commanding, filled with the authority of decades spent standing against the world’s worst monsters.

"—Golden Avatar: Thousand-Arm Benediction!"

The thousand arms moved as one. A boom shattered the night as shockwaves erupted from every palm—haki-coated blasts slamming into the inferno from all directions. The flames twisted violently, ripped apart by invisible force, crushed beneath waves of sheer willpower.

Each impact created a sound like thunder breaking the sea—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The inferno that had threatened to consume Marineford was pushed back, collapsing inward as if bowing before a god. Marines shielded their faces as a storm of golden light and shattered fire swirled across the plaza. The pressure was immense, yet warm—like standing before the sun itself.

And then, as suddenly as it began, silence fell. The fire was gone. The building, though scorched, still stood. And in the courtyard’s center, the Awakened Buddha slowly lowered his arms, golden light dimming, leaving behind a wave of awe so thick it was almost reverent.

Every marine fell silent. Even the air seemed afraid to move.

When Sengoku finally returned to his human form, his golden aura flickered once before vanishing completely. His chest rose and fell steadily—his eyes sharp, calm, and unshaken. He glanced toward Admiral Ginshimo, who stood at the edge of the wreckage, carrying the last of the injured officers out of the smoke. Their eyes met—one silent nod passing between them.

The heat of the dying inferno still clung to the air, thick with smoke and ash. Marines rushed about, shouting orders and dragging the injured to safety, their boots splashing through puddles of water and soot. The bell had long since gone silent, but the tension it heralded still vibrated through every heartbeat in Marineford.

As the chaos subsided, Admiral Raylene emerged from the wreckage, her white coat scorched and streaked with soot. Her silver eyes, sharp as a predator’s, scanned the scene with restless precision. In her arms, she carried two unconscious marines, setting them down gently before signaling the medics.

"Raylene!" Sengoku’s voice carried the weight of command, cutting through the din like a blade. He strode toward her, his aura still humming faintly from the divine power he had unleashed moments ago. "What happened in there?"

Raylene didn’t answer immediately—her feline senses were still heightened, her ears twitching faintly as she listened to the smallest vibrations within the wreckage. Her haki spread outward like a wave, brushing against every flicker of life within Marineford’s walls. Only when she was certain no one remained trapped did she turn to him.

"Fleet Admiral..." she began, her tone grave, her eyes hard as tempered steel. "This wasn’t an accident."

The words made Sengoku’s expression darken instantly.

"This was arson. Someone deliberately set fire to the Records Room. If I hadn’t been there browsing through the archives, the entire department would’ve been lost. The fire spread too quickly—it was fueled by something volatile. Whoever did this... knew exactly what they were doing."

Her gaze flicked toward the smoldering ruins, then back to Sengoku. "They’re still here. Whoever it was—they couldn’t have gotten far. My kenbunshoku haki hasn’t sensed anyone fleeing the island."

Admiral Ginshimo landed beside them with a soft thud, his coat whipping around him as he relayed orders.

"All available medics to the injured! Secure the perimeter! No one leaves the island without authorization from the Fleet Admiral himself! Salvage what you can from the wreck—every document, even if it’s half-burned!"

"Yes, Taisho...!" the nearby officers responded, springing into motion.

Raylene nodded faintly to the older Admiral’s efficiency, then turned back to Sengoku. Her voice dropped low. "Whoever did this wasn’t looking to destroy Marineford. They wanted something gone. Something specific."

Sengoku didn’t respond right away. His sharp eyes were already scanning the faces around him—officers, lieutenants, medics, even a few Cipher Pol agents masquerading as record keepers. His mind raced silently.

Arson within the heart of Marineford. Inside the Records Department. The one building that held every classified report since the formation of the World Government—mission logs, bounty authorizations, covert communications... and truths never meant to see daylight.

His jaw tightened. No outsider could have reached this far. This wasn’t a mere intruder. It was someone inside.

"Raylene," Sengoku finally said, his voice a low rumble beneath the chaos, "keep your observation Haki active at all times; I want you to patrol the surroundings of Marineford tonight. Report any anomaly, no matter how small."

"Yes, Fleet Admiral." She bowed slightly, her eyes glowing faintly with haki as she turned back toward the wreckage. As she moved off, Sengoku’s gaze hardened. He was the picture of calm to anyone watching—but behind his eyes, his mind was already dissecting possibilities.

He knew this pattern. The precision. The timing. The restraint—no mass casualties, only information destroyed. This was no act of vengeance or terror. It was surgical.

World Government fingerprints... all over it.

His eyes swept across the higher-ranking marines gathered in the courtyard—Vice Admirals, department heads, intelligence officers—faces illuminated by the flicker of dying firelight. Among them, he could feel it: the faint, oily presence of deceit.

Black sheep in white coats.

He had suspected it for years, that the World Government had planted their shadows among the ranks of the Marines. Agents who answered not to Justice, but to the Celestial Dragons and their hidden agenda.

****

Foosha Village, East Blue

The sun hung low over Foosha Village’s horizon, spilling gold and orange across the gentle sea. Waves lapped lazily against the sand, and the cries of seagulls mingled with the laughter of four children who, to anyone watching, looked like the happiest kids in the world.

On the warm, sun-soaked beach, a small group was at war.

"No fair, Ace! You’re cheating again!" shouted Uta, her high-pitched voice wobbling dangerously close to tears. Her tiny red pigtails bounced as she stomped her foot in the sand, clutching a wooden stick she had snatched from the shore like a sword.

"I can’t be cheating if I can’t see!" Ace shot back, his grin wide despite the ragged strip of cloth tied over his eyes. His spiky hair was damp with sweat, and his bare feet danced lightly across the sand as he twisted and hopped, effortlessly dodging every clumsy strike.

Every time Luffy swung his stick with all his might, he either hit nothing but air or fell face-first into the sand. His round face was smeared with dirt and sea salt, but the boy’s spirit refused to die.

"ACE...stop moving—uh—WHACK!" he yelled, lunging blindly again. The stick missed Ace by a good two feet, and he went tumbling, eating sand and laughing through it. From the sidelines, Sabo, wearing his little top hat that kept slipping over his eyes, was acting as referee, coach, and prankster all in one.

"Come on, Luffy! You can do it! He’s right in front of you! No, not that way, dummy—OUCH!" he yelped as Luffy, following his "advice," accidentally swung at him instead.

Ace burst out laughing so hard he nearly dropped his blindfold. "That’s for lying, Sabo!"

Uta puffed her cheeks, clearly furious that the two older boys were treating this like a joke. She planted her feet in the sand, tears glinting in her big eyes. "You guys are mean! I’ll tell Shanks you made me cry!"

That made both Ace and Sabo freeze for a second—the threat of Red-Haired Shanks’ wrath was no small thing, even to little brats with too much courage. Then Sabo grinned devilishly. "C’mon, Uta-chan! You’re the song princess, right? Use your voice attack!"

"Huh?" she blinked, confused.

"Yeah!" Ace chimed in, playing along. "Scare me with your big scary devil’s voice!"

Uta’s lower lip trembled. Then, taking the suggestion far too literally, she puffed up her chest, clenched her fists, and screamed.

It wasn’t a normal scream—it was an earth-shattering, ear-splitting shriek that sent a flock of seagulls bursting from the trees and Sabo sprawling backward in the sand clutching his ears. Even Ace, despite his observation haki, winced and stumbled, his blindfold slipping halfway down.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Ace yelled, laughing through the ringing in his ears.

"My attack!" Uta yelled proudly, though her tiny fists trembled with effort. "Now you’ll never tease me again!"

Luffy, recovering from his last tumble, blinked up at her in awe. "Wow... Uta, that was awesome! Can you teach me how to do that?!"

"NO, YOU CAN’T!" Sabo and Ace said at once.

But before they could catch their breath, Luffy was already swinging again—determined, wild, covered in sand, his grin wide and bright. He charged Ace head-on, stick raised high. Ace, still half-blindfolded, smirked and tilted his head slightly. His budding Observation Haki flared faintly—he could feel the vibrations in the air, the rhythm of his little brother’s heart pounding with effort and joy.

At the last second, he sidestepped smoothly.

Thwack!

Luffy hit nothing but the sand—and the stick snapped clean in half. He froze, eyes wide in shock. Sabo and Uta burst out laughing. Ace finally tore off his blindfold, grinning down at Luffy. "You done, dummy?"

Luffy spat out sand, his cheeks puffing up. "One day, I’ll hit you! You’ll see! I’ll train and eat meat and— and— I’ll punch you right in the face!"

Ace ruffled his hair affectionately, laughing. "Then I better get stronger too, huh?"

"Yeah!" Luffy declared proudly, even though he could barely stand straight.

Sabo shook his head, chuckling. "You two are hopeless... Come on, before Makino-san finds us and makes us clean the whole tavern again."

The four of them—Ace, Sabo, Uta, and Luffy—tumbled into the sand together, the waves brushing at their toes. Laughter filled the air again, bright and unrestrained, echoing across the sea.

The sea breeze whispered through the palm fronds, carrying with it the sound of laughter and the crash of tiny waves against the shore. Under the cool shade of a cluster of palms, three men sat watching the scene unfold before them — four little children playing in the sand, their voices bright and carefree.

A bottle of sake rested half-empty beside them, its neck gleaming in the orange hue of the setting sun.

"Haahh... look at them go," Shanks murmured, a faint smile curling beneath his stubble as he leaned back against the tree trunk, one knee bent, eyes following the blur of motion where Ace, blindfolded, was dodging attacks from Luffy and Uta. The older boy moved with a calm that didn’t belong to a six-year-old — he felt every step, every breath, as though the wind itself whispered his opponents’ movements into his ear.

"Oi, Benn," Shanks said, his tone halfway between awe and amusement, "how old do you think those kids are? Five? Six? And they’re already using Observation Haki like that..."

There was genuine wonder in his voice — the kind of respect only one conqueror could hold for another in the making.

Across from him, Benn Beckman exhaled a long stream of smoke from his cigarette, his sharp gray eyes reflecting the golden light. "Maybe a year or two older than Uta," he said, tone low and thoughtful. "But you’re right... that’s not just instinct. They’re trained. Someone’s been teaching them how to listen to the world."

The weight in his words hung between them for a moment as they both turned back toward the beach.

"Think the Marine Hero had a hand in it?" Benn asked finally, breaking the silence. "Wouldn’t be surprising if Garp’s got his grandkids running through Haki drills before they can even write their names."

Shanks chuckled softly, eyes narrowing in amusement. "Wouldn’t put it past him."

Then, more quietly, almost to himself, he added, "Still... even for Garp’s bloodline, this is something else. Observation Haki at that level—at that age?" He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Those boys are monsters in the making."

A loud snore interrupted his thoughts. Buggy, sitting cross-legged beside them with his red nose tilted toward the fading sunlight, was holding an old, wrinkled treasure map upside down — completely oblivious to the conversation, his tongue poking out in concentration.

"...If I just turn it this way, the ’X’ marks the spot...!" Buggy muttered, squinting, before glancing at Shanks and Benn. "Oi, what’re you two gawking at? Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental over a bunch of snot-nosed brats!"

"Shhh," Shanks said, waving a lazy hand, his grin widening. "You’ll scare them, Buggy. Besides, you of all people should appreciate natural-born talent."

Buggy frowned, offended. "What’s that supposed to mean?!"

But neither Shanks nor Beckman answered — their attention had drifted back to the beach.

There, Ace was still blindfolded, effortlessly dodging every strike from Uta and Luffy, his small body swaying in perfect rhythm with the sound of the waves. Each motion was fluid, deliberate — as if his heart beat in tune with the world around him. Beside him, Sabo’s sharp, calculating gaze followed every movement, his posture calm and focused — the perfect balance to Ace’s instinctive grace.

Beckman flicked his cigarette into the sand, watching the two boys in silence for a long moment. "You know," he said finally, "if those two ever find their way to sea... the world might just find itself another pair of legends."

Shanks didn’t answer right away. His eyes softened — not with worry, but with the quiet understanding of a man who had seen how the sea chose its heirs. "Aye," he said at last, his tone low and certain. "And when they do... the world better be ready."

"Maybe we should try and recruit them..." Benn Beckman mused dryly, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he watched Ace and Sabo chase the smaller two toward the tavern in the distance.

"Recruit them?" Shanks turned his head, raising a brow in mock disbelief. "You really want me to be hunted across every sea by a furious old man with a fist like a cannonball?"

Before Beckman could respond, a loud sputtering noise came from beside them.

"Recruit them?!" Buggy nearly choked on his drink, the tattered treasure map fluttering from his hand as he sat bolt upright. His eyes bulged, and his nose—already red—seemed to glow brighter in panic. "Are you crazy?! That’s Garp’s brat you’re talking about! The Garp! You wanna get us smashed into seagull food?!"

Shanks couldn’t help but laugh at Buggy’s dramatics, but even through his chuckles, he nodded in agreement. "Buggy’s right... as much as it pains me to admit it. We can’t afford to be hunted by the Marine Hero again. Trust me, Benn—once you’re on his radar, you’ll be seeing your life flash before your eyes every morning. That man’s obsessed."

Beckman chuckled, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the dusk. "I’ll take your word for it. You sound like you’re speaking from experience."

Shanks tilted his head back and groaned with exaggerated pain. "Because I am! You’ve never seen a monster like that, Benn. I swear, I still get nightmares about that old man’s punches."

Buggy snorted, muttering something about "trauma disguised as comedy," before leaning forward again to reclaim his treasure map.

Beckman, however, had noticed something in Shanks’s tone — not just admiration for the kids, but a faint pull of something deeper, almost nostalgic. "Still..." he said, watching the children vanish into the distance, "...you seem to be paying special attention to the freckled one. He’s got spirit, sure, but I’ve never seen you look at a kid like that before. He reminds you of someone?"

For a moment, Shanks didn’t answer. His gaze followed the little boy with the messy black hair and freckles, who was tugging the younger one along the beach, laughing as though the world had never known sorrow. That same bright, fiery grin that seemed to mock the heavens themselves...

"Maybe," Shanks murmured. "But I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like I know him somehow — or maybe, it’s the way he feels. Like he’s carrying someone else’s fire inside him."

There was a flicker of silence, broken only by the sea breeze and the distant echo of children’s laughter.

Then Buggy, still half-sober, leaned lazily against Shanks’s shoulder, squinting to get a better look at the retreating figures. "Heh," he said with a tipsy grin, his words slurred but clear enough, "If you ask me... that freckled brat kinda reminds me of Captain."

Shanks froze. The easy laughter that had been on his lips vanished in an instant. His eyes widened ever so slightly, the weight of Buggy’s casual remark crashing into him like a thunderclap.

Beckman didn’t notice it right away, too busy smirking at Buggy’s nonsense. "Right, because every bold kid reminds you of Roger," he said dryly.

But Shanks wasn’t listening. His breath caught as his mind began racing — fragments of memory flooding back all at once. The warm laughter of a man with a straw hat, which he now carried, and a will too large for the world to contain. The night at Loguetown, when Roger had smiled before his execution.

And then... Agatha-san. That quiet woman on Dawn Island, years ago. The woman who had that same faint smile — the same unyielding eyes.

"No way..." Shanks whispered, the words barely audible. His chest tightened, his pulse quickened, the realization cut through him like lightning.

The pieces — scattered fragments that had never quite fit — now fell into place with perfect, terrible clarity. The timing. The island they were on. The boy’s age. The interest his friend Rosinante showed towards Garp’s grandson.

"That boy..." Shanks muttered, his eyes still wide as they tracked the freckled child sprinting across the sand. "He’s not Garp’s grandson... he’s Roger’s son."

The world seemed to still for a moment — the waves slowing, the wind dying. Even the laughter of the children felt distant. Buggy blinked up at him, confused. "Eh? What’re you mumbling about now, Shanks? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

But Shanks said nothing. His gaze softened, full of awe and sorrow and pride all at once. That fire in the boy’s smile — it was unmistakable now. The same defiant spark that had once stood atop the seas and changed the world.