The New World, deep within the Whitebeard Pirates' territory.
The enormous Moby Dick sailed across the vast, rolling sea like a moving castle.
A lively, cheerful atmosphere filled the deck. The crew drank, sang, and arm-wrestled, their uproar never letting up.
Whitebeard sat like a mountain in the specially made chair at the center of the deck, his left hand gripping a barrel of liquor that would have looked enormous to an ordinary person.
Yet in his giant hand, that barrel looked like nothing more than an ordinary wine cup.
He took a hearty swig and let out his signature "Gurararara" laugh, making the very air vibrate.
He watched his sons roughhousing around him like family, his eyes filled with affection and contentment.
The warmth and joy of being surrounded by family were what he had sought all his life, and the foundation of the Whitebeard Pirates.
But before his laughter had faded, Whitebeard's expression abruptly froze!
His smiling eyes suddenly sharpened, like those of a lion that had spotted its prey, and snapped toward the bow of the Moby Dick!
Nearby, Marco held a cup of liquor. Curious at the sudden change in Pops' expression, he followed his gaze.
The air at the Moby Dick's bow rippled violently like water!
The next instant, a figure appeared out of thin air without warning!
The newcomer was tall, dressed in a simple black shirt, with Black Blade: Eight Desolations, wrapped in Gray-White Bandage, hanging at his waist.
It was Gern!!
He stood quietly at the bow, as though he had been there all along.
His cold gaze swept over everyone frozen on the deck, a suffocating pressure radiating from him.
For a moment, the clamorous Moby Dick fell into deathly silence!
All laughter and chatter stopped abruptly, making the sound of