About another half a year passed.
The situation on the Blue Sea still resembled a pot of thick soup set over a roaring fire, bubbling and churning.
On the surface, bubbles large and small rose and burst one after another, while the flames beneath continued to burn fiercely.
After the Flying Pirates suffered devastating losses in the Battle of Aides, Shiki spent nearly half a year reclaiming, one by one, the outlying islands Charlotte Linlin and Xiong had seized.
Things were quiet on Whitebeard's side. His name rarely even appeared in the newspapers.
But beneath that quiet lay an ever greater weight: more and more neutral islands came to him seeking protection.
The Whitebeard Pirates' territories stretched from the northern New World all the way to its southwestern reaches, forming a loose but stable belt of influence.
While these visible powers rose and fell, the Roger Pirates' ship finally emerged from the fog of its long disappearance.
After the Battle of Aides, the Oro Jackson had plunged like a startled deep-sea fish into the most remote currents of the New World, drifting there for over half a year.
Afterward, Roger, who had learned a few secrets, began to act. "So that legend is true."
Rayleigh nodded.
The Oro Jackson's course was no longer as carefree as before. At every island where they docked, Roger began asking about the same thing—the Road Poneglyphs.
Very few people on the seas knew of them, and fewer still knew where they were. It took Roger months to pry a lead out of an old information broker who had spent decades in the Underworld.
The old broker said that four red Road Poneglyphs were scattered across the world. To reach one of them, they would have to cross the Red Line, pass through the Calm