Chapter 270

Red Line, New World

A group of pirates carefully scoured the jagged cliffs of the Red Line, their eyes scanning the rocky terrain for any traces of the ancient weapon that the World Government had hidden away.

Ever since the government's fateful slip-up at the Sorbet Kingdom, when rumors of the weapon had been exposed, ambitious pirates, mercenaries, and revolutionaries alike had sought to seize the weapon for themselves.

Control of such an ancient power could shift the balance of the world, putting the fate of nations in the hands of whichever party could lay claim to it first.

This particular pirate crew had been combing the vast stretch of the Red Line for three grueling months, fighting off the dangers that came with scaling one of the most treacherous places in the world. Undeterred by the risk, they were dead set on their goal, with each passing day feeding the fire of their captain's insatiable ambition.

At the forefront of the group stood Captain Mordrake "Bloodbeard" Kross, a towering 6-meter-tall monstrosity of a man, his muscular frame wrapped in a long, tattered red coat, stained from years of bloodshed. His black beard hung in thick, twisted braids, matching the feral gleam in his bloodshot eyes.

Across his bare chest, an elaborate tattoo of a scorpion coiled around his muscular frame— tucked within his coat was a crumpled bounty poster of his own, on which the value read 1.6 billion beli.

His scarred face twisted into a smirk as he glanced at the crumbling remains of the town around them. Despite the wilderness that had reclaimed it, the faint shadows of once-thriving buildings and streets hinted at a civilization long gone.

Kross ripped a chunk of half-cooked meat from a slab of wild game, chewing loudly. "Such an exquisite piece of land," he growled, his voice a rumble like distant thunder, "and those World Government rats hoard it all to themselves. Figures."

Nearby, a scrawny pirate, no more than skin and bones, kicked a broken ceramic pot that shattered into dust across the dirt-strewn floor.

The ruins of the town they had stumbled upon bore signs of life—once. The wild grass now grew thick between the cracks of stone buildings, and vines snaked their way up dilapidated walls, nature slowly erasing all trace of its inhabitants.

"Captain," the pirate muttered, his voice trembling, "what do you think happened to all the people who lived here? This place feels like it's been abandoned forever."

Kross chuckled darkly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of grease across his beard.

"What else?" he replied, his deep voice dripping with disdain. "The World Government must've taken care of 'em. You know how it goes. They lay claim to the whole damned Red Line, and no one else is allowed to live on the same land as the so-called gods. Can't have 'common folk' sullying their divine soil, can they?" He let out a short, cruel laugh before tossing the bone over his shoulder.

A thick mist hung in the air as the pirates continued searching the ruins, wary of the eerie silence that permeated the area. The only sounds were the distant calls of strange, unseen wildlife and the soft rustling of leaves as a wind blew through the ghostly town.

The navigator, a hunched figure wearing a wide-brimmed hat and clutching a worn map, approached Kross with a scowl etched across his sun-baked face. His sharp, hawk-like eyes scanned the horizon.

"Captain," he began, hesitation in his voice, "do you really think we'll find the ancient weapon? The Red Line is vast. We've already spent three months searching, and there's no telling where we are anymore. Every patch of rock looks the same out here. I'm starting to think we're chasing shadows."

Kross's eyes flicked to the navigator, his sharp gaze locking on the man like a predator sizing up its prey. He didn't like hearing doubts, not when they were this close—or so he believed. "You losing your nerve, Dax?" Kross asked, his voice quiet but menacing.

"Three months is nothing for what's at stake. Once we get our hands on that weapon, the seas will bend to our will. The Marines, the pirates, the revolutionaries—they'll all kneel. And those 'gods' up in Mariejois?" Kross spat on the ground. "I'll tear them off their throne myself."

Dax winced but held his ground. "Aye, Captain, but we've got to be smart about this. We don't even know where to look next. The Red Line is massive. What if it's all just a wild goose chase?"

Kross stepped forward, towering over the navigator. His grin widened, showing a set of crooked, gold-lined teeth. "If it's a goose chase, then we'll pluck that goose bald, Dax. But don't start whining now. I've got a good feeling about this place."

A shiver ran down Dax's spine as the captain's massive hand clapped him on the shoulder. There was no arguing with Bloodbeard Kross when his mind was made up. He was relentless, a force of nature on the seas, and his crew knew that questioning his orders could be more dangerous than any enemy they might face.

As the crew continued their search, one of the men suddenly knelt down, examining something half-buried in the overgrown grass. "Captain!" he called out, waving his hand urgently. "There's something here!"

Kross stalked over, curiosity flaring in his dark eyes. He crouched beside the pirate and pulled at a rusted metal plate, revealing an engraved stone hidden beneath the earth. The markings were ancient, weathered by time but unmistakably significant. Kross's grin widened as he traced his fingers along the worn carvings.

"Well, well…" he muttered, standing up to his full, towering height, "looks like we might be getting close after all."

The other pirates crowded around, peering at the stone with wide eyes. Even Dax, who moments ago had been full of doubt, felt a surge of excitement.

"Spread out!" Kross bellowed, his voice booming across the desolate town. "Keep searching. If there's one clue, there'll be more. We're not leaving here until we've found everything."

With a renewed sense of purpose, the crew scattered, combing through the ancient ruins with eager hands. Kross stood tall, gazing down at the stone with a hungry gleam in his eyes.

He could feel it in his bones. The ancient weapon was close. And soon, it would be his.

********

Water 7, Grand Line

A group of cloaked figures sat huddled around a small, makeshift dining table on a boat repurposed into a floating restaurant. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the still waters.

Though the night air was cool, none of the figures dared remove their cloaks. Their faces were obscured, and for good reason—recent notoriety had put a heavy target on their backs.

These weren't just any pirates, but the Red-Haired Pirates, now infamous across the seas. Thanks to the World Economy Newspaper, they were being framed as a bloodthirsty crew responsible for the destruction of nearly half a dozen islands.

In truth, they had only been unlucky enough to be spotted near those incidents, becoming convenient scapegoats for crimes they didn't commit. As the papers painted them as cold-blooded marauders, the Marines grew ever more aggressive in hunting them down.

Seated at the head of the table, Shanks—his fiery red hair hidden beneath a deep hood—took a contemplative bite of fried rice, savoring the taste. It was a simple meal, but after the chaos they'd been through, it felt like a rare moment of peace. His normally cheerful demeanor was somewhat muted tonight, lost in thought about more pressing matters.

As they ate in silence, the soft thud of footsteps on the wooden deck alerted the crew to a new arrival. Another cloaked figure climbed aboard the floating restaurant, shaking the sea spray from his hood as he joined them at the table.

"Did you find him?" Shanks' voice broke through the quiet, his eyes still on his plate but his attention now fully focused on the newcomer.

The figure pushed back his hood, revealing the sharp, calculating face of Benn Beckman, Shanks' first mate. He settled in beside the rest of the crew and, with a wave, ordered his own plate of food from the elderly cook behind the counter.

"I found him," Beckman replied, sighing as he stretched out his legs. "But approaching him isn't going to be as simple as we thought. And with the way things have been going for us, it's only getting more complicated." He picked up a pair of chopsticks and absentmindedly tapped them against the table, his brow furrowed in thought.

Shanks paused mid-bite, spoon hovering over his plate, and raised an eyebrow beneath his hood. He could feel the eyes of the rest of the crew on him, waiting for his reaction. "What's the story, then?" he asked, leaning back and crossing his arms. "You were supposed to meet him today, right?"

Beckman took a deep breath before continuing. "Tom's in Water 7. But it turns out he's working on some project for the World Government, and not just any project. They've got him under some kind of unofficial house arrest. The place is crawling with government agents in plain clothes, watching his every move."

Shanks' eyes narrowed at that. "Is he being forced into this? If they're holding him against his will, we could stage a rescue. Tom-san's the best shipwright alive—I can't think of anyone more qualified to build our ship."

From across the table, Buggy—his mouth stuffed full of fried rice—spoke up, bits of food spraying as he tried to join the conversation. "Yeah, Shanksh! Let's go 'n shet 'im! It'll be fun!" Buggy grinned, still chewing as he jabbed a thumb toward the horizon, clearly eager for action.

Shanks shot Buggy a half-amused, half-disgusted look. "Swallow your food before you start a rescue mission, Buggy."

The crew laughed, lightening the mood a little, but the situation was far from resolved. Beckman, wiping a bit of rice from his sleeve with a smirk, continued. "I don't think it's that simple, Shanks. From what I could gather, the man isn't exactly a prisoner. He's actually really into the project he's working on. Passionate, even. We could show up with guns blazing, but I'm not sure he'd want to leave."

Shanks frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "He's working for the World Government willingly, then? That's... unexpected. I mean, I get it. He built the Oro Jackson, after all. The guy loves a challenge. But still…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts.

Benn Beckman took a bite of his meal, nodding as the elderly cook placed another plate in front of him. "Yeah, it's a tough situation. I'm not saying we can't convince him, but it won't be as simple as knocking down a door and offering him a spot on the crew. He's neck-deep in this project. If we pull him out now, we might be dragging him away from something he really wants to finish."

Shanks exhaled slowly, letting his spoon clatter to the plate as he leaned back in his chair. The rest of the crew was quiet, watching their captain for a decision.

"We can't just give up," Yasopp finally chimed in, his sharp eyes glancing at Shanks. "But Benn's right. If Tom's really into this, forcing him out wouldn't be the right way to go about it. We need him to want to build our ship. Anything less would be a disrespect to him, and to the Red haired Pirates."

The crew murmured in agreement, and Shanks nodded thoughtfully, the fire of determination returning to his eyes.

"You're right, Yasopp. We'll handle this with caution. If Tom-san is passionate about what he's doing, we'll let him finish. But we should still meet with him, explain our situation. Maybe, when he's done, he'll agree to work on our new ship. We'll give him the freedom to decide." Shanks smiled, his grin brightening the mood even further.

"It's not going to be that simple to meet him, Shanks..." Beckman's voice trailed off as he reached inside his cloak, pulling out two newspapers—one from the World Economy and the other from the World Times. He laid both down on the table, the headlines in bold, glaring print. Along with them, several bounty posters slipped out, fluttering onto the table's surface like a bad omen.

Shanks reached out, picking up one of the two newspapers. His usual calm demeanor faded into a frown as he understood what Beckman meant by "troublesome." He scanned the articles, his sharp eyes narrowing as he pieced together the situation. It wasn't just news—it was the end of the thin protection they'd been skating by on.

His title as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea had been revoked.

Not that Shanks had ever cared much for the position—he hadn't even officially accepted it—but its perks had worked in his favor. Despite their growing reputation, the Marines had hesitated to act against them directly. But now? With his status revoked, there was no longer any buffer. It wouldn't be long before they were once again actively hunted by the Navy.

Meanwhile, from the corner of the table, Buggy's mouth fell open in shock as he stared at his own new bounty poster. His eyes bugged out so much, it looked like they might pop right out of his skull.

"WH-WH-WHAAAT?!" Buggy sputtered, grabbing the paper with both hands and staring at his own face, glaring back at him from the wanted poster.

[WANTED]

[BUGGY 'THE CLOWN']

[DEAD OR ALIVE]

[616,060,000 BERRY]

"Six hundred million berries? For me?! Why me?! I haven't done anything!" He was practically wailing now, looking between the poster and his crewmates with wild eyes.

"I'm innocent! I mean, sure, maybe I've... miscalculated a few things... but I'm not some bloodthirsty maniac!"

Buggy's mind raced as he thought back over the past few months. All I did was tag along! I didn't even get involved in those island attacks! Well, except for that one time, but that wasn't my fault! I just happened to be standing in the wrong place—again! How did I end up with a bounty like this?! I'm supposed to be hiding in the background, not leading the charge!

The rest of the crew couldn't help but snicker as Buggy's face went pale, his panic growing by the second.

"Looks like the Marines think you're more dangerous than you let on, Buggy," Yasopp teased, his sharp grin peeking out from beneath his hood.

Buggy's face twisted in horror. "Dangerous?! D-d-dangerous?!" He waved the poster frantically. "I haven't even done anything dangerous! I'm a victim here, I tell ya! It's all misunderstandings! This... this is a setup!"

Lucky Roux, sitting to Shanks' left, had been flipping through the rest of the bounty posters. His thick fingers settled on Shanks' new one, and he burst out laughing. "Now this is a decent bounty for our crew's captain!" he boomed, sliding the poster toward Shanks with a wide grin.

[WANTED]

[RED HAIR SHANKS]

[DEAD OR ALIVE]

[819,000,000 BERRY]

Shanks picked it up, eyeing the bounty: 819 million berries. His own face stared back at him, a calm but dangerous look in his eyes. He gave a small, amused huff, shaking his head. "Seems like we're finally back on their radar."

The rest of the crew leaned in, checking out their own updated bounties. Yasopp whistled as he saw his. "Guess they're taking us seriously again. This should make things a lot more interesting."

Beckman leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "With your Warlord status revoked, it's only a matter of time before the Marines come after us in full force again. If we're planning to meet Tom, we'll need to be a lot more careful. The last thing we need is to walk into a trap while the government's got him under surveillance."

Shanks nodded, his expression serious. "We knew this day would come. Nothing we can do but stay sharp."

Buggy, still muttering to himself about how unfair his bounty was, suddenly perked up, his face turning from panic to smugness. "Well, if I'm worth a hundred million now, then maybe I am that dangerous!" He puffed out his chest, grinning. "Yeah! They're finally recognizing my true potential! I'm practically a legend now!"

Yasopp snorted. "Don't let it go to your head, Buggy. You're still the guy who tripped over his own feet last week and nearly fell off the ship."

Buggy's face instantly deflated, his bravado evaporating in an instant. "H-hey, that was a tactical misstep! Not my fault! And you should know I am the Vice Captain, and my bounty is the second highest."

As the crew continued to joke and poke fun at each other, Shanks quietly folded up the newspaper and the bounty posters, his mind already racing through potential plans. The road ahead was getting more treacherous, but that was nothing new for him or his crew.

"Alright," Shanks finally said, standing up. "We'll lay low for now and approach Tom cautiously. The last thing we want is to get him involved in all of this. If he's working on something important, we'll wait until the right time to ask him. We'll make sure he's safe first. But remember," he added with a grin, "we're the Red-Haired Pirates. Trouble finds us whether we want it or not."

The crew erupted into laughter, and even Buggy managed a weak chuckle, still holding his bounty poster like it was some sort of personal betrayal.

"Let's finish our meal," Shanks said, "and then we'll set sail. The world's watching, but that's never stopped us before."

Shanks' gaze shifted to Benn Beckman, the only one at the table whose mood remained somber despite the laughter and jokes. He knew something was weighing heavily on his first mate's mind. With a casual grin, Shanks tried to lighten the mood.

"Are you still worried about the one using our name to carry out those massacres?" Shanks chuckled, trying to ease the tension. "Don't worry, we'll catch up to him sooner or later. No one uses the Red-Haired Pirates as a scapegoat for long."

Beckman didn't smile. His eyes remained fixed on the newspaper headlines and the old bounty posters that were printed on the newspaper. His concern was much deeper, and it wasn't just about their reputation. He shook his head, finally speaking up, his voice low and thoughtful.

"It's not just that, Shanks." Beckman's gaze flickered to the newly appointed Shichibukai in the papers, then back to Shanks. "It's like they appeared out of nowhere. But there's something bigger here... Tell me, Shanks, what do you know about Rocks D. Xebec?"

The name hung in the air like a curse, cutting through the atmosphere of the small boat-restaurant. Buggy, who had just been about to tear into one of Roux's chicken legs, froze mid-bite. His eyes widened at the mention of the infamous pirate's name.

That name—*Rocks*—was one he had heard in hushed whispers back when they sailed under Roger. Though Roger rarely talked about it, the stories that did slip through were enough to make anyone's blood run cold.

Shanks' expression darkened almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing. His grin faded, replaced by a faraway look, as memories from years ago stirred. Rocks D. Xebec... God Valley... These weren't topics Shanks was keen to revisit. The God Valley Incident was something he had buried deep within himself, locked away alongside all the painful memories of his youth.

Beckman noticed Shanks' reluctance but pushed on, his voice firm. "You were Roger's apprentice. You must know something about Rocks—more than the papers will ever say. The World Government wiped most of the information on him from history, but there are too many things happening now that are too coincidental to ignore."

Shanks stayed silent, staring at the table, his mind swirling with thoughts he didn't want to voice. Rocks D. Xebec had been more than a pirate; he had been a force of chaos, a man whose ambition nearly tore the world apart.

The God Valley Incident... The battle where Roger and Garp stood together against Rocks. It was a moment that had shaped the world forever. But Shanks was just a infant back then, locked away in a chest, too young to truly understand the depths of what had occurred.

Beckman sighed, understanding his captain's hesitation, but he wasn't done. "There's something strange going on, Shanks. These three... were believed to be dead for almost two decades."

"Three of the New World's most feared overlords—Dorian, Izumi, and finally Scarlett, the woman who was hailed as the pirate closest to achieving the title of Pirate Empress before Roger . All of them resurfacing around the same time, after being off the radar for so long? That's not a coincidence."

Shanks remained silent, his thoughts drawn to the present. Kaidou and Big Mom were back in the spotlight, gathering power, and the world was feeling the tremors of their return. But Beckman's real concern lay with the third figure—the man whose name still sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened pirates.

"Shanks, I'm telling you," Beckman continued, his voice low and grave. "There's more to this than just old pirates coming out of the woodwork. The resurgence of these monsters is tied to something bigger. The way they've moved—like they've been waiting for this moment, like it's all part of some grand design. And Rocks... whatever he left behind, it's still casting a shadow over the New World."

The table grew quiet. Even Buggy, who typically tried to avoid serious discussions, was listening intently, the half-eaten chicken leg forgotten in his hand.

"Rocks was obsessed with ruling the world," Beckman pressed. "He didn't care about the Pirate King title or the One Piece. His ambitions were deeper, darker. If something of his legacy has resurfaced... it could be catastrophic."

Shanks finally exhaled, his hand moving to his face as he rubbed his temple. "I can't pretend to know everything about Rocks," he muttered, his voice a bit strained.

"Captain Roger didn't talk much about him, except to say that Rocks was different. His crew... they weren't just pirates. They were a crew of people who would stab each other in the back for power if given the chance. But they followed him because they knew he was their best shot at taking over the world."

He glanced up at Beckman. "If there's a connection between what's happening now and Rocks' old crew, we need to be careful. The World Government erased him from history for a reason, and if they're trying to keep something buried, it's usually because it's dangerous. But we can't jump to conclusions without proof."

Beckman nodded, his sharp mind already piecing together the fragments of information they had. "I agree, but we need to stay vigilant. If this is part of Rocks' shadow returning, we could be looking at a threat that could shake the entire world."

"Yeah," Shanks said softly, his mind heavy with thoughts of what lay ahead. "But whatever comes, we'll face it. That's all we can do."

Buggy finally broke the tension, blurting out, "Wait a minute, you're telling me Rocks—the Rocks who terrorized the seas before our Captain—might still have something out there? And we're just supposed to sit here like it's no big deal?! I vote we avoid any giant conspiracies involving world-ending pirates. Thank you very much…!"

Shanks chuckled, his mood lightening a little as Buggy's panicked expression brought some levity back to the conversation. "Relax, Buggy. We're not getting ourselves tangled in anything just yet."

Buggy huffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, just make sure whatever we do, it doesn't involve me getting stuck with any of those monsters!"

The crew laughed, but Shanks' eyes remained distant. Rocks D. Xebec was long dead—or so everyone believed. But Beckman's words hung in the air. Some shadows never truly disappear, and if Rocks' legacy was stirring again, it could change the course of history once more.

*****

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