Red Line.
Crimson cliffs rose straight from the seabed, climbing vertically and piercing the clouds.
On the side of the continent near the entrance to Reverse Mountain, there was an inconspicuous protrusion.
A layer of rock happened to extend horizontally for over ten meters, forming a foothold of no more than twenty or thirty square meters.
At that moment, two people stood atop this sheer cliff, a place beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.
They wore impeccably tailored white formal suits and pointed top hats, spotless from head to toe.
One of them stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on several tiny black dots moving slowly in the distance.
"It seems the target's route deviated from our projections," the tall, thin man said.
"They did not encounter Zephyr's fleet."
"Isn't that perfectly normal?" the other man replied.
He stood somewhat casually, both hands tucked into his pockets.
"The waters around the entrance to the Grand Line are so vast. Zephyr's main target was not this group either. It is normal for them to miss each other."
The tall, thin man—Gerlo—tilted his head slightly.
"How much have you confirmed?"
"You have been following them since White Shell Town for several days. How much have you learned?"
"We have basically obtained all relevant information on that Lunarians."
"Bloodline purity remains undetermined. His traits are obvious. He consumed a Zoan-type, Mythical Zoan fruit—Phoenix Model."
"His martial arts and Haki are undeveloped. He relies on his fruit and racial gifts in combat. Threat assessment: medium-high."
"What about those around him?"
"We investigated them as well." The man paused. "Their destination is most likely Whiskey Peak, after which they will enter the Grand Line."
Gerlo nodded. Beneath the brim of his white hat, his lips curled into a faint smile.
"Then all we need to do is make preparations at Whiskey Peak and wait quietly for the target to walk into our net."
"You are a hundred percent certain?" the man with his hands in his pockets asked.
"Of course."
"A Lunarians who relies on his fruit and has poor combat instincts, along with a fledgling group that has only just taken shape..."
"They have no chance against me."
He turned his head and added, "However, Saint Saturn recently assigned me an additional task."
"Oh?"
"Besides killing that Lunarians and recovering his Lineage Factor..."
"We are also to capture the Buccaneer Tribe child, Bartholomew Kuma, alive. His Lineage Factor has special value for the Pacifista project."
The man with his hands in his pockets whistled.
"Capture him alive..."
"No wonder you specifically asked me to join this mission."
"That is right. I called you here precisely for this." Gerlo finally turned fully around and looked at Fera beside him.
Fera smiled and pulled his hands from his pockets.
"Then I will leave the fighting to you. I will only be catching people."
He turned and walked directly toward the vertical cliff face.
Just before his body collided with the rock.
Fera melded into the Red Line's rock wall as effortlessly as if he were stepping into water, vanishing without a trace.
Only Gerlo remained where he stood.
He raised his head and looked toward the sky.
A cloud was drifting toward his position at an unnatural speed.
Gerlo's figure flashed.
The cloud swallowed him, then floated toward Whiskey Peak.
Quest for Knowledge.
Middle deck cabin.
This was Stockton's small laboratory and library.
An exquisite brass orrery stood in the center of the room.
The planetary orbits slowly revolved under the pull of its gears.
"Whoa—!" Ivankov gaped.
"This thing is amazing! Do the stars really move like this?"
"Be careful..." Ginny watched them nervously. "It would be terrible if you broke it, right?"
"It is fine, Miss Ginny."
Stockton smiled as he leaned against the doorframe, holding a cup of hot tea.
"I opened this room for your use because most of what is inside consists of replicas or teaching tools that are not easily damaged."
"I stored the genuine ancient books and precision instruments elsewhere."
After two days together, the people from both ships had grown considerably more familiar with one another.
Lin Nuo and the others had gradually realized that Stockton and his sailors were truly just a group of scholars and explorers who loved the sea, history, and nature.
Their guard slowly lowered, and an atmosphere of friendship began to form.
Only the five merchant ships that had been traveling alongside them while maintaining a distance of several hundred meters still showed no intention of drawing close or communicating.
Leaning against a bookshelf on the other side of the room, Lin Nuo watched the distant silhouettes of those ships trailing behind them and found it rather amusing.
It was his first time encountering a socially anxious fleet in this world. It was quite novel.
"Stockton." Lin Nuo withdrew his gaze and walked over to the table. "I have always been curious..."
"Why is the Red Line's rock so vastly different from land everywhere else in the world?"
"And with the Grand Line's chaotic magnetic fields, what does a Log Pose rely on to lock onto the magnetism of the next island?"
He fired off several questions in one breath.
Stockton set down his teacup, and his eyes lit up behind his lenses.
"Excellent questions! Analysis of the Red Line's geological composition has always been a difficult problem in geology."
"The current mainstream view is that it was the result of some kind of violent global geological activity in ancient times..."
"As for the Grand Line's magnetic fields."
"One hypothesis suggests that this planet once stopped rotating, causing the magnetic poles around the world to reverse..."
"And the Red Line was land flung together during that period of halted rotation."
"Still, that idea is rather bold. Just take it as something to consider."
Lin Nuo listened intently.
The other man had many bold yet sensible speculations, from which he gained a great deal.
When the questions and answers came to a pause, Stockton picked up his teacup but did not drink.
He looked cautiously at Lin Nuo.
"Mr. Lin Nuo, you have been the one asking questions these past two days."
"In exchange, may I... presumptuously ask one as well?"
Stockton lowered his voice.
"Sure. Go ahead."
"I have always felt... that the wings on your back are not decorations."
"They are real wings..."
"Could you be... one of the legendary God's Tribe?"
Before you continue