One Piece: The Living Devil

After listening Beckman's words, Shanks fell completely silent.

The dim light in the warehouse stretched their shadows into twisted shapes.

He gripped the hilt of Gryphon at his waist so tightly that his knuckles creaked. The outlines of his bones seemed ready to pierce through the thin layer of skin.

He hadn't been convinced by that grand, absolutely fair system.

Even now, he still held onto the same passion he had when he swore his oath before Captain Roger.

The pursuit of freedom remained his obsession.

Shanks knew very well that the world Beckman described was a true paradise for ninety-nine percent of the ordinary people on these seas.

No pirates breaking into fishing villages in the middle of the night to loot them.

No nobles standing over the people's heads, collecting taxes so crushing that they couldn't survive.

No children becoming orphans because Sea Kings had devoured their parents.

As long as they worked hard and followed the rules, even the son of the poorest fisherman could rise above his station and reach a life he once wouldn't have dared dream of.

But in his eyes, the foundation of that paradise was a steel cage forged by Rosse to satisfy his own desires.

From high above, Rosse had planned every path in advance, using welfare and stability to define what was good and what was bad, what kind of life deserved praise and what kind of choice deserved scorn.

Everyone ran along those predetermined tracks, becoming more and more alike until they were nothing more than well-functioning gears inside a giant machine.

Smooth, standardized, replaceable gears.

They had been stripped of the right to go off course in the midst of storms, stripped of the freedom to make mistakes. They would never understand what it meant to sail into unknown seas knowing nothing, laughing aloud in the eye of a storm, that was true freedom.

That kind of freedom was filthy, dangerous, and full of consequences.

But it was alive.

"Beckman."

Shanks released the hilt of his sword, slowly spreading his fingers. A deep red mark remained across his palm.

He took a deep breath of the tobacco-scented air, letting the sharpness rush straight into his lungs, as if using that tiny sting to confirm that he hadn't gone numb.

Then he turned and strode toward the door. His boots struck the wooden floor with dull, resolute thuds.

"Captain."

Beckman bit down on his cigar and didn't get up to stop him.

Smoke slowly drifted from both sides of his nose, blurring half his face.

He leaned against the wall with his long legs crossed, looking almost lazily relaxed. But the fingertips of the hand holding the cigar trembled ever so slightly.

He watched that resolute figure from behind, the faded black cloak worn thin by sea winds and blades, the bright red hair that still stood out under the dim light. A trace of sorrow flashed in his eyes.

"Walk the path you believe is right. Don't stop."

Shanks' voice was low and steady, as though he were simply stating a fact he had long accepted.

He stopped at the doorway.

The sea breeze squeezed through the crack, carrying the salty air and the distant sound of ropes rubbing against the docks.

With his back to Beckman, only two seconds passed, yet it felt as though they had crossed the entire twenty years they had fought side by side.

Then he waved his only remaining right arm in a broad, carefree motion, as if he were simply saying goodbye to an old friend after an ordinary drinking party.

"It was an honor to have you as my partner for so many years."

Without looking back, he pushed the door open and disappeared into the alley.

The door shut heavily behind him, cutting off everything between them.

What was freedom?

Letting your friends leave to embrace the life they chose, even if you believed the road ahead was a bottomless abyss, that too was freedom.

From the day the Red Hair Pirates were founded, they had never needed anyone's absolute loyalty.

There were no blood oaths, no brands, no iron rule that traitors must die.

They were simply a group of drinking buddies who banded together to roam the seas without restraint, raising their cups to the same song and setting sail beneath the same stars.

Now that Beckman's faith had changed, their bond ended here.

Clean and decisive.

Like cutting through a rope worn down until only a few strands remained. Rather than waiting for it to snap in the next storm and hurt someone, it was better to cut it yourself now.

Shanks knew that, because of everything they had gone through together, Beckman might truly use his position to act as a mole within the World Government for him.

With Beckman's intelligence and abilities, the value of the information he could obtain would be immeasurable.

But there was no need anymore.

What Beckman had revealed about how the World Government functioned had already sentenced the old era to death.

It wasn't a regime that could be overthrown through assassination, a coup, or one decisive battle.

It was a colossal machine that repaired itself, evolved itself, and wove every citizen into a network of shared interests.

With only the battered Red Hair Pirates, and even if Whitebeard and the others barely hanging on in the New World were added, they still wouldn't be qualified to make so much as a splash before that massive state machine.

Luffy, the boy wearing the straw hat, the kid from Foosha Village who had shouted that he would surpass him, he was already the last hope for breaking this deadlock across the seas.

"Captain... farewell."

Listening to the fading footsteps outside, Beckman removed the cigar from his mouth and murmured softly toward the empty doorway.

The glowing tip flickered, illuminating the fine lines that had somehow appeared at the corners of his eyes.

From now on, he would still use his intelligence network to pass the World Government's most important movements to Shanks.

Only, those reports probably wouldn't be what Shanks wanted to hear.

He would show Shanks with his own eyes how the East Blue would be assimilated within a single year without a single battle.

He would show him how the pirates would be wiped out, how the children in fishing villages would laugh in brand-new schools, and how crime throughout the sea would recede like the outgoing tide, never to return.

He would earn merits and pave the road ahead for his old friend.

After so many years of risking life and death together, their bond had sunk into their bones, so deep that every breath reminded them of each other's existence.

How could it possibly be severed so easily?

No matter how resolute Shanks had been today, Beckman and Bonk Punch had already made their decision.

If not in this life, then in the next.

From now on, they would climb the ranks of the World Government by any means necessary.

When the day came that Shanks was crushed beneath the weight of this era, Beckman didn't want to imagine what that day would look like.

But he knew it would come.

Using all those contribution points, they would arrange the best possible next life for Shanks through the World Government's cycle of reincarnation.

He would be reborn as an honest, ordinary citizen of the World Government and experience a peaceful, stable life.

Beckman crushed the burned-out cigar into the ashtray and closed his eyes.

———

[Loguetown, Central Plaza]

The weather in the East Blue changed in an instant. A moment ago, the sun had been shining brightly while seagulls circled freely beneath the blue sky.

Now it was as if an invisible giant had drawn the curtains shut. Heavy storm clouds rolled in from the far horizon, layer upon layer, pressing over the town so low that it seemed one could touch their lead-gray undersides just by reaching up.

The air was thick with oppressive humidity, hot and stagnant, as though the entire island had been submerged in a pot of water on the verge of boiling.

Distant thunder rumbled, like a giant beast turning over deep within the clouds.

At the center of the plaza stood a massive wooden execution platform.

Twenty years of wind and sun hadn't allowed it to rot. Instead, the World Government had enclosed it within a high-strength transparent glass dome and preserved it as an important historical relic marking the end of the old era.

The surface of the glass was spotless, clearly maintained on a regular basis.

Through the crystal-clear barrier, the weathered grain of the wood, the dark reddish stains left by rusted iron nails, and the grooves worn into the crossbeam by shackles were all clearly visible.

Several enormous holographic screens floated around the glass enclosure, broadcasting The Life of Gol D. Roger twenty-four hours a day.

Blue-white light cast shifting reflections across the plaza, forming a strange contrast with the gloomy sky overhead.

Passersby occasionally stopped to watch for a moment, their expressions calm, as though they were watching an old documentary that had already been rerun countless times.

To tourists of the new era, it was simply another chapter in a history textbook, a long-past event with no connection to themselves.

This biography had been personally approved by Rosse. Olvia had mobilized every available resource of the World Government's Historical Compilation Bureau, painstakingly piecing it together.

There was no slander.

No exaggeration.

No deliberate vilification or glorification.

Only cold, objective facts.

And that very objectivity, stripped of all emotion, was crueler than any condemnation.

Shanks lowered the hood of his cloak, its coarse fabric hiding most of his face, revealing only his defined jaw and a strand of red hair peeking out.

He stood alone among the crowd at the edge of the plaza, disguised as an ordinary traveler.

Here, he saw too many familiar faces.

Dragon stood near the back of the crowd in a dark green overcoat, his expression solemn.

Luffy and Lucky Roux stood together, and the straw-hatted boy wore a rare look of seriousness.

Rosse stood beside Olvia, calm as always, while she looked as obedient as a secretary.

And closest to him stood two people he had no desire to meet.

Ace and Rouge.

Seeing them, Shanks understood.

They had come for him.

But it no longer mattered.

If Rosse wanted to watch, then let him watch.

"What a blinding sight."

Shanks narrowed his eyes slightly. His gaze remained fixed on the holographic screen, his lips barely moved as he spoke in an extremely low voice, as though forcing the words through clenched teeth.

"So laying everything bare for the world to see... is this another part of your way of killing with words, Rosse?"

On the screen, the young Roger set sail from Loguetown full of spirit, standing at the bow of his ship and laughing as he met the first wave.

Then came the days when he met Rayleigh, and one friend after another.

Later, the Roger Pirates became famous across the seas. Wherever their flag appeared, countless eyes followed.

The brutality of the God Valley Incident.

Blood and fire intertwined into a scene like hell.

Roger's righteousness.

The Celestial Dragons' injustice.

Rocks' madness... then the Roger Pirates became a legendary pirate crew.

Finally, Roger reached Laugh Tale, the legendary final island, and claimed the title of Pirate King.

If the video had ended there, it would have been a perfect heroic epic.

Enough to set any young person's blood racing and make them want to set sail immediately.

But history wasn't a bard's song.

It didn't end at its most glorious movement.

The scene changed, and the colors suddenly turned cold.

Roger disbanded the crew.

The Oro Jackson, which had carried so much glory, rested quietly in the harbor. One by one, the crew walked down the gangplank, each back different, yet all carrying an indescribable loneliness.

Roger concealed his identity and returned alone to his hometown in the South Blue.

A younger Rouge appeared on the screen, gentle and lively.

She stood atop a seaside cliff, the wind scattering her golden hair as one hand instinctively rested over her slightly swollen belly.

Then Roger voluntarily surrendered himself to the World Government for the sake of his grand plan.

On the screen, he wore Seastone handcuffs, yet smiled more brightly than ever.

In prison, he entrusted his unborn child to Garp. When he spoke those words through the iron bars, his tone was as casual as asking a neighbor to water his plants.

After that, he walked onto the execution platform in this very plaza, the same one now preserved beneath the glass dome.

"My treasure? If you want it, I'll let you have it. Go look for it. I let all of it that place—"

As those final words that began the Great Pirate Era rang out, the screen suddenly went completely black.

Roger's laughter was cut off as though a hand had abruptly strangled it. Only the wind and distant thunder echoed across the plaza.

If the story had ended there, Roger's life could still have been called a complete epic.

But a few seconds later, the screen filled with photos and footage of pirates wreaking havoc.

At the same time, a string of shocking blood-red numbers appeared.

They represented the number of civilians who had died across the Four Seas and the Grand Line from pirate raids and unrest, as recorded by the World Government starting from the first year of the Great Pirate Era.

Every year, the dead numbered in the tens of millions.

The numbers continued climbing relentlessly, like bloodstained knives stabbing into the eyes of every viewer.

The crimson light reflected across the faces of the crowd.

Some gasped.

Some remained expressionless.

Some quietly explained the figures to the children beside them.

Even Shanks knew that those numbers included deaths caused by corruption within the affiliated kingdoms themselves.

But even counting only the atrocities committed by pirates, the total wouldn't be far off.

Behind every number had once been a living person with a name and a family.

"Seeing all this... don't you feel anything? As the inheritor of his will."

A calm yet icy male voice sounded half a meter away.

It wasn't loud, but it pierced straight into Shanks' turbulent thoughts.

Shanks didn't turn his head.

He recognized the voice.

Not long ago, they had met in Foosha Village.

The young man who had inherited Roger's bloodline, yet stood against Roger.

"To accomplish something as great as overturning the old world, someone is bound to bleed and die."

Shanks stared straight at the screen. His voice was hoarse, but his resolve remained as stubborn as ever.

"The pain of today is only so this world won't continue suffering for hundreds more years under the World Government's rule."

He paused, "As his son, you should understand his painstaking intentions better than anyone."

"Instead, you've put on that Marine uniform and chosen to stand alongside your father's killer, Ace."

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