"Retreat!!"
Captain Ochoku scanned the battlefield, blood trickling down his brow. His jaw clenched as he whispered under his breath:
"…We've lost."
The moment Argus joined the fight, everything changed. He hadn't needed to go all out—he'd simply stepped in.
And that alone was enough to break The Wolfgang momentum.
Though Ochoku wasn't necessarily weaker than Newgate in raw strength, he was still a captain. A captain couldn't afford pride when the outcome was clear.
"Fall back!" he roared. "All units—retreat!"
"Yes, Captain!"
Battered, bloodied, and breathless, the remnants of Ochoku's crew scrambled away. Their morale was crushed—but their lives were spared.
Neither Argus nor Newgate pursued.
There was no need.
This wasn't a war to the death. That would've served no purpose.
Ochoku had made the right call—and both sides knew it.
"Haaaah…"
Argus exhaled slowly, brushing dirt from his coat. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp. "It's over. So, brother—what did you think of Ochoku's strength?"
"Gurarara ~~~!"Newgate let out a hearty laugh, resting naginata on his broad shoulder. "He's strong—but still a step behind this old man!"
Argus rolled his eyes. "Naturally."
But there was no denying it—Ochoku was a legitimate powerhouse. In another time, he might've been a rival to the Emperors. But today?
The island belonged to the Whitebeard Pirates.
Argus turned toward the wounded. "Treat the injured. Get them to the ship's doctor."
"Yes, Lord Argus!"
The crew snapped into motion, checking on the fallen. When the dust finally settled, only eight remained uninjured: Argus, Newgate, and six trusted men.
They made their way toward the summit of Pineapple Island.
The Crown of the Island.
Newgate scanned the rocky clearing. "Is this the place?"
Argus pulled out the worn treasure map. It was soaked with salt and age, but still legible.
"Yeah. The markings all point to the center—right here." He traced the symbols with a finger, then looked up and paced a few steps forward.
"Dig here," he ordered.
The men didn't hesitate. Shovels clanged. Pineapple-scented soil flew through the air. With every meter, the cloying, sickly-sweet aroma intensified.
"Geh—"Newgate stepped back, grimacing. "I didn't think the whole damn island would smell this strong."
Argus pinched his nose. "I liked pineapple before today. That may change."
Then—
"Found something!!"
From thirty meters down, a shout rose. "Captain Whitebeard! Lord Argus! We've hit something big!"
The crew rallied, pulling with ropes and teamwork honed by countless raids.
Up came a massive, eight-meter-long weapon chest, sealed in aged steel and sea-stone fastenings.
Argus's eyes gleamed.
"Bingo."
The chest was hauled to the surface with a loud thud, its weight cracking the stone beneath.
"Open it," Argus said, voice low.
Creeeeak—
As the lid opened, a faint pressure pulsed outward.
Inside lay a legendary blade: Murakomogiri—the only naginata among the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades.
It glimmered with dormant power, its edge untouched by time. Every inch of it radiated prestige. Danger. Legacy.
Argus grinned. "Looks like we just found your next partner, big brother. A Supreme Blade for a Supreme Bastard."
Newgate snorted. "Tch. Don't get cocky. You lost the last three bets, remember?"
"You still owe me for this one."
Without another word, Newgate stepped forward and wrapped his hand around the hilt.
His Armament Haki flowed into the blade—dark, rippling, refined.
And the blade… responded.
It didn't reject him.Didn't lash out.Didn't drain him.
Instead, it welcomed the Haki like an old friend returning home.
Argus watched intently. "Just like Enma did for Zoro... these blades choose their wielders."
Supreme Grade weapons weren't just tools—they were trials. If you weren't worthy, they'd hollow you out and leave your corpse holding a cursed prize.
But Newgate?
Newgate passed the test.
He spun the naginata in a wide arc, slashing the air in a graceful, bone-rattling flourish.
"Gurarara ~~~!!"
"Argus! This thing's perfect! It's like it was forged just for me!"
He couldn't contain his joy. His laughter echoed like cannon fire.
He wasn't a traditional swordsman—he didn't need to be. The naginata had always been his weapon of choice, and Murakomogiri was its final evolution.
Argus folded his arms and smirked. "So? Still doubting my treasure sense?"
"No complaints this time!" Newgate gave a massive thumbs-up, grinning like a boy with a new toy.
He couldn't stop admiring the weapon, brushing his fingers along its edge like it was a newborn heir.
Argus chuckled. "You better name it. That's not just a weapon—it's history."
Newgate nodded solemnly, his fingers tightening on the hilt. "Aye. With this… the world's gonna start paying attention."
For Argus, the implications were clear.
With Murakumogiri in his brother's hands, the balance of power in the New World would shift. This wasn't just a weapon—it was a symbol of dominance.
And it was now Whitebeard's.
"Alright, boys," Argus called out, waving his hand. "Pack it up. We're done here."
"YES, SIR!"
Their spirits high, the crew loaded the chest, resecured the camp, and began the descent from the summit.
Behind them, the sea breeze carried the scent of crushed pineapple—and the echoes of victorious laughter.
Today, they hadn't just won a battle.
They'd made history.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________Patreon- HeckTon496 for Advanced Chapters