A terrified Morgans: appear before my lord within three days!

The first time, the Night Owl Guard raised his hand and snapped his neck.

He could feel the sound of his cervical spine dislocating, the dizziness of his vision spinning, and his consciousness being instantly extinguished as if a switch had been turned off.

Then he stood on the gray-white ground again, and the Night Owl Guard was still standing in front of him.

Before he could even catch his breath, the second time came.

This time, something pierced his chest. He looked down and saw a hole in his chest, blood gushing out, warm and sticky. Then he died again.

The third time, the fourth time, and the fifth time.

He died faster and more frequently: stabbed, burned, struck by lightning, fell, suffocated, crushed.

Each way of dying was different, and each way of dying caused him excruciating pain that made his whole body convulse.

He couldn't count how many times he had died; he only knew that after each death, he would stand again in that grayish-white place, with the expressionless Night Owl Guard standing before him.

By the seventieth or so, he had stopped struggling.

He lay on the ground, watching his blood flow from his body, spreading a dark red stain on the gray-white ground, waiting for the Night Owl Guard to come and end this round.

Then the Genjutsu dissipated.

He stood on the deck of the airship once more.

The sea breeze was still blowing, the manuscript paper was still swirling on the ground, and the seagull was still perched on the fence, tilting its head to watch him.

Nothing has changed, except for himself.

His legs went weak, his knees buckled, and he almost knelt down. He managed to stand by holding onto a wooden crate next to him.

His feathers were completely soaked, and cold sweat seeped out layer by layer from under the feathers on his forehead, streaming down his cheeks.

His chest was still heaving violently, each breath feeling like he was being pulled out of his chest.

His eyes were red-rimmed, bloodshot, and everything he saw appeared blurry and double-image.

He looked up.

The Night Owl Guard was still standing on the fence.

He didn't leave.

He looked at Morgans, his gaze and tone still flat.

Three days.

Then he disappeared.

He didn't jump, he didn't walk away, he just vanished into thin air.

Only a few trampling marks remained on the fence.

Morgans stood there for a long time.

His legs were shaking, and he tried to take a step twice, but couldn't manage it.

The third time, he gritted his teeth and took a step forward, holding onto the wooden crate, and slowly made his way to the edge of the deck.

He sat down against the gunwale, his back against the wooden plank, looking up at the gray-blue sky.

Those eyes were still in his mind.

It was scarlet, with Tomoe patterns, and it turned quietly.

He closed his eyes, but those eyes were still there.

He opened his eyes; he was still there.

Those eyes are etched into his mind; he'll probably never forget them for the rest of his life.

He sat for a while, then got up and staggered toward the airship's storage compartment.

He needs to pack his things.

He only had three days.

It takes a day and a half to fly from here to Mary Geoise; he can't delay, or he might miss it.

As he stuffed things into the storage compartment, he wondered what would happen to the people at the newspaper, whether to publish the news or not, and whether they would die if they did.

He stopped thinking about it halfway through because he realized he couldn't make any other decisions.

My mind was completely occupied with only one thing: getting to Mary Geoise within three days. Nothing else could fill my head.

He finished packing his things and sat down at the door of the storage compartment, catching his breath.

The seagull flew over, perched at his feet, and tilted its head to look at him.

He looked at the seagull and suddenly smiled.

That smile was uglier than a cry.

"Don't post those photos you took," he said in a hoarse voice.

On the coast of a kingdom in the North Blue, traces of the recent battle still remain on the deck of the Moby Dick.

There was a fresh knife mark on the hull, and several pieces of scrap iron were embedded in the gaps in the deck. Several crew members were washing away the bloodstains with buckets of water.

Whitebeard stood at the bow of the ship, with Murakumogiri lying beside him, his Conqueror's Haki surging around him in concentric circles, never receding.

He remained vigilant. Although the global sense of urgency had subsided, who could guarantee there wouldn't be a second wave? The children on the ship were all there; he had to stay and watch over them.

A figure landed on the sail barre almost silently, then jumped down; the greyish-white uniform stood out in the Dusk.

When Whitebeard saw that uniform, his grip on Murakumogiri loosened slightly.

"Has Natsu Yin succeeded?"

The visitor nodded.

"Yes, Grandpa Newgate. My name is Uchiha Yan. I'm here on Lord Uchiha Yan Natsu's orders, leading the 17th Night Owl Guard squad to assist you in clearing out the remaining forces in the North Blue. The rest of the team should arrive in the North Blue in about three days."

Whitebeard paused for a moment, then grinned.

"Gurarararar! I never thought you guys would actually do it. Five years ago on Origin Island, Natsu said that this day would come eventually, but I never expected it to be so soon."

"Natsu Yin said that this sea is just the beginning," Yan said calmly. "The journey of the Uchiha Clan will not stop here."

The Whitebeard stopped laughing. He looked down at Yan for a moment.

Is this your hometown?

Yan's expression flickered slightly, but quickly returned to normal.

"Yes. Once this sea stabilizes, Lord Natsu Yin will begin preparations for his return to the Ninja World."

Whitebeard didn't ask any more questions. He nodded.

"If you need anything from me, just let me know. After all, thanks to that kid Vallen's potion treatment, I feel like my body has returned to how it was when I was fifty! Glug glug glug!"

"Don't worry, Grandpa Newgate." Yan smiled faintly, but genuinely. "Lord Natsu said that your Whitebeard Pirates are recognized as family by our Uchiha Clan."

There was a moment of silence on the deck.

Marco was standing on the ship's railing, kneading a ball of blue flame in his hand, when he heard these words, he stopped.

He turned his head, glanced at Yan, and a gentle smile appeared on his lips.

Jozu was wiping his Diamond arm when his hand froze in mid-air, and he grinned.

Vista leaned against the mast, the two swords at his waist clinking together with a crisp, clear sound.

The Division Commander exchanged glances, none of them speaking, but the Kakuzu turned up slightly.

The Whitebeard stared at Yan for several breaths.

Then he threw his head back and laughed.

The laughter was so loud that the cables on the mast shook, and even several seabirds on the distant sea were startled and flew away.

"Gulalalalala! Family! Good! What a wonderful family!"

After he finished laughing, he looked down at Yan, his gaze much gentler than before.