The mysterious organization that had suddenly joined the war midway through displayed terrifying power, especially its chairman, Good!
Facing a combined assault from numerous powerful fighters, he had actually held his own for a time and inflicted irreparable damage on Marine Headquarters.
Several days later, in the New World.
Sphinx Island, Whitebeard's hometown.
Despite several days of treatment, Ace ultimately failed to hold on. Surrounded by the division commanders, he died with a smile and was buried beside Whitebeard on the cliff.
Good placed flowers before the gravestones.
Marco was despondent.
"Good, if it weren't for you, we probably would've all died at Marine Headquarters. We wouldn't have recovered Pops' body, either. And then there's the matter of Blackbeard. I really don't know how to thank you."
"There's no need to thank me."
Good turned to look down below.
The pirates were all covered in wounds, their eyes dull and lifeless. With morale this low, they clearly wouldn't get far.
"Marco, you should think about the Whitebeard Pirates' future."
"..."
Marco remained silent.
He knew better than anyone that without Pops, it wouldn't be long before their territory was engulfed in bloodshed.
Even with them still alive, they couldn't deter the ravenous pirates.
The Whitebeard Pirates now existed in name only.
Looking at his dispirited companions, Marco didn't know what to do, either. Captains like Whitey Bay were one thing; they had lives of their own.
But what about them?
Was he supposed to take over as captain?
Marco sighed. He had no desire to do that, nor did he think he could lead the Whitebeard Pirates well.
Besides, he felt exhausted.
At this moment, all he wanted was to go home and be with his wife and child.
"Marco."
Looking at the village below the mountain, Good asked calmly,