Sengoku's face took on a thoughtful expression.
Clearly, Leo had not been kind enough to return Kizaru, one of the Navy's absolute mainstays, on the eve of war.
Just as Leo's judgment of him had been accurate, his judgment of Leo was equally precise. This was a battle between two wise men who both understood each other's goals and methods perfectly.
Both Leo and Sengoku had prepared for the final battle, and once the war machine began to move, it would not stop because of one or two people's orders.
What was more, neither of the two men capable of stopping this massive war machine wanted to hit the brakes. Both were stepping on the gas, harder and harder, as though the machine itself were roaring, "Advance through the pass!" and charging forward without pause.
Sengoku had prepared himself to face Donquixote, but had Leo not done the same?
Sengoku absolutely did not believe Leo would stop the war.
As for exchanging prisoners, that was even more ridiculous. He would never agree to it. The moment he did, the Navy's pretext for going to war with the Revolutionary Army would vanish completely. Whether in terms of righteousness or accountability to the public, the Navy would no longer have any reason to fight.
What was more, the Revolutionary Army promoted the idea that everyone mattered. That alone struck at the Navy's foundation. If the Navy truly acknowledged it, pirates would surely seize Navy officers or ordinary soldiers next time and use them for extortion.
No, ordinary pirates might not have the means to publicize it and let the whole world see the Navy's embarrassing state, but the Revolutionary Army certainly did, and they certainly would not let such an opportunity slip away.
So not only could Sengoku not follow Leo in