The Marines Sense Something Amiss

The sun set in the west, golden afterglow spreading across Origin Island's coastline.

Standing atop the highest watchtower, Natsu looked down at the orderly clan grounds, the figures working in the fields, and his clansmen sweating in the training yard. His fingertips lightly brushed the cold railing, a sharp glint flashing through his eyes.

After a year of lying low, the Uchiha's roots had firmly taken hold in these seas.

And now, it was time to turn their gaze beyond Origin Island, toward the broader West Blue and even the more distant New World.

West Blue, Marine Branch 74.

The colonel's office on the top floor had long since lost its usual tidiness. Crumpled discarded documents littered the floor, cigarette butts overflowed from the ashtray on the desk, and with the windows tightly shut, the choking stench of smoke was almost impossible to disperse.

Rolf slumped in his leather chair, his eye sockets sunken and heavy dark circles hanging beneath his eyes. His once meticulously combed blond hair was a mess against his forehead. He clenched a newly delivered report in his hand so tightly that his knuckles had turned deathly pale.

The words on the report stabbed at his eyes—the "Steel Fang" Pirate Crew, carrying a bounty of 12 million Beli, along with three fully armed pirate ships, had completely vanished from their regular route west of Laskamp Island for over forty-eight hours.

The patrol teams he had dispatched had searched the entire sea. They found neither wreckage nor corpses—not even a splintered plank or a bloodstained scrap of canvas.

It was as though those ships had never existed on these seas at all.

"Damn it!"

Rolf slammed the report onto the desk, sending scattered documents rustling onto the floor.

He irritably raked a hand through his hair, then pulled out another cigarette and lit it. The choking smoke filled his lungs, yet it could not suppress the terror surging within him.

These disappearances, where neither the living nor the dead could be found, had continued for an entire year.

At first, it had only been a handful of small pirate crews with bounties of a few million Beli going missing. Rolf had not cared in the slightest.

Pirates ran rampant in the West Blue to begin with. Gunfights and pirates preying on pirates were commonplace. If those scum died, it only made his life easier.

But gradually, things spiraled completely out of control.

More and more ships vanished. It was no longer just small pirate crews; even dangerous groups with bounties in the tens of millions disappeared one after another without a trace.

Eventually, even the slave ships that had colluded with the branch for years and paid their annual tributes on time began vanishing one by one, unable to send out even a complete distress signal.

At first, he had insisted it was the work of Marshall D. Teach, the man who had betrayed Whitebeard.

After all, that madman had recently caused a massive commotion in the West Blue. He was ruthless and immensely powerful; only someone like him could silently erase an entire pirate crew.

But not long after, Blackbeard led his men into the Grand Line. Yet the disappearances in these waters not only failed to stop—they grew worse and worse.

He had also suspected turf wars between West Blue mob bosses, covert activity by the Revolutionary Army, and even personnel from other branches crossing boundaries to steal credit.

But for an entire year, the men he dispatched had turned the surrounding seas upside down without uncovering a single useful clue.

Every vanished ship shared the same eerie trait—their last known locations were all concentrated in the uninhabited waters around Laskamp Island. There were no witnesses, no survivors, no signs of battle. Everything was so clean, as if someone had simply erased them directly from the map with an eraser.

What truly crushed him was what had happened half a month ago.

He had dispatched two elite patrol teams, aboard two standard Marine patrol ships. An experienced major led them, along with full crews of Marines, specifically to patrol and stand guard in the waters where disappearances were frequent.

The moment the ships set sail, they vanished without a trace. They had not even managed to send a single emergency encrypted Den Den Mushi distress signal.

Two entire patrol ships and over a hundred Marines, just gone.

From that day onward, the last shred of luck in Rolf's heart was completely shattered.

He knew perfectly well that anyone capable of silently wiping out fully armed Marine patrol ships and intercepting every distress signal was far beyond what a mere West Blue branch colonel like him could handle.

What left him even more overwhelmed was the pressure coming from every direction.

With disappearances happening so often, the merchant fleets that once traveled this route no longer dared to put to sea. The wealthy merchants and nobles of Laskamp Island besieged the branch entrance every day, jointly submitting complaints all the way to Marine Headquarters.

Over the past year, Headquarters had already sent three letters of inquiry, each more severe in tone than the last. If he kept suppressing the matter, he would not merely lose his rank as colonel—he would face a court-martial.

"Knock, knock, knock—"

Urgent knocking sounded again. A messenger pushed open the door, his face even uglier than Rolf's. "Report, Colonel! The Laskamp Island Joint Chamber of Commerce has sent notice. If we fail to resolve the disappearances along the route within half a month, all of their merchant fleets will collectively reroute and completely avoid our jurisdiction!"

The cigarette in Rolf's hand trembled, ash falling onto his uniform.

He knew all too well what that meant.

If the merchant fleets collectively changed course, there was no way he could meet the annual tax revenue and route management fee quotas set by Headquarters.

When that happened, even if the unknown force never showed itself, Headquarters would never let him off.

He slumped in his chair, staring at the densely packed disappearance reports covering his desk and the rolling gray sea beyond the window. The last bit of confidence he had been forcing himself to maintain vanished completely.

If he kept hiding it, he would be walking straight into a dead end.

After more than ten minutes of silence, Rolf finally moved.

He bent down and pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, taking out an encrypted Den Den Mushi bearing the Marine Headquarters emblem, along with a stack of request-for-aid forms marked with Headquarters' official insignia.

He picked up a pen. His fingertips trembled uncontrollably as he took a deep drag of smoke, then finally put pen to paper.

He clearly documented every disappearance that had occurred within his jurisdiction over the past year, from pirate ships to slave ships and then the missing Marine patrol teams. He specifically listed the number of missing vessels and the scope of the waters involved, solemnly stating that a highly dangerous unknown force with strange methods and undetermined strength had appeared in the jurisdiction, one that the branch's existing forces were wholly incapable of handling. He formally requested that Marine Headquarters immediately dispatch elite officers to lead a team to Marine Branch 74 in the West Blue and assist in investigating the matter.

After writing the final word, he set down his pen and pressed the dialing button on the encrypted Den Den Mushi.

Listening to the monotonous beeping from the Den Den Mushi, Rolf leaned back in his chair and exhaled a long stream of smoke. His eyes held nothing but exhaustion and helplessness.

He did not know whom Headquarters would send, nor did he know what kind of force that unknown power hidden within the vast sea truly was.

He only knew that the West Blue, peaceful for decades, would likely be thrown into complete chaos from the moment he pressed that dialing button.