The Gates of Justice slowly opened; passing through the Gates of Justice leads to Marineford.
The Marine Headquarters resembles a crescent moon lying flat on the sea, with a cluster of moon-white stone buildings arranged along its arc, the tallest main building facing the harbor.
In front of the main building is a crescent-shaped naval port, where dozens of warships are moored, their masts standing tall.
Behind the naval port were several flanking fortresses, with gun emplacements peeking out from between the battlements, their dark cannon muzzles visible.
There are training grounds on both sides of the main building. On the left side, new recruits are practicing marching, their commands and footsteps striking the ground in unison. On the right side, several officers are practicing swordsmanship, the sound of their bamboo swords clashing against each other crisp and clear.
Further away are the naval family quarters and logistics warehouses, where smoke from the mess hall is rising and being dispersed by the sea breeze.
The entire fortress is only three colors: the moon white of the stone, the deep blue of the roof, and the dark green of the sea reflected on the foundation.
The combination of these three colors makes Marineford like a building and more like a rock that has been eroded by the sea for millions of years—hard, cold, and immovable.
Damian's warship slowly docked.
The gangway was lowered, and he stepped onto the cobblestone path of Marineford, his boot making a crisp sound on the polished stone surface.
Marines coming and going at the port saw the two gold stars on his shoulder insignia and immediately stood at attention and saluted in perfect unison.
Damian returned the salute without stopping.
He took the patrol report from his adjutant, tucked it under his left arm, and walked along the main road toward the main building of headquarters.
The main building's columns were tall and densely packed, each requiring two people to encircle it. The names of naval Admiral throughout history were engraved on the columns, some of which had been blurred by the sea wind. He walked through the shadows cast by the columns and pushed open the oak doors of the main building.
The corridor was long, with oil portraits of past Admiral hanging on the walls on both sides.
The faces in the portraits span over a century, from the rigid old-fashioned military uniforms to the modern stand-up collar military uniforms.
Damian turned left at the end of the corridor and went up to the third floor. The corridor was much quieter here, and the floor was waxed so that you could see your reflection.
Admiral White Bird's office is located at the very back of the third floor.
He stopped in front of the door, took off his military cap and tucked it under his arm, then raised his hand and knocked three times.
"Come in."
Damian pushed open the door and entered.
The room was very simple, with no tapestries or trophies on display. On the wall was a huge sea chart, marking all the known islands and naval bases along the Grand Line, with numerous red pins indicating the coordinates of recent pirate sightings.
The desk was placed by the window, with several stacks of documents piled up to about half a person's height on it, and a brass desk lamp on the corner.
Admiral White Bird sat behind his desk.
He was almost fifty years old, but looked only thirty-four or thirty-five. His black hair was neatly combed, with not a single gray hair at his temples. He had no beard, and his skin was extremely well-maintained. His facial features were clean and sharp, as if they had been carved stroke by stroke with a sculptor's knife. Gold-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and behind the lenses, his eyes were looking at a document, his gaze calm and focused.
The term "scholar-general" seems to have been created specifically for him.
He was wearing a white suit vest, with the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his thin but muscular forearms.
A cup of tea sat on the table, still steaming.
The only thing in the entire office that resembled a "Admiral's office" was the painting of "Justice" hanging on the wall behind his chair.
Damian stood at attention, right fist pressed against his chest, a standard military salute.
"General Shiratori, Uchiha Damian has returned to port. The patrol report has been completed. Please review it."
White Bird raised her head, pushed up her gold-rimmed glasses, and the lenses reflected light.
He gestured for Damian to sit down, took the patrol report, and began reading it page by page.
He reads very quickly, occasionally pausing on a line to write a few words in the margin with his Fountain Pen.
After reading the last page, he closed the report and placed it on the stack of "read" documents on the corner of the table. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.
"Thank you for your hard work, Damian."
The White Bird's call was not loud; it could be heard clearly in the quiet room.
"A mission of seventy-four million Vaughn's size wouldn't normally require the Vice Admiral's involvement."
He paused, his gaze passing over Damian's shoulder and landing on the densely packed red thumbtacks on the nautical chart on the wall.
There's so much red that some areas are completely covered by pins, obscuring the original colors of the nautical chart.
"But as you know, ever since Rocks established his pirate crew on Hachinosu, this sea has never been peaceful."
"Seventy-five ships, fourteen ports, five cities, one country—this isn't a pirate crew, this is a natural disaster."
"The number of people following suit and setting sail is countless. Even the veteran pirates in the New World who were previously restrained are now being stirred up by Rocks' momentum."
White Bird's tone remained steady, but there was a weariness in that steady tone, as if he had been trapped by a storm at sea for too long.
"Everyone outside says it's the era of Rocks now."
He put his glasses back on, picked up the teacup on the table, took a sip, and didn't notice that the tea had gone cold.
"The navy is currently facing a severe shortage of personnel. The number of Vice Admiral is already small, and the available forces are stretched thin. The training cycle for new recruits cannot keep up, and the speed at which troops are transferred from headquarters to support the branches can never keep up with the speed at which pirates emerge."
"Your presence here is important to the Navy."
Damian understood White Bird's unspoken message.
White Bird says "Thank you for your hard work," it's not just a polite remark; she genuinely means it.
The navy needs people who can shoulder heavy responsibilities, and White Bird knew that Damian could, so he shared some of the burden with him.
"The Rocks Pirates' activities are currently mainly concentrated in the New World, posing no direct threat to the East Blue and West Blue for the time being. However, given their current rate of expansion, it's only a matter of time before they affect the first half of the Grand Line."
Damian's voice was calm and steady, "I will continue to track Rocks's movements and push the battle lines to places they don't want to fight before the situation escalates."
Damian said something polite, and White Bird could tell it was just a polite remark.
In Marineford, polite words have their place.
It represents your stance, your attitude, and which side you stand on.
Rocks hasn't affected the Uchiha yet, Damian can now appropriately represent justice.
White Bird nodded, a faint smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.
The subtext is: We're all sensible people, no need to say too much.
"Alright, that's enough business."
White Bird placed the teacup back on the table, leaned back in his chair, and shifted his posture from office work to conversation. "There's something else I wanted to talk to you about."
He bent down and took a wooden box from the bottom right drawer of his desk.
The wooden box was small, small enough to be held in both hands, and made of some kind of dark brown hardwood. The edges were bound with brass, and the lock was engraved with the emblem of the World Government.
White Bird placed the wooden box on the table, put one hand on the lid, and pushed it towards the table.
Damian didn't take it immediately; he looked at the wooden box.
The White Bird unlocked the door, revealing a wooden box lined with deep red velvet, with a fruit lying quietly in the center of the cushion.
The fruit is shaped like an enlarged Buddha's hand, with its surface covered in deep spirals, as if it had been carved out piece by piece with a fine knife.
A faint glimmer of light flows beneath the fruit peel, from the stem to the bottom of the fruit, and then back to the stem, repeating the cycle endlessly.
The entire fruit emitted a pale golden halo, so faint that you could just make out its outline even in the shadows.
It's Devil Fruit.
Damian stared at the fruit, the pale golden light from the wooden box reflecting in his dark pupils, pulsating.
"The Human-Human Fruit, Mythical Zoan, Buddha Form, sent by the World Government. It grants the user the power of a Buddha, transforming their physical body into Buddha Form, and possessing a shockwave capable of shattering everything."
He pushed the wooden crate further towards Damian. "The government always sends Devil Fruit one by one, and each one has to go through layers of approval. I think you can tell the quality of this fruit just by looking at it."
Damian understood.
Mythical Zoan, the pinnacle of Zoan Devil Fruit, even rarer than Logia.