Chapter 341

Redlark Archipelago, New World

The island was one among hundreds in the sprawling archipelago on the very edge of Whitebeard's sea territory, a chaotic collection of lush green paradises, volcanic spires, and barren wastelands.

This particular island, named Vaelura, was both beautiful and foreboding. The shoreline was a blend of black volcanic sand and jagged rocks, kissed constantly by the frothy waves of the sea.

Towering cliffs loomed over dense forests, their tops crowned with mist, while the interior boasted a sprawling jungle intertwined with ancient ruins—evidence of a long-lost civilization swallowed by time.

At the edge of the beach, facing the endless expanse of azure water, stood a man who seemed carved out of legend itself. Shanks, his fiery red hair catching the sunlight like embers, stood rooted to the spot.

The salt-laden wind tugged at his tattered cloak, which bore the sigil of his pirate crew: the unmistakable skull with crossed swords. His gaze was sharp and contemplative, his left hand resting lightly on the hilt of his new blade.

Shanks wasn't merely standing—he was attuning himself to the sword that hung at his hip. His haki pulsed outward like the rhythmic beat of a dragon's heart, each wave growing stronger and more synchronized with the weapon.

The world around him seemed to resonate with his presence; the sea stilled, the breeze softened, and even the seagulls quieted as though paying homage. The blade, Gryphon, was unlike anything he had wielded before.

Forged with an eerie sheen, its silver edge reflected a subtle crimson hue, as if imbued with the blood of legends. The hilt was ornate yet rugged, carved with the likeness of a gryphon in flight, its claws poised as if ready to strike. Shanks had given away his former Great Grade blade to Buggy without hesitation.

Though that sword was a treasured meito, Gryphon called to him, its aura much stronger, deeper, and more primal than any blade he had wielded before.

As he stood there, his haki wove itself into the weapon, forging a connection as natural as breathing. Conqueror's Haki infused the very air around him, rippling invisibly outward, making the earth beneath his feet groan in protest.

Shanks' eyes suddenly opened, their sharpness like twin suns piercing the horizon. His hand moved with deliberate grace, resting on Gryphon's hilt.

"Divine Departure...!" Shanks roared, his voice carrying like a thunderclap across the island.

With a single swing, he unleashed his full might. The blade cut through the air with an earth-shattering roar, its edge crackling with the devastating power of his haki.

Red lightning exploded around him, twisting and writhing like serpents, shattering the air itself. The sheer pressure of his haki forced the ground beneath his feet to cave in, forming a massive crater that radiated outwards.

The swing birthed an ethereal gryphon, its majestic form shimmering with haki. Its talons, formed of pure energy, tore through everything in its path. The ocean parted violently, a wall of water rising on either side as the gryphon's claws carved a path of devastation.

Entire forests on the island were flattened in the wake of the attack, the shockwave rippling through mountains.

On the adjacent island—a mile away—a massive mountain was cleaved cleanly in two. Its peak slid ominously, crumbling into the sea with a deafening crash that sent tsunamis rippling outward. The sheer devastation caused even the Red-Haired Pirates, resting in the island's mountainous core, to stumble.

"W-What the hell was that?!" roared Lucky Roux, clutching his meat skewer as the ground beneath him trembled.

"Captain's practicing again," Yasopp muttered, his tone caught somewhere between awe and exasperation.

On the mountaintop, Buggy, who had been observing the entire scene, felt a pang of jealousy mixed with longing. His eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment, he saw the shadow of Gol D. Roger in Shanks' devastating swing.

"That attack... it's just like the Captain's," Buggy muttered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "No... not just like it. Shanks is starting to understand Roger's power."

Using a technique similar to Soru, a high-speed movement technique he had honed through years of trial and error with the help of Shanks, Buggy covered the distance in mere seconds, arriving breathless before Shanks.

The red-haired pirate stood at the center of the crater he had formed, his chest heaving from exertion. Gryphon rested in his hand, its blade glowing faintly, almost humming with satisfaction. Shanks surveyed the destruction before him, his sharp gaze scanning the crumbled mountain and the parted seas.

"That..." Buggy hesitated, looking at the devastation with wide eyes, "...was overkill."

Shanks chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. "Maybe. But if I can't master this blade, I have no right to carry it." He gestured to the sea and the destruction with a wry grin. "Besides, Buggy, shouldn't a sword like this come with a little spectacle?"

Buggy scoffed, his arms crossed. "You're insane. But you're gonna need all that and more if you're aiming to surpass Roger-san."

Shanks' grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a quiet determination. "I don't aim to surpass him, Buggy," he said, gripping Gryphon tighter. His haki pulsed one last time, resonating with the blade as it glowed faintly.

"I aim to carve my own path. And for that, I'll need to be stronger than anyone—Emperor, Admiral, or Pirate King."

Shanks leaned casually against a jagged rock, his grin widening as he gestured to the meito strapped to Buggy's side.

"Speaking of which, you threw a tantrum the size of an island trying to get that blade from me, didn't you? Didn't even let me give it to someone else in the crew. 'Vice Captain's privilege,' you called it, or something like that."

Buggy stiffened, clutching the sword's hilt possessively. His face turned beet red as he spluttered in defense. "I didn't throw a tantrum! I... I negotiated! Strategically!"

Shanks chuckled, his shoulders shaking as he crossed his arms. "Oh yeah, I remember the 'strategy.' Crying to the Captain, threatening to quit the crew, and—what was it?—oh right, promising to never navigate again unless you got the blade!"

Buggy jabbed a finger at Shanks, his face twisted in indignation. "It worked, didn't it? And besides, I earned this sword fair and square! It's perfect for me!"

Shanks tilted his head, his expression playful. "Sure, sure. But I bet it's a little heavy for someone who doesn't know how to swing it properly."

Buggy bristled, his grip on the sword tightening as he puffed out his chest. "I can swing it just fine! You saw me take out that giant crab the other day!"

Shanks smirked. "You mean the crab Yasopp had already shot? The one missing half its legs?"

Buggy turned scarlet. "T-that was strategy, too!"

Before Shanks could fire off another quip, Buggy jabbed the sword at him like a pointer, his expression shifting to one of determination. "Anyway, forget all that! You gotta teach me how to do that attack you just pulled off!"

Shanks raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "What, Divine Departure?"

"Yeah!" Buggy exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with ambition. "That attack was insane! Imagine me standing on a battlefield, swinging this blade like the great Gol D. Roger himself, and—WHAM!—taking out entire mountains! People would tremble at the name Buggy the Divine Slayer!"

He struck a dramatic pose, holding the sword aloft as if he were already basking in the adoration of an imaginary crowd.

Shanks couldn't help but burst out laughing, doubling over as he clutched his sides. "Divine Slayer? Oh, that's rich, Buggy! You can't even imbue your blade with advanced armament haki, let alone Conqueror's! You'd be lucky if you managed to chop a log without chipping the sword."

Buggy stomped his foot, glaring at Shanks. "You bastard... I can too use advanced armament haki! I've been practicing! I am just lagging a bit behind when it comes to internal destruction, ya know…!"

"Really? Show me." Shanks leaned forward, his grin expectant.

Buggy stood firm, gripping the hilt of the meito with determination, his jaw set and eyes alight with a fire that rarely burned so fiercely. The usual boisterousness and bluster gave way to something deeper—a resolute drive born from years of stubborn grit.

As Shanks leaned casually against a rock, still smirking, Buggy closed his eyes and focused, the world around him fading into silence.

Shanks tilted his head, curious despite himself. He's actually trying?

With a deep inhale, Buggy's aura shifted, the air around him growing heavy. A faint shimmer began to emanate from the blade's surface, like heat waves distorting the air. Then, in a flash, the sword's edge darkened—not with ordinary hardening but with a sheen so polished and intricate that Shanks' grin faltered.

The blade was infused with internal destruction haki, an advanced form of armament haki that even seasoned warriors struggled to master. Red lightning crackled faintly around it, and for a moment, the weapon seemed alive, humming with raw energy.

Shanks' eyebrows shot up, his cocky demeanor replaced with genuine surprise. "Well, I'll be damned..." he muttered under his breath.

Buggy's face, however, was scrunched in pure concentration, veins bulging on his forehead as he strained to maintain the haki. His hands trembled under the immense pressure, and after only a few seconds, the sheen began to waver.

The pitch-black glow flickered and lightened, the haki dissipating entirely as Buggy let out a gasping breath. He staggered slightly but managed to stay upright, his grip on the sword steady despite his exhaustion.

Shanks was silent for a beat, staring at Buggy with an expression somewhere between astonishment and respect. Then he burst into laughter, loud and genuine, clapping his hands in amusement.

"What's so funny, you red-haired moron?" Buggy snapped, though his voice was tinged with fatigue.

"Buggy," Shanks said, still chuckling, "you've got to be the most surprising idiot I've ever met." He pointed at the blade, his grin softening into something more sincere. "That wasn't half bad. Advanced Haki? You've been holding out on me, haven't you?"

Shanks leaned back, hands on his hips, his face split by a wide grin as he clapped exaggeratedly. "Impressive, Buggy! Really, I'm floored. You lasted a whole ten seconds. That's... what, nine and a half seconds longer than I expected!"

His laughter erupted in waves, rich and hearty, echoing off the shoreline. "Oh wait, don't tell me—were you trying to think the blade into cooperating? Hahaha! Next time, just glare at it harder! That'll scare it into submission."

Buggy, still catching his breath from his earlier effort, scowled. His frustration bubbled over as he grabbed a fistful of sand and hurled it at Shanks, though the grains scattered harmlessly against the breeze.

"You're a terrible teacher!" Buggy barked, pointing a trembling finger at Shanks like a prosecutor delivering a damning verdict. "No wonder Captain Roger never let you lead any lessons!"

Shanks wiped imaginary tears from his eyes, his laughter so intense that he leaned against a nearby rock for support. "Teach you? Me? Oh, Buggy, you wound me. You think I'd waste my time trying to teach you anything when I could be watching you fail instead? This is way more entertaining!"

Buggy's face turned a vivid shade of red as he stomped the ground, flinging his arms in frustration. "You're supposed to be my crewmate! My friend! Is it too much to ask for a little support?!"

Shanks finally straightened up, his grin softening to something more teasing than mocking. "Alright, alright, let me help." He crouched down, as if about to offer sage advice, and Buggy leaned in eagerly.

"Here's what you do," Shanks began, his tone mock-serious. "Tonight, under the light of the full moon, you kneel before the blade, pour it a glass of sake, and whisper sweet nothings until it decides to help you."

Buggy's eye twitched, his face a mix of disbelief and fury. "That's it? You're making fun of me again!"

Shanks laughed so hard he doubled over, clutching his stomach. "I can't help it! You're too easy, Buggy! Look, maybe if you ask your new meito nicely, it'll whisper its secrets to you."

Buggy crossed his arms, huffing dramatically. "Fine! Don't teach me. I don't need you anyway! I'll figure it out myself, and when I do, I'll be the one carving mountains in half. You'll see! I'll make Divine Departure look like child's play!"

"Can't wait," Shanks said with a playful salute. "Just don't forget to start small, okay? Like, say... chopping a coconut first. You know, baby steps."

Buggy's response was a furious growl as he grumbled to sit on a boulder not far away, muttering under his breath about "useless red-haired idiot." Shanks watched him curse, still chuckling to himself, but his smile held a touch of fondness.

"That guy..." Shanks murmured, shaking his head. "He's got more spirit than brains. But who knows? Maybe one day, he'll surprise me for real."

Benn Beckman, ever the observer, finally stepped forward from the sidelines, his imposing presence punctuated by the faint glow of his cigar. He had respectfully allowed Shanks and Buggy their moment, watching the two bicker and bond with a camaraderie that transcended insults.

Everyone in the crew knew not to overstep with Buggy, not because of fear, but out of respect for the unique bond the two shared. To Shanks, Buggy was family—a brother in every sense of the word.

"It seems like you've finally grasped the technique," Beckman remarked, his gravelly voice carrying a mix of admiration and curiosity as he glanced at the devastation Shanks had left in his wake.

The island adjacent to theirs, once a towering natural fortress of cliffs and forests, was now scarred beyond recognition, its central mountain obliterated.

Shanks, however, didn't respond with the pride Beckman expected. Instead, his eyes held a flicker of dissatisfaction, as if staring at an unfinished masterpiece. He leaned on Gryphon, its shimmering blade still faintly humming with the remnants of his haki. "It's not enough, Beckman," he admitted, his voice heavy. "I'm still nowhere near him."

At the mention of "him," Buggy, seated cross-legged a few feet away and sulking from Shanks' earlier teasing, perked up. He didn't need to ask who Shanks meant. Both he and Beckman knew. It wasn't Roger that Shanks was comparing himself to—Shanks had long since accepted he was still leagues away from their late captain. The one he was chasing was Rosinante.

The memory of their clash in the East Blue loomed vividly in Shanks' mind. Rosinante's mastery of haki, his devastating "Divine Departure," and his unmatched precision had left an indelible impression.

That day, Rosinante hadn't just parted mountains or seas—he had shown Shanks a chasm of skill that felt insurmountable. Even Buggy, for all his antics, had been awestruck.

Beckman let out a contemplative sigh, his sharp eyes scanning the distant remnants of the shattered island. "I get it," he said after a long pause. "Rosinante's a monster. But you've always thrived on chasing the impossible. We'll get there. One way or another, you'll catch up to him. Hell, you might even surpass him."

Shanks' lips twitched into a faint smile, though his gaze remained distant. "I appreciate the vote of confidence," he said, his voice softer now. "But I'm not just trying to catch up to him. I want to stand beside him, like we used to back during Captain Roger's time. As equals."

Beckman nodded, understanding the weight of those words. Shanks wasn't driven by mere rivalry; he was driven by the unspoken respect Rosinante had earned.

Deciding the topic had grown too heavy, Beckman shifted gears, his tone lightening as he puffed on his cigar.

"So, tell me, what's so special about this devil fruit we're chasing? You've never been interested in devil fruits before. Buggy's the only one in the crew who's eaten one, and I doubt anyone's clamoring to follow his example."

Buggy, who was still nursing his bruised pride, shot Beckman a glare. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

Beckman smirked but didn't respond, keeping his attention on Shanks. "Seriously, though. What's the deal? An unknown devil fruit? Purple-colored? And you agreed to pay 500 million berries for it? That's a fortune, even for us."

Shanks chuckled, his usual carefree demeanor slipping back into place. "You know us, Benn. Pirates don't exactly pay their tabs. We'll take a look at the fruit, and if it's what I think it is, we'll keep it. If not... well, the crew selling it might find themselves down a fruit and a few ships."

"Typical," Beckman said dryly, though his curiosity was piqued. "What do you think it is?"

Shanks' grin turned enigmatic, his hand resting on Gryphon's hilt. "I'm not entirely sure yet. But the description lines up with something I've been keeping an eye out for. If it's the one I'm looking for, I might have some big decisions to make."

Beckman raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Shanks wasn't one to reveal his hand until he was ready.

As the conversation shifted, Beckman brought up another topic that had been weighing on him.

"Speaking of Rosinante, he's been stirring up quite the storm lately since his return to New World. Rumor has it the World Government's extending an invitation to Dressrosa for the Reverie."

Shanks' brow furrowed slightly, and even Buggy's interest was piqued. "The Reverie?" Buggy asked, scratching his head. "What's a pirate doing getting invited to a royal meeting? Don't tell me he's playing dress-up as a king now."

Beckman smirked and continued. "Apparently, it's true. The Government sees him as more than just a rogue pirate—they're treating him like a legitimate threat. Unlike us, who they still consider outlaws, Rosinante's actions have shifted the balance of power. Word is, Dressrosa has become a fortress under the Donquixote's rule. And it doesn't stop there—they're expanding their territories again. Three kingdoms have already bent the knee. This latest surge in power has put even the Marines in a tight spot. Whatever Rosinante's planning, it's making serious waves."

Shanks' grin widened as he leaned against the boulder, the salty breeze ruffling his red hair. "That's Rosinante for you. Always unpredictable. But that just makes the chase more exciting, doesn't it?"

Buggy crossed his arms, huffing. "I don't care what he's up to. When we meet him again, I'll show him what the future Pirate King is capable of!"

Shanks burst into laughter. "Sure you will, Buggy. Just don't trip over your own feet on the way there."

Shanks' eyes sharpened, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness as he turned his gaze to the sea. His observation haki flared, pulsing with precision, and both Buggy and Beckman immediately noticed the change. They knew Shanks didn't react this way to anything trivial.

"Beckman," Shanks said, his voice calm yet commanding. "Get the crew ready. Have the ship prepped to set sail if things take a turn. We've got uninvited guests heading our way."

Beckman nodded, his expression shifting to match the gravity of Shanks' tone. Without hesitation, he strode back toward the Red Force, barking orders to the rest of the crew. Buggy, meanwhile, slid down from his perch atop a weathered boulder and stood by Shanks, his curiosity piqued.

"What's got you so worked up?" Buggy asked, glancing in the direction Shanks was staring. Though his observation haki wasn't on par with Shanks', it was still strong enough for him to sense a distant presence.

After a moment of focus, he narrowed his eyes, straining to identify the source of Shanks' concern. He fumbled for the spyglass strapped to his belt, extending it with a click. What he saw made his jaw drop. Shanks, however, gestured him in another direction as well.

"Oi, oi… is that—?!" Buggy stammered, lowering the spyglass as if it burned his hand.

Coming into view from the north was a massive warship, easily dwarfing the smaller galleon sailing from the south—the vessel they had been scheduled to meet. This northern ship was no ordinary pirate craft.

Its towering hull bore the unmistakable symbol of the Whitebeard Pirates: a skull with a grand white mustache crossing its face. Adorned with a ferocious prow shaped like a roaring lion, the ship radiated authority.

Golden trim sparkled along its edges, contrasting against its sturdy, battle-hardened frame. The sails, massive and pristine, carried Whitebeard's Jolly Roger like a declaration of power to anyone who dared approach.

It wasn't just the ship's design that demanded respect; it was its presence. Even from a distance, Shanks and Buggy could feel the weight of its aura. This was no random patrol vessel—it was the personal ship of one of Whitebeard's division commanders, sent to enforce the Yonko's rule in his tumultuous seas.

Recently, the Whitebeard Pirates had taken on an uncharacteristically aggressive stance. With rumors of strife in Wano and Whitebeard's attention drawn elsewhere, smaller crews had dared to sow chaos in the Emperor's absence. Now, Whitebeard's forces were retaliating with vengeance, leaving no stone unturned and no pirate unpunished.

Shanks, Buggy, and their crew had pieced together only fragments of what had transpired in Wano. They knew Oden was dead, but the finer details were lost in the storm of misinformation and rumors spread by the World Economy newspaper and the supposed truth by World Times.

The presence of Big Mom and Kaido in Wano made it clear the situation was far beyond a typical skirmish, and even Shanks had deemed it too risky and too late to intervene at the time. Yet now, the fallout of that conflict seemed to be creeping closer to their doorstep.

Buggy handed the spyglass to Shanks, though his voice betrayed his unease. "I don't think they're here for a friendly chat, Shanks. That's one of Whitebeard's big ships… Are we about to get mixed up in whatever they've got going on?"

Shanks scanned the horizon, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Whitebeard's not the type to send his commanders lightly. Whatever this is, it's serious. Maybe they came here for the fruit as well; after all, this is near Whitebeard's territory."

Buggy crossed his arms, trying to mask his nerves with bravado. "Well, they better not think they can push us around! We're the Red-Hair Pirates, damn it!"

Shanks let out a chuckle, the brief flash of humor cutting through the tension. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. But if it does…" He rested a hand on Gryphon's hilt, the faint hum of his haki rippling through the air like a low growl. "…We'll remind them why they call us one of the most dangerous crews to be crossed on the sea."