Chapter 7: A Navy Warship Enters Red Maple Island's Waters

Just after Wood had taken down nearly ten members of the Iron Arm Pirates, blade returning to its sheath, he was struck by a sudden alarm bell ringing in his mind.

And sure enough—Cook's massive fist came tearing through the air a moment later.

Unlike before, this time Cook hadn't been charging around. From the start, he'd stood back, waiting patiently for Wood to act. So the moment Wood struck down his crew, Cook—who had been poised like a spring—pounced.

Boom—!

This time, Wood couldn't dodge. He had no choice but to block it head-on. His roughly-made lacquered wooden sheath exploded into splinters as it met the crushing blow of Cook's armored fist.

Despite managing to block the punch, the sheer impact forced Wood backward, his feet scraping across the ground for several meters before he could stabilize.

He took a quick moment to gauge the numbness in his arms, and couldn't help feeling a wave of relief. Not clashing head-to-head with Cook earlier had absolutely been the right decision.

Cook had shattered the redwood sheath with a single punch—and even forced Wood back several meters. In terms of raw strength, the gap between them was enormous.

And this was after Wood had spent so much time running him in circles, whittling down his stamina.

If this had been Cook at full power, Wood suspected that the punch wouldn't have just shattered his sheath. He might've suffered internal injuries as well.

Seeing that even his all-out strike had only knocked Wood back—and failed to injure him—Cook's expression twisted in rage.

Even with his limited brainpower, he could now clearly see the truth: all of Wood's earlier taunts hadn't just been to protect the townspeople. They were bait. Every reckless punch Cook had thrown was a trap—meant to wear him down.

The heavy iron gauntlets that made his punches devastating also came with a cost. Every swing drained him further.

Now, much of that strength was gone. His attacks no longer had the same weight they did at the start.

——

Meanwhile, far out at sea, several naval warships that had departed from Marineford days earlier had finally entered the waters surrounding Red Maple Island.

"Reporting to Admiral Zephyr! Our ships have now passed through the Parassia Sea and are approaching the waters around Red Maple Island!"

On the deck of a large Marine warship, a uniformed soldier stood at attention, reporting respectfully to a towering, hardened man with short, spiky purple hair and a face carved with stoic discipline.

"Order all soldiers to stay alert and maintain vigilance," the admiral replied. "Even if this is only the first half of the Grand Line, we cannot afford to be complacent."

His voice was deep, steady, and laced with a soldier's edge.

"Damn Roger," he muttered. "Even in death, he's left the Navy with a disaster. Because of that one sentence before his execution, pirates are suddenly flooding the seas like rats."

"And the ships behind us… they're full of promising recruits. Have the colonels aboard the main vessel keep a close watch on them."

The soldier saluted sharply and left in silence, back held rigid with respect.

Before stepping away, the young man snuck one last glance at the admiral—eyes full of admiration and barely contained excitement.

It was hard not to be excited. As a fresh recruit, the young Marine had long since heard of the legend before him.

Black Arm Zephyr. That was the name of the admiral on deck.

For most Marines, Vice Admiral Garp was the icon of heroism and strength. But when it came to service, legacy, and contribution, Zephyr stood as a giant of his own.

Most of the Navy's current elite—Vice Admirals Akainu and Kizaru among them—were students trained under Admiral Zephyr.

And as for why a high-ranking admiral like Zephyr would be out at such a remote region? There was good reason.

Since Gol D. Roger's execution and his infamous final words, the world had entered the "Great Pirate Era."

With the number of pirates skyrocketing, the Navy's current deployments had become woefully inadequate.

Not only was there a shortage of personnel, but the influence and infrastructure of the Navy across the seas had begun to wane. Pirate strength was starting to grow faster than they could contain.

Thus, Admiral Zephyr had left Marineford with a mission: to find and recruit the next generation of elite Marines.

And beyond just recruitment, the Navy also needed to strengthen and expand its outposts across the Grand Line and the Four Seas.

But selecting new bases of operation wasn't something that could be left to just any officer. Choosing their locations and assigning trusted personnel required the experience of someone with both seniority and foresight.

That's why Fleet Admiral Kong had personally entrusted the mission to Zephyr.

Kong's reasoning had been solid. Zephyr was already responsible for the training of Marine recruits. Who better to scout for new talent and establish strongholds across the seas?

Not to mention, with decades of service behind him, Zephyr's keen judgment was unmatched. He would know exactly where to plant a base—and who should be left in charge.

In fact, most of the Navy's best officers were once his students. It was only natural for him to continue shaping the next generation.

It had been a long time since Zephyr had left Marineford.

Because of his past, and his growing hatred of pirates, he had become more withdrawn—more selective about the missions he accepted.

At first, he'd been reluctant to take on this assignment. But Fleet Admiral Kong's arguments were hard to refute.

Before leaving, his old friend Garp had clapped him on the back and told him to enjoy the trip—to relax a little, to take this as an opportunity to clear his mind.

"Who knows," Garp had said. "Maybe you'll find yourself a new student you really like."

Thinking back to Garp's words, Zephyr allowed himself a rare smile. It was faint, bittersweet.

Because so far, this voyage had brought him no such pleasant surprises.