Chapter 401: The Pirates' Counterattack
The final bombardment unleashed by the Rockefeller Pirates left the world in complete shock.
With just one salvo, over ten thousand elite Marines perished on the spot.
They had only fired two volleys—
The first strike: Over 10,000 Marines killed instantly, and half an island obliterated.
The second strike, even though Garp and Sengoku combined their efforts to block most of it, still resulted in more than ten battleships being heavily damaged—rendered inoperable.
Everyone was left asking the same question:
"What kind of cannon was that?"
How could a single shot hold such terrifying power?
On the Navy's side, despair hung in the air like a stormcloud.
They had never suffered such a catastrophic loss in a single battle.
How would they face the families of the fallen?
How would they explain this to the Fleet Admiral?
Garp watched as survivors were pulled ashore—his heart felt like it was being torn apart.
Meanwhile, on the way back to Marineford, Sengoku—still carrying the wounded Kuzan—encountered the late-arriving Zéphyr.
"Sengoku! What happened?!"
Zéphyr was stunned to see Sengoku on a speedboat, clutching an unconscious Kuzan, worry etched on his face.
His gut immediately told him—something terrible had occurred.
Especially when he saw the massive sword wound across Kuzan's chest.
His mind went straight to Charlotte.
"No time to explain!
The Navy's been routed!
Go help Garp stabilize the situation—I'm taking Kuzan to HQ for emergency treatment!"
Sengoku didn't waste a second. He shot through Zéphyr's reinforcement fleet without a backward glance.
Truth be told, Sengoku held some resentment toward Zéphyr.
This entire operation had been proposed as a three-man task force: Sengoku, Garp, and Zéphyr.
But Zéphyr had refused—citing his duties training the next generation.
Back then, Sengoku had already been displeased.
Now, seeing Zéphyr rushing in after the battle was already lost, his resentment deepened.
Still, decades of brotherhood kept Sengoku from saying anything.
He just buried the bitterness in his heart.
Zéphyr stood at the stern of his ship, watching Sengoku vanish.
He sighed, emotions swirling in his chest.
He had been dragged out by Tsuru at the last minute, only to find that the Navy had already suffered a devastating defeat.
Just how many were lost?
Zéphyr didn't know.
But Sengoku's darkened expression said it all.
"Faster!"
He barked, frustration leaking into his voice.
"Yes, sir!"
The Marines around him snapped to attention.
They arrived at Sabaody Archipelago—
And Zéphyr was stunned by the scene.
The island chain was a land of contrasts.
Some islands, untouched by war, were still bustling with life.
But out at sea—on the frozen battlefield Kuzan had created—
Only a handful of Marines remained, all hanging their heads in defeat.
Zéphyr remembered clearly—over 10,000 elite soldiers had left Marineford.
Now, only these few stood.
"Garp! What happened?!"
Zéphyr rushed to Garp's side.
With him stood Akainu and three surviving Vice Admirals.
"Instructor!"
The Vice Admirals saluted solemnly.
Akainu, meanwhile, stood motionless, his expression stormy, as if Zéphyr didn't exist.
"Zéphyr, you're here…"
Garp lifted his head—his voice hollow.
Zéphyr's heart sank.
He glanced around—the silence was deafening.
"Search for the remaining survivors!"
Zéphyr quickly ordered the 1,000 fresh reinforcements to begin rescue efforts.
"Yes, sir!"
With this new manpower, the pace of the rescue sped up.
"Let's go.
Return to Marineford.
We'll await punishment from the Fleet Admiral…"
Garp stood up—his uniform tattered and bloodied.
Zéphyr didn't need to ask—he knew the wounds were Charlotte's handiwork.
Even Zéphyr bore old sword scars from that same man.
The remaining Marines silently loaded the shattered corpses of their comrades.
Many were blown to pieces, others vaporized by the railguns.
This defeat meant one thing—
The Navy would be unable to make any moves into the New World for the next three to four years.
Most of the elite force drawn from New World outposts had been wiped out.
But if there was anyone happy about the battle's outcome…
It was Golden Lion Shiki.
"GYAHAHAHAHA!!!
That kid Charlotte really delivered a gift straight to my door!
This is just too damn exciting!"
Shiki stood atop a dais, his tattered cloak billowing behind him.
Around him sat the last remnants of the Flying Pirate Fleet.
Ever since the disaster in 1495, when they tried to intercept the Roger Pirates,
a freak once-in-a-millennium storm struck.
90% of his forces perished, even Shiki himself suffered grievous injuries,
losing both legs and embedding a ship's helm in his head.
He'd spent a year recovering.
And while he had managed to reclaim some territory,
many rich islands remained guarded by Sengoku and other admirals.
Shiki had been unable to act.
But now?
With the Navy defeated and crippled,
they wouldn't recover for at least three years.
This was the moment to strike.
"MEN!
Set sail!
We'll take back everything that was once ours!!"
Shiki drew his twin blades and floated into the air.
"All hail the Commander!
All hail the Commander!!"
His pirates cheered with bloodthirsty glee.
They had endured a year of humiliation, sharpening their claws in the dark.
Now they would tear the world apart.
BOOM!
The first half of the New World descended into chaos.
The Flying Pirates rampaged across the seas, toppling kingdoms and annihilating all who defied them.
"GYAHAHAHAHA!
Roger! Wait just one more year!
I'll show you that you chose wrong—
I was always the better ally!"
Shiki stood atop a pile of Marine corpses,
his blades dripping with blood.
The Navy's flag, symbol of world order, was ripped from its pole—
replaced with the banner of the Flying Pirates.
Another Marine outpost had fallen.
With the Navy lacking admirals and top brass,
their New World bases were left defenseless.
Transponder Snails rang non-stop—
One after another, Marine territories fell.
And it wasn't just Shiki.
Other pirate crews began launching their own counteroffensives.
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