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Roger—the man who would usher in a new era.
Whitebeard—the World's Strongest.
Redfield—the Lone Wolf.
And Shiki, whose power had waned.
The most formidable figures of their time.
"What a waste... If you were still at your peak—this sea would be a much more interesting place." Arthur sighed, his voice filled with genuine regret. A man's health, however, wasn't something he could control. He wouldn't offer Roger the Pure Gold, even if he had it on hand.
"Death isn't the end, Arthur. I won't die—" Roger's declaration, spoken with unwavering conviction, resonated with his crew, his indomitable spirit radiating outwards. Even if Arthur had offered him the Pure Gold, Roger likely wouldn't have accepted it.
"Is that so?" Arthur shrugged, uninterested in philosophical debates.
A man's body might die, but his will, his spirit, could live on. A form of immortality, perhaps.
Like the concept of legacy, of children carrying on their parents' bloodline—a way to cheat death, to live on through future generations.
A classic One Piece quote echoed in Arthur's mind:
When do you think people die??
When they are shot through the heart by a pistol??
NO!
When they are ravaged by an incurable disease??
NO!
When they drink a soup made from a poisonous mushroom!?
NO!
It's when...they are forgotten.
Roger, a legend in the making, would never be forgotten.
But Arthur didn't care about legacies or fame. He lived for the moment—the freedom to do as he pleased, to chase his own desires—that was what mattered.
Whether he was remembered or forgotten after his death? Who cared?
Roger would ignite the Great Pirate Era—His will, his spirit, would live on, inspiring countless others. A form of immortality, perhaps.
Arthur respected Roger's conviction, but he didn't share it. Legacy—it couldn't compare to the thrill of a good fight, the pure, unadulterated joy of battle.
——
"So, you two—Whitebeard sent you to kill me?" Arthur asked, his arrogance returning, his gaze cold, as he turned to Vista and Namur.
"That's right," Vista said, his voice low.
"And what are you going to do about it?" Namur growled, his shark-like teeth bared in a snarl.
They were awestruck by Arthur's power, his clash with Roger a testament to his strength. But they weren't intimidated. They were veterans of the New World, accustomed to facing powerful opponents.
"I gave my word. I'll let you live." Arthur's voice was flat, indifferent. "Go back to Whitebeard. Train for twenty years. Then come find me again—Or tell Whitebeard to come himself."
"Weaklings like you—you're not worth my time. You're all going to die."
"WHAT?!" Namur roared.
"Hold on—" Vista, ever the calm and collected swordsman, placed a hand on Namur's arm, his gaze fixed on Arthur.
"We're not your match, I'll admit that. And we owe Captain Roger a debt. But Squard's death—We won't forget it. Whitebeard will find you—and he will avenge his son."
"Let's go."
He turned, his cape swirling around him, and walked towards a small boat docked at the ruined harbor, Namur following close behind.
Arthur watched them go, a flicker of respect in his eyes.
Weakness wasn't something to be ashamed of. Life had its ups and downs. The key was to savor the victories, and face the defeats with courage.
"Now that's a true pirate—Never losing their spirit—their ambition, even in defeat..."
Countless pirates from Paradise, their dreams shattered by the harsh realities of the New World, had retreated, their spirits broken, forever haunted by their failures, too afraid to face their conquerors again.
But not Vista.
His eyes, sharp and focused, still burned with the unwavering resolve of a true swordsman.
Being part of Whitebeard's crew wasn't just about protection—It was about exposure to true power, to legends.
Such experiences broadened one's horizons, tempered one's spirit—making them fearless.
Even when facing monsters like Roger.
What was the point of being a man if you cowered before strength?
——
Arthur, glancing at the Roger Pirates, turned and walked towards the harbor.
Then he realized—he didn't have a ship.
And after that grueling eight-day battle—while his physical stamina was recovering quickly, his mind was exhausted. He needed sleep.
Roger, sensing Arthur's predicament, grinned. "Need a ride, Arthur? The Oro Jackson isn't as fancy as your Gold ship on Skypiea, but she's one of the finest vessels on the sea."
Built by the legendary shipwright Tom, using the wood of the Treasure Tree Adam, the Oro Jackson was indeed a masterpiece...
Rayleigh, Gaban, and the others remained silent.
"No way, Captain! That lunatic?! On our ship? I WON'T BE ABLE TO SLEEP!" Buggy wailed, tugging on Roger's coat.
"I'm all for it! Arthur is strong! I could spar with him!" Shanks' eyes gleamed with excitement.
Arthur snorted, understanding Roger's intentions.
"You're joking, right, Roger? You want me to join your crew?"
The Roger Pirates were a family, a band of brothers, equals, not followers. Joining them now, at the twilight of Roger's era—it would be a step down for Arthur.
He had his own ambitions, his own crew to build. Joining another captain's crew? It was never going to happen.
"Not interested?" Roger, not at all surprised or disappointed, grinned. He wouldn't expect a proud and independent pirate like Arthur to be swayed so easily. He'd have suspected ulterior motives.
"Then...come aboard, Arthur." He rephrased his offer.
This time, it was a genuine offer of hospitality, a chance for Arthur to rest and recover, and a way to get him off Risky Red Island.
"What are you up to, Roger?" Arthur asked, suspicious. Why would Roger offer him such a kindness?
"If you're trying to get me to leave the New World, to avoid Whitebeard, to wait for your 'new era'—then don't waste your breath. I'm not going anywhere."
He wouldn't be manipulated, not by Roger, not by anyone.
Roger laughed. "Every man on the sea is free to choose his own path. I wouldn't force you to do anything. I'm just offering you a ride. If you're afraid—just say so."
"Afraid? You think that would work on me? I love a good challenge!" Arthur smirked, accepting Roger's offer, following him and his crew onto the Oro Jackson.
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