Whitebeard could barely stand anymore.
His body swayed, Murakumogiri braced against the ground as blood continuously dripped from his cheeks, chest, and arms.
Every breath felt like it was tearing apart that body, which had long since reached its limit.
But when he saw Jozu fall, when he saw Haruta blasted into the deck—
When he saw Izo, Fossa, Atmos, and the others being brutally punched through by Bullet alone as they fought to carve out a path of retreat for him—
For the first time, Whitebeard did not roar. He merely fell silent.
Those bloodshot eyes watched as his children collapsed one after another before the Moby Dick.
It weighed heavily on him, as though the entire sea rested upon his shoulders.
Marco desperately pressed Blue Flames against his wounds, his voice choked with tears.
"Pops!"
"Don't move!"
"Please, don't move anymore!"
Whitebeard lowered his head and glanced at him.
"Marco..."
His voice was soft, yet it made Marco's whole body tremble.
"Get the children onto the ship."
Marco's eyes instantly turned red.
"Pops!"
"Your body has already—"
Whitebeard suddenly smiled.
"Gurararara..."
His laughter was low and hoarse.
Yet that boldness was still Whitebeard's.
Still the man who had stood at the pinnacle of the old era, called Pops by countless people.
"I am Whitebeard!"
He slowly raised his head and looked toward the children fallen before the Moby Dick.
There was no hesitation in his eyes, only resolve.
"How could a father ever let his sons die in front of him—?!!"
The moment his words fell, Whitebeard suddenly stepped forward.
"Boom!"
The ground beneath his feet shattered.
That enormous body, seemingly on the verge of death, erupted once more with a suffocating pressure.
"Pops!"
Whitebeard did not turn back.
He raised his bloodstained fist as the remnants of