One-Punch Man in the One Piece World

Chapter 124 The Pirates' Great Victory

The battle on the ice field lasted all night.

When the first rays of dawn pierced the clouds and illuminated the ice surface stained with blood, it was finally over.

Norton stood at the bow of the White Pearl, his silver hair fluttering slightly in the morning breeze. Several rips appeared in his black coat, revealing his bronze skin beneath.

Blood was on his fist, whether it was his own or someone else's, dripping down between his fingers and leaving tiny, dark red spots on the deck.

Before him, the icy plains were no longer what they used to be.

The tsunami he created was frozen into an iceberg by Aokiji, and then shattered into countless huge ice blocks in the ensuing battle, piling up haphazardly on the sea surface like a collapsed white ruin.

The gaps between the ice blocks were filled with the wreckage of warships and pirate ships: broken masts, shattered hulls, charred canvas, and floating corpses.

The smoke from the battle hadn't completely dissipated, rising in wisps from the wreckage, gleaming greyish-white in the morning light. The air was thick with the smells of burning, blood, and the salty tang of the sea, making one's chest tighten.

Further away, the massive naval flagship lay sprawled on the ice, its keel broken and its hull snapped in two. The seagull flag at the bow was burned away, leaving only half a flagpole, bare and pointing to the sky.

With the defeat of Akainu and Aokiji, the Navy retreated!

three days later.

The World Economic News Agency's newspapers were distributed to every corner of the world.

[Great Victory on Demon King Island! The Navy's Tenfold Buster Order Force Annihilated!]

"Admirals Akainu and Aokiji were severely wounded and forced to retreat; seven vice admirals were killed; and more than half of the hundred-plus warships were sunk!"

"Silver-haired" Norton decisively defeated two of the Navy's top combatants, and the name of the "Demon King" resounded throughout the world!

Below is a huge photograph that Morgans took from a hot air balloon.

In the middle of the ice field, Norton stood at the bow of the White Pearl, his silver hair flying in the morning breeze, his black coat fluttering in the wind, behind him the burning wreckage of a warship, shattered icebergs, and a dense crowd of people.

The morning light shone from behind him, gilding him with a golden edge, making him appear like a god descended to earth.

The photo's angle is extremely tricky, and the lighting is just right, perfectly capturing the power of that moment.

The main text is written vividly, each paragraph is written as if the author were on the scene, and every sentence exudes the smugness of "I have an exclusive news".

The last paragraph is in bold.

"In this battle, the Navy Headquarters lost two admirals, seven vice admirals, over a hundred warships, and tens of thousands of elite troops. The Kingdom of Norton suffered 1,723 dead and countless wounded."

"This was a Pyrrhic victory. But it was a Pyrrhic victory that could change the world order."

"From that day forward, no one could ignore that small nation built on an unnamed island in the new world. No one could question the power of the man known as the Demon King."

"The World Government has proven one thing with ten times the force of the Buster Call: the Kingdom of Norton is a behemoth that no one can ignore."

"The Four Emperors' power structure? The Navy's deterrent? Faced with these two fists, everything needs to be reconsidered."

The newspapers seemed to have grown wings, flying to every corner of the Grand Line, to the four seas, to the Holy Land of Mary Geoise, and to every island inhabited by humans.

In the bar, someone slammed a newspaper on the table, knocking over glasses and spilling drinks all over the table, but no one bothered to clean it up.

"Both generals—seriously wounded—"

"Tenfold Demon Slayer Order — Total Annihilation —"

"Is that guy... really human?"

No one can answer.

At the harbor, sailors gathered together, some reading from the newspapers, their voices growing louder and more excited, until it turned into a noisy discussion.

Those pirates who had just entered the New World from Fishman Island, those outlaws wandering the first half of the Grand Line, and those merchants, craftsmen, and civilians who were still observing—all stared at that newspaper, their eyes gleaming with a complex light.

Some people started packing their luggage.

Someone started contacting the ships.

Some people are already on their way.

Marine Headquarters, Marineford.

The newspaper was spread out on the conference table, and the photo on the front page was so jarring it hurt everyone's eyes.

Sengoku sat in the main seat, his usually dignified face now showing only deep weariness. Heavy dark circles clung to his eyes, his lips were chapped, and a few more strands of hair appeared to have turned white.

Staff Officer He sat beside him, chain-smoking cigarettes, the ashtray overflowing with butts. Her brow was furrowed, staring at the newspaper, silent for a long time.

Garp sat in the corner, unusually refraining from eating senbei, his expression so complex it was impossible to decipher.

"More than a hundred warships—two admirals—" he murmured, his voice low, "that kid—"

He didn't continue.

Kizaru leaned back in his chair, his hands in his pockets.

"Oh dear—I told you long ago, that kid is no match for me~" He finally spoke, his voice still the same, but with less of his usual cynicism.

No one responded.

Akainu and Aokiji's hospital rooms are at the end of the corridor.

Both of them were seriously injured; Akainu had four broken ribs and internal bleeding.

Aokiji suffered a comminuted fracture of his right arm.

Neither of them died.

But both of them lost.

They lost completely.

The New World, a certain sea area, the Moby Dick.

"Gurrah-la-la—" The white-bearded man leaned back in his chair, the newspaper in his hand spread out on his knees.

"Dad, isn't this guy too strong?" Marco walked over, glanced at the newspaper, and frowned.

"Strong?" The white-bearded man handed the newspaper to Marco. "More than just strong."

He picked up his glass and took a big gulp.

"This kid is even crazier than Rocks was back in the day."

Marco was taken aback.

"Lox?"

"Ah." The white-bearded man put down his glass, gazing at the distant sea. "Rocks also wanted to dominate the world, but he relied on gathering powerful figures from all sides, using power and ambition to suppress others. This kid is different—he did it all himself. He earned it punch by punch."

He paused.

"I've lived most of my life and I've only ever seen one of these monsters."

Marco remained silent.

The white-bearded man took another swig of wine, a smile playing on his lips.

Ghost Island.

Kaido sat in the ruins of his castle, a newspaper spread out in front of him. In his hand, he still held the half of the Eight Precepts, the cut jagged and uneven, as if it had been forcibly torn apart by some brute force.

He stared at the silver-haired figure in the photo for a long time.

Then he laughed.

The laughter was very low, very low, rolling out from deep within the chest like muffled thunder.

"Ooh-hoo-hoo"

He stood up, hoisted the half of the Eight Precepts onto his shoulder, walked to the window, and looked at the sea in the distance.

"Akainu and Aokiji—two against one, and they both lost?"

World of Warcraft, Whole Cake Island.

BIGMOM sat at the table, surrounded by desserts, but she didn't touch a single one.

She just stared at the newspaper in her hand, at the photo on the front page, her expression changing several times.

"Mom?" Perospero asked cautiously.

BIGMOM didn't answer. She simply put down the newspaper, picked up a piece of cake, put it in her mouth, chewed it twice, and then put it down again.

"This kid—" she murmured, "is even more troublesome than Kaido."

Perospero didn't dare to reply.

BIGMOM looked at the photo again, staring at the figure standing at the bow of the ship with flowing silver hair for a long time.

"Don't provoke him yet," she finally said, her voice low.

She paused.

"Make preparations and send someone to Demon King Island."

"Where are you going?"

"Giving a gift." BIGMOM's lips curled into a smile. "We're new neighbors, so we should at least say hello."

The Red-Haired Pirates.

Shanks sat on the ship's railing, the newspaper in his hand rustling in the sea breeze. He looked at the photograph, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"This guy—he actually did it."

Beckman stood beside him, smoking and looking out at the sea. "The Navy has suffered a major blow this time."

"Hmm." Shanks nodded.

"You said before that this sea was going to get chaotic," Beckman looked at him. "Now it seems that chaos has already begun."

Shanks didn't answer. He just looked at the distant sea, at the setting sun gradually sinking below the horizon.

"Beckman".

"Um?"

"What do you think that guy's next move is?"

Beckman remained silent for a moment.

"I don't know." He exhaled a puff of smoke. "But whatever he wants to do, no one can stop him now."

Shanks smiled, folded the newspaper, and tucked it into his pocket.

"Yes," he said, "no one can stop him now."

Mary Geoise, between powers.

"Both generals are seriously injured."

"Seven lieutenant generals lost."

"More than a hundred warships — more than half of them sank."

"Tens of thousands of elite troops perished in the icy sea."

The fire crackled in the fireplace, the sound particularly jarring in the silence.

Topman Vochuli took a deep breath.

"What do we do now?"

silence.

Another long silence followed.

Marcus Mazsan stared at the newspaper, at the photograph, at the silver-haired figure, his brow furrowed deeply.

"For now—don't provoke him."

He himself found it absurd when he said those words.

But no one refuted it.

Because everyone knows—this is the only way.

Nasujiro closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"What kind of monster is that kid?!"

The next morning, the World Economic News Agency published a supplement to its newspaper.

The front page contained only one sentence, in such a large font that it almost burst the page.

"In the Battle of Demon King Island, the Navy suffered a complete defeat. The world order was forever rewritten."

.

Seven days after the war ended, the first ship entered Nestad Harbor.

It was a medium-sized sailboat that came from Fishman Island. The hull was mottled and the canvas had several patches, indicating that it had been adrift at sea for a long time.

Dozens of people stood at the bow of the boat, men and women, young and old, dressed in rags, their faces pale and thin, but their eyes were bright.

"We've arrived—we've arrived—"

"That's Demon King Island—"

"Norton Kingdom————"

When the ship docked, there were already people waiting on the pier.

It's Kro.

His left arm was still in a sling, and a new scar had appeared on his face, running from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth. He had a new pair of glasses, but the eyes behind the lenses still had that calm, almost indifferent look.

He held a thick ledger in his hand, with a dozen or so pirates standing behind him responsible for registering the entries.

"Name, background, occupation, special skills, one at a time, don't crowd together."

People surged off the ship, crowding in front of the registration desk, shouting all at once.

Crowe's pen flew across the ledger, writing down each word carefully.

More and more people gathered at the dock, forming a queue that stretched for hundreds of meters and meandered around several times.

Some people carried luggage, some held children's hands, some helped the elderly, and some had no luggage at all, only wearing tattered clothes, standing in the queue shivering.

They escaped overnight.

From outside the naval blockade, from the islands affected by the war, from the port cities that were still observing.

They heard the news of the great victory on Demon King Island, the news of the navy's crushing defeat, and the news that the silver-haired man had knocked two admirals flying with a single punch.

Then they packed their bags, took their families, boarded whatever boat they could find, and sailed toward the island.

Some people were on merchant ships, some on fishing boats, and some on rafts they had nailed together themselves.

Some lost all their possessions in a storm at sea, some had their last rations stolen by pirates, and some fell ill on the way and never woke up again.

But they still came.

In this world, having a place to live peacefully is better than anything else.

The medical area is located in the east of the city, near the forest of beast-repelling trees.

What used to be an open space for storing timber is now filled with tents.

Rows of white tents stretched from the foot of the mountain all the way to the riverbank, densely packed and seemingly endless.

Chopper emerged from a tent. "Tent number three needs more bandages! The patient in tent number seven needs a blood transfusion!"

"Someone go to the pharmacy and urge them to hurry up!"

Behind it followed two doctors and members of the Twenty-One Doctors Association, carrying trays piled high with used gauze and empty medicine bottles.

The tents were filled with wounded soldiers.

Some people were groaning, some were unconscious, and some were staring at the top of the tent, motionless.

It was already dark when Nami came out of the medical area.

She was wiping a thick stack of receipts in her hands, all of which were lists of medicine purchases, medical equipment purchases, and budgets for food rations for newly added personnel.

The numbers were crammed densely onto the paper, giving her a headache.

Because behind every receipt lies a person's life.

She stood at the entrance of the medical area, looking through the documents by the light shining from inside the tent.

The dim light shone on her face, casting a long shadow.

Her eyes were dark-rimmed, her lips were chapped, and her hair was tangled and tied back, making her look completely different from the shrewd, money-loving, and always smiling Nami she usually was.

When dawn broke, Funing returned from the port, her white dress covered in sawdust and paint, her hair tied haphazardly with a rope, and her face bearing several red marks from being scratched by wooden planks.

She hadn't slept for three days, but her eyes were still bright.

The port is being expanded. The original docks are not enough, and there are too many new ships arriving, so there are queues at the pier from morning till night.

Fu Ning led the boatmen to work through the night, building two temporary piers next to the original dock. They were made of planks of animal-repelling wood, simple but sturdy.

"We need more timber," she said to Crowe, her voice hoarse. "We need to build at least five more piers, otherwise the ships coming tomorrow won't have anywhere to dock."

Kro nodded and wrote it down in the ledger.

"The logging team has been reinforced. A new vein has been discovered at the quarry, so there's enough stone for us."

"Where are the manpower?"

"More than 700 people came today. There are carpenters, stonemasons, blacksmiths, and a few doctors."

Fu Ning nodded and turned to walk towards the harbor. After a few steps, she stopped again.

"Cloth".

"Um?

'

"Do you think these people will be able to stay?"

Kro was taken aback.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—" Fu Ning looked at the dense crowd, at the faces of those packed on the dock, carrying luggage and leading children, "They've come, but will they stay? What if the navy attacks again, what if this island is surrounded again? Will they run away?"

Kro remained silent for a moment.

"Those that can run will eventually run away," he said. "Those that won't run away, you can't chase them away no matter what you do."

He paused, adjusted his glasses, and his gaze behind the lenses fell on the crowd.

"We only need to keep those who won't leave."