Chapter 5: Sea Chaos

Below is a revised version of Chapter 5 of your *One Piece* fan fiction, titled **"Winds of War and the Pirate's Rise."** The timeline is set before the God Valley Incident, meaning Shanks is not yet born, and the Roger Pirates have not yet re

The air in Marshal Kong's office at Marine Headquarters hung heavy, thick with the scent of ink, sea salt, and the bitter tang of defeat.

Towering windows let in slashes of sunlight, illuminating maps pinned to the walls charts of the Four Blues and the uncharted Grand Line, a constant reminder of the Navy's Sisyphean task.

A long oak table dominated the room, its surface scratched from years of heated debates, and around it sat a dozen officers: admirals, vice admirals, and captains, all stiff-backed and silent.

Kong paced like a caged beast, his boots thumping against the polished floor. His massive hands gripped a crumpled report, knuckles white with strain.

The Rocks Pirates had struck again, and the sting of their latest raid burned fresh.

With a growl, he flung the paper onto the table, the crack of it landing like a gunshot.

"Explain this!" he barked, his voice a storm breaking over the room. "Hico Island—gutted! Gold, weapons, everything gone, and we're left holding our hats. The Rocks Pirates played us like damn fiddles!"

A young captain, his uniform crisp but his face pale, stood hesitantly. "Marshal, sir, we… we had intel they'd hit Krisu. They must've fed us a lie—"

"A lie?" Kong whirled on him, eyes blazing. "You think that's an excuse, boy? It's your job to see through their tricks! Xebec's crew waltzed into Hico, took what they wanted, and slipped away while we chased ghosts. The World Government's screaming for heads—ours, if we don't fix this!"

The captain shrank back, mumbling, "We'll double our patrols, sir—"

"Patrols won't cut it!" Kong snapped, slamming a fist on the table. Cups rattled, and a few officers flinched. "They're laughing at us out there. Laughing!"

At the table's end, two figures stirred. Admiral Coze Russel leaned forward, his silver hair flicking like it was caught in a breeze—a quirk of his **Wind Wind Fruit**, a Logia that made him a tempest in human form. "We don't need more patrols," he said, his voice sharp as a gust. "We need to hit them. Hard. I can rip their ships apart with a thought—scatter them before they regroup."

Admiral Sugo, seated opposite, didn't move. His grizzled face, carved with scars, stayed calm, but his dark eyes glinted with the menace of his Black Panther Fruit . At seventy-six, he carried his years like a weapon. "Talk's cheap, Russel," he rumbled. "You wanna charge in, fists swinging? That's how we lost Hico. Xebec's got Whitebeard, Kaido, Big Mom—monsters, not men. We need a plan, not a windstorm."

A vice admiral, his chest heavy with medals, snorted. "Plan? They're looting the North Blue dry while we sit here jawing! The people want blood, Sugo—pirate blood."

Russel smirked, crossing his arms. "He's right. I say we sail now. My winds can shred their sails, leave 'em floundering. We mop up the rest."

Sugo's gaze didn't waver. "And if it's a trap? Xebec's a devil—he'll turn your attack into our graveyard. I've seen enough wrecks to know rushing in blind gets you sunk."

Voices erupted, overlapping in a chaotic swell. A captain shouted, "Trade routes are bleeding out!" Another hissed, "Xebec's too clever for us!" Kong raised a hand, and the noise died instantly.

"Shut it," he said, his tone flat but lethal. "Russel, your winds could crack their fleet—I'll give you that. But Sugo's got the truth of it: blind moves cost us Hico. We're not dancing to Xebec's tune again."

Before anyone could argue, a Den Den Mushi on the desk twitched, its snail-eyes blinking as it connected. The room went still, breaths held, as the shadowy forms of the Five Elders flickered into view. Their presence was a weight, pressing down like a storm cloud.

Elder Saint Mars spoke, his voice cold as steel. "Marshal Kong, this farce ends now. The Rocks Pirates threaten the World Government's order. You will crush them—utterly."

Elder Saint Jupiter leaned closer, his whisper cutting through the silence. "Ten thousand men. Three vice admirals. Two admirals. Full resources. This is not optional, Kong. Fail, and the consequences will be… severe."

Kong's jaw tightened, but he bowed his head. "Yes, Elders. It'll be done."

The snail clicked off, leaving a chill in the air. Ten thousand soldiers—a war's worth of manpower. The officers exchanged glances, the scale sinking in.

Kong turned to his admirals. "You heard 'em. No more arguing. We move."

---

Later, in a dim side chamber, Kong met with Russel and Sugo alone. Lanterns cast jittery shadows on the stone walls, and the mood was grim. Russel paced, his coat flapping like wings, while Sugo sat, hands steepled, staring into nothing.

"Ten thousand,"

Sugo muttered, shaking his head.

"That's not a skirmish it's a massacre waiting to happen. Xebec's crew aren't pirates; they're a damn calamity."

Russel stopped, glaring at him. "What's your play, then? Sit and wait while they rob the world blind? I say I take the lead—hit 'em with everything I've got. Winds'll tear their ships to splinters."

Kong rubbed his temples. "Ease up, Russel. You'll get your shot, but Sugo's not wrong. We can't just throw men at this and hope. We need precision."

Sugo grunted, leaning back.

"I'll handle their muscle Whitebeard,Sliver Aex, Jhon, Shiki , Amazon Lily Empress, Cholate Linlin , Kaido, whoever they throw at us. My claws'll match 'em blow for blow. But I want scouts, Kong. Eyes ahead. One wrong step, and we're fish food."

"Done,"

Russel said, nodding.

"I'll sweep their lines, disrupt 'em—give Sugo the opening. But Xebec's the key. We need to pin him down."

Kong clapped them both on the shoulder, his grip firm.

"We've pulled through worse. Russel, you break their formation. Sugo, you take the heavy hitters. I'll handle the fleet and the brass. We don't just win—we bury 'em."

A knock interrupted them. A junior officer slipped in, handing Kong a slim file. Inside was a sketch: a young man with sharp eyes and a note about his rise in the World Government—Figarland Garling . Kong studied it, frowning. "Ambitious little snake," he said under his breath.

Sugo glanced over.

"Garling? Heard he's kissing Elder boots already."

"Could be trouble down the line," Kong replied, tucking the file away.

"But right now, Xebec's our fight."

---

Meanwhile, in Foosha Village, the West Blue sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold. Monkey D. Garp trudged up a dusty hill, his Marine coat slung over one shoulder, his face split by a grin. In the yard ahead, his sons sparred: Tyson pounded a wooden post with wild punches, while Dragon darted around a makeshift track, his breath puffing in the cool air.

"Oi, you brats!" Garp's shout rolled across the clearing. "Your old man's home!"

Tyson dropped his fists, spinning around with a whoop. "Dad! Took you forever!"

Dragon jogged over, smirking as he wiped sweat from his brow. "We figured you'd sailed off to fight seagulls or something."

Garp laughed, loud and rough, clapping Dragon on the back hard enough to stagger him. "Seagulls? Nah, I've got bigger fish! Here—" He fished a crumpled newspaper from his pocket and tossed it to Tyson. "Check that out."

Tyson caught it, unfolding it with eager hands. "Roger Pirates?" he read, squinting at the headline. "Who're these guys?"

Garp plopped onto a stump, stretching his legs with a groan. "New crew kicking up dust in the West Blue. Sank a merchant ship last week—bold as brass. Haven't hit the Grand Line yet, but they've got guts."

Dragon peered over Tyson's shoulder at the bounty posters: Gol D. Roger, a dark-haired man with a wild grin; Silvers Rayleigh, all sharp edges and cool confidence. "They're nobodies," Dragon said, shrugging. "Navy'll crush 'em in a month."

"Don't bet on it, kid," Garp said, his tone turning serious. "Roger's got something—fire in him. Reminds me of you, Tyson, when you're not being a knucklehead."

Tyson puffed out his chest. "So I'm a pirate king in the making, huh?"

Garp ruffled his hair, chuckling. "You're a menace, that's what. But the world's big, boys—bigger than this village. Stuff's brewing out there."

Dragon crossed his arms, staring toward the sea. "Like what? More pirates?"

"Pirates, wars, you name it," Garp said, his eyes distant. "The Rocks Pirates are tearing up the North Blue, and the brass is itching for a fight. Sea's getting wilder every day."

Tyson grinned, clutching the paper. "Sounds like fun! When do I get to punch pirates, Dad?"

"Slow down, hotshot," Garp said, standing with a stretch. "First, you survive your Dad Punch Then go to the sea !"

Dragon smirked. "No."

"Smart," Garp shot back, herding them toward the house. As they walked, the wind carried whispers of distant battles, and Tyson's mind danced with dreams of adventure, the newspaper crinkling in his grip.

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