Navy Morale at Rock Bottom

"Fleet Admiral, what... what should we do next?" Gion finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

Sengoku remained silent for a long time, so long that Gion thought he wouldn't answer.

"First, survive." Sengoku's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against sheet metal. "Go back alive, take stock of the casualties, collect the belongings of the fallen soldiers. Then—"

He paused, closed his eyes, and said, "Then start from scratch and rebuild the navy."

He instinctively wanted to say, "I will report to the Fleet Admiral Kong," but the words froze on his lips.

There is no longer Fleet Admiral Kong.

He paused for a moment, took off his glasses, and slowly rubbed his throbbing temples with his thumb and forefinger, his fingers trembling slightly.

When He pushed the door open and entered, Sengoku was still in that position with his hands supporting his forehead, and the tea on the table had long since gone cold.

She stood at the door for a few seconds without making a sound, simply gazing at her old friend's graying hair and slightly hunched shoulders, before gently placing the recently compiled casualty list under her arm on the corner of the table.

"The casualty figures are out." Her voice was deeper than usual, each word sounding as if carefully chosen before being uttered. "Seven lieutenant generals from Headquarters Vice Admiral were killed in action, and Onigumo was one of them."

More than 20 Rear Admiral were killed in action, and more than 17,000 elite naval officers and below were killed, accounting for nearly one-fifth of the forces assembled this time.

She paused, not continuing immediately.

Sengoku didn't look up, but she noticed his fingers, which were resting on the table, curl slightly.

"Marineford completely destroyed. The bay, the square, the fortress, the naval port—nothing is left. That ripple wiped out more than just the buildings; a large chunk of the foundation and seabed rock was sheared away. Reconstruction is impossible; a new site must be chosen."

He's voice was as steady as if she were giving a routine report, but Sengoku had known her for most of his life and could tell what was pressing beneath that calmness.

"The safety of trade routes Four Blues previously relied entirely on the deterrent power of headquarters. The Battle of Marineford showed the whole world how badly the navy was defeated."

Next, those pirate crews that were previously suppressed and dared not show their faces will swarm out like sharks smelling blood, and the kings of the Affiliated Nation will begin to weigh whether the World Government's protection is still worth the annual Heavenly Tribute they pay. Even more troublesome is—"

Her fingers traced the edge of the casualty list, making a very faint rustling sound.

"And the Revolutionary Army. Dragon has been waiting for this opportunity."

She sat down in the old chair opposite the Sengoku period-era one, without pouring tea, and placed her hands folded on her knees.

"Summon all officers." Her tone remained calm and composed. "Now that things have come to this, let's stabilize the situation first, then discuss other matters."

In the warship's conference room, the smoke was so thick that it was almost impossible to see the people on the other side.

It wasn't that someone was smoking; it was the lingering smell of gunpowder from the previous battle on everyone's clothes, mixed with disinfectant and the dried, rusty stench of blood, that just wouldn't dissipate.

A dozen or so people sat in silence.

Apart from the necessary seating arrangements and the rustling sound of flipping through injury and death reports, no one spoke.

Garp sat at the end of the long table, unusually not crossing his legs or closing his eyes to doze off. He simply rested his hands on his knees, hunched over, staring at an old scratch on the table that had appeared sometime during the day, lost in thought.

He really did his best.

Even if Whitebeard wasn't as strong as him, he wasn't far behind. He single-handedly held off Whitebeard at his peak for so long; no one else present could have done that.

As for the black-haired youth covered in wounds on the Execution Platform —that was his grandson, though not his biological son, but he had crawled all over his lap since he was little, and he couldn't bring himself to kill him.

No one could force him to personally press his grandson's head onto the Execution Platform.

For once, Akainu didn't retort. He sat across from him at the table, arms crossed, baseball cap pulled low over his shoulders. His usually cold and hard face beneath the cap showed no anger, only a heavy weariness.

He was naturally unhappy with Garp —at any time, he would have pointed his finger at Garp and berated him for lax discipline, blurring the lines between public and private matters, and trampling on the reputation of a naval hero.

But he couldn't say it today.

The person to be executed was Garp's grandson, whom he had raised for over a decade. The old man had already gritted his teeth and upheld the Navy's stance to the very end by merely holding Whitebeard back; how could anyone expect him to personally twist his grandson's head off?

Akainu believes in Absolute Justice, but justice does not equate to inhumanity.

He thought that Garp could at most remain neutral—that was the limit he could imagine.

Instead of standing idly by, the old man personally stepped in to fend off the most troublesome enemy for the navy.

For that reason alone, he doesn't want to utter a single word of abuse today.

Sengoku sat at the head of the table, with the list of casualties that He Gang had just handed him laid out in front of him.

He didn't flip through it; the numbers had already been read to him word by word before he entered the room, each number like a nail driven into his brain.

He raised his head, his gaze slowly sweeping over each face on either side of the long table—faces that were either somber, blank, or empty.

"The statistics are in. Seven Headquarters Vice Admiral, more than twenty Rear Admiral were killed, and more than 17,000 elite naval personnel of the rank of colonel and below were killed. The Commander-in-Chief of the Army, Navy, and Air Force, Steel Bone Kong, was killed in action."

His voice was rough and weary, as if it had been sanded down. "Marineford is beyond rebuilding; a new location must be chosen for the Marine Headquarters."

Starting today, the Marine Headquarters is on high alert.

All troop deployments in the New World, defense configurations of the Four Blues branches, and cooperation agreements with the Shichibukai were reassessed and adjusted item by item.

He paused, looked around, and said, "The war is not over yet. We have lost a battle, but we have not lost the whole sea."

No one answered, but no one refuted it either.

A long silence followed in the meeting room.

He placed the casualty list on the corner of the table; no one bothered to look at it. The numbers were already etched into everyone's minds. The sea breeze outside the window made the military flag on the bridge flutter loudly, the sound coming through the thick bulkheads, sounding muffled and distant.

Sengoku raised his hand to rub his throbbing temples, shifting the topic from casualties to a more practical issue— the Marine Headquarters was gone, and they needed to find another place to rebuild it.

Doberman spoke first.

He stood up and drew a circle on the nautical chart next to the original site of Marineford. His voice was dry but still steady. "My suggestion is to choose a site nearby, close to the original site."

We've studied the ocean currents, shipping lanes, and defensive depth around Marineford for decades; moving to a new location means starting from scratch. Besides—"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the familiar faces present. "The remains of the fallen soldiers haven't all been recovered yet, and their families are waiting for us to give them an explanation. Headquarters has moved too far, making even memorial services a problem. The Navy can't let people think that we just packed up and ran away after a defeat."