Chapter 53 – The Significance of Whitebeard’s Expedition (Patreon)

The scar left in the heavens by the clash of Conqueror’s Haki had not yet fully faded, yet the decks of the two legendary pirate ships no longer carried the tension of combat.

Planks had been laid between the Oro Jackson and the Moby Dick, allowing crew members to stroll back and forth like neighbors visiting one another. The scene was surreal: the remnants of legendary conflict replaced by the cheerful chaos of a shared feast.

A bonfire blazed in the center, flames licking the night sky, while massive Sea Kings roasted over the fire, their sizzling oil perfuming the air with a rich, intoxicating aroma that mingled seamlessly with the smell of alcohol.

“Hey! Red-Nose! That’s my roasted leg!”

“Idiot, Shanks! First grab gets it!”

In a corner of the deck, Shanks and Buggy wrestled over a roasted leg, shouting and jostling in a manner that made the fight they had just witnessed seem a distant memory. Meanwhile, Marco, the calm and collected Phoenix, leaned on his hand, watching the two clowns with amusement. To him, the antics of these young pirates were more entertaining than the titanic clash of Haki that had occurred just hours ago.

Not far off, Jozu engaged in an arm-wrestling match with a burly Roger Pirates crew member. His diamond-hard arm gleamed under the firelight, causing Buggy to glance over repeatedly, his greedy mouth watering at the sight.

Kyle lounged lazily against a mast, a glass of fresh orange juice in hand, observing the scene with quiet amusement. He watched Vista, surrounded by a cluster of Whitebeard Pirates, face flushed and expression flustered. With a subtle, casual raise of his glass, Kyle offered a silent greeting, which only made Vista fluster further, prompting him to turn away, pretending to admire the endless sea.

This sea… it really is vast, Vista thought, feeling simultaneously small and awed.

At the center of the feast, two colossal figures sat cross-legged, each with wine bowls the size of small buckets. Their presence radiated an aura of inevitability and command.

“Kuhahaha! Newgate! Your crew has spirit in abundance!” Roger bellowed, draining a massive mouthful of wine as if it were water.

“Gurararara… Your ship is no less interesting! Full of lively brats!” Whitebeard responded, his massive frame leaning slightly, laughter rumbling across the deck as his gaze swept fondly over his “sons.”

Three rounds of wine later, the atmosphere was electric, the air thick with camaraderie, laughter, and the scent of roasted meat.

Roger suddenly nudged Whitebeard’s arm with his elbow and asked casually, yet with undeniable curiosity:

“By the way, Newgate… I’ve always wondered. Why would a man like you join Rocks’ crew back then?”

The boisterous revelry seemed to hush momentarily. Even as the young pirates clamored, veterans such as Rayleigh and Jabba, along with older captains near Whitebeard, instinctively paused, their gazes drawn to the exchange.

Whitebeard’s hand froze mid-drink. A fleeting, unreadable expression crossed his face, complex and tinged with memory. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he drained the remaining contents of his bowl and exhaled slowly, as if letting out a secret too heavy to speak.

“Gurararara…” He set the bowl down. His deep, resonant laughter was quieter than usual, tinged with self-reflection. “Because I was defeated by him.”

Roger’s face registered surprise, the question striking deeper than anticipated.

“I was still wandering the Grand Line then,” Whitebeard began slowly, voice steady yet distant. “Rocks found me and struck without a word. I was defeated completely. And then… he invited me to join his crew.”

A shadow of memory passed over his eyes.

“I told him I was searching for the meaning of sailing the seas. He laughed. Truly laughed. Leaning back and forth, he said such a notion was the most boring and fragile thing in the world. But then… he said he could help me find something far more valuable.”

Kyle sipped his orange juice quietly, ears perked. Ah, I see… baited with a vague ‘meaning,’ pulling you toward a grander picture. Clever.

Whitebeard continued, voice calm, tone almost indifferent:

“Rocks’ crew gathered the most untamable monsters from all corners of the world. Every man had his own ambitions. Every alliance was fragile; trust was temporary. Companions were tools to use… or discard. You never knew if the man drinking beside you might stab you in the back the next second.”

His words, spoken with calm certainty, sent shivers down the spines of the young pirates nearby.

“The longer I stayed with him, the clearer it became. That ‘meaning’ Rocks spoke of… it was fuel for his own ambition. My own desires, however… they remained unchanged from the start.”

At that moment, Whitebeard’s gaze drifted to the horizon, leaving Roger and the noisy crew behind.

Marco, ever spirited, was being dragged by a Roger Pirates crew member into a drinking contest, challenging to finish an entire barrel of sake in one go. Jozu, having lost his arm-wrestling match against Jabba, demanded a rematch, stubborn and unyielding. Vista finally gathered his courage, exchanging serious sword insights with Spencer, a fellow young swordsman.

They were all noisy, naive, proud, vibrant. Real. Alive.

Whitebeard’s expression softened, his eyes no longer the stern gaze of a conqueror, but the gentle, protective watchfulness of a father admiring his most treasured children.

“Gurarararara…” His laugh returned, this time warm, full of genuine pride. “But now… I have found it.”

He raised his wine bowl, toasting to his sons, his true treasures.

Roger mirrored the gesture with a grin, clinking his massive bowl against Whitebeard’s.

“Kuhahaha! That’s good! Finding it… that is more precious than any treasure in the world!” Roger’s voice carried across the sea as he drained the bowl. Then, he turned his gaze outward, the sea breeze ruffling his hair, arms spread as if embracing the vast horizon.

“As for me, Newgate, my reason for sailing is simple. I want to see the end of the Grand Line, uncover hidden history, witness the truth of this world firsthand. Our next goal… the Final Island, untouched by any soul!”

His words carried charisma, inspiring confidence as if he had already seen the unknown wonders himself. The young and old pirates of the Oro Jackson echoed his enthusiasm, eyes sparkling with shared anticipation.

Whitebeard listened, a faint smile curving his lips. “Gurararara… That is typical of you, Roger. But the place we head to next… it may be quite different from yours.”

“Oh?” Roger’s curiosity was immediate.

“To a reclusive land called Wano Country,” Whitebeard explained. “I hear the sake is excellent, and the people… interesting.”

Kyle’s eyelid twitched. Masaka… Kozuki Oden? He grimaced slightly at the thought.

The feast rolled on until the eastern sky hinted at dawn. Finally, the revelry came to a close, with ships preparing to part ways.

“Next time we meet, Roger, I won’t lose!” Whitebeard called from the bow of the Moby Dick, voice booming.

“Kuhahaha! Anytime! But remember the good sake from Wano Country!” Roger replied, hands planted on his hips.

As the colossal ships drifted apart, crew members waved and shouted farewells, laughter and playful threats mingling in the morning light.

“Buggy! Next time you steal my meat, I won’t forgive you!”

“Pineapple-head! One day, I’ll pry off a chunk of Jozu’s diamond!”

“Flower Sword boy! Next spar, no holding back!”

“‘Flower Sword,’ eh? Good title… No! I’ll be waiting, Orange Juice Bastard!” Kyle chuckled, empty cup raised in mock salute to the flustered Vista.

He watched the Moby Dick vanish into the horizon, morning sunlight glinting off the whale-shaped figurehead, and then turned to Roger. Leaning against the ship’s rail, Roger’s gaze followed the departing Whitebeard, the faintest smile lingering—a silent acknowledgment of a worthy companion and the endless adventures still to come.

The sea stretched endlessly, promising discovery, danger, and the next chapter of pirate legend.


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