It Has Begun
A bell tower rang, and metal clashing against metal echoed across Loguetown of the Polestar Islands.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Twelve times. High noon.
Except for a few steep hills shrouded in greenery, the city sprawled across the island was uncharacteristically silent. Loguetown was a popular hub for East Blue sailors to restock, before heading to the Grand Line; it should be rowdy and wild, with pirates and local Marines clashing and raising a ruckus. Reverse Mountain was just barely visible on the horizon, a distant smudge of bleak stone against the blue sky. Even without leaving port, the vermillion monolith could be seen towering above the sea, like a rupture of the earth trying to reach up and touch the heavens.
Gol D. Roger’s long red captain’s coat swayed from side to side as he walked, hands cuffed in front of him. A white cravat was tucked into his green shirt, and the gold tassels that hung from his coat’s shoulders glinted. Black boots clacked on the worn and faded cobblestones of Loguetown’s main plaza. Strangely, he wore no captain’s hat emblazoned with his Jolly Roger, exposing windswept black hair like a wild mane. His eyes were narrowed, set into determined lines. His mouth was obscured by a thick handlebar mustache.
At the Pirate King’s side strode four brown-helmeted and uniformed soldiers, each carrying a lengthy single-edged polearm. Executioners of the World Government.
The crowd, mostly citizens and native residents of Loguetown, parted before the group with nary a whisper spoken amongst them. Whether they were cowed into submission by the presence of a living legend, or simply sensed the importance and gravity of the moment, no one could tell.
Roger ascended the wooden steps to the executioners’ platform with his head held high. He didn’t look like a man approaching his death. He climbed upwards with a confident and easy stride, but his face was as solemn as a statue. At the top, two more executioners awaited. He crested the last step, then turned and knelt heavily, the chains of his manacles clinking briefly. His mask of seriousness shattered. The sun cast his eyes into shadow, but they burned with an intense light regardless. His lips stretched into an unabashed, fierce smile, all teeth.
“All right, let’s get this over with quickly.”
Here was a man who had done the impossible, what no one believed could be done. Here was a man who had conquered that most turbulent and ferocious of seas; the Grand Line, Paradise and the New World, as captain of the Roger Pirates. Here was the legendary Pirate King, Gol D. Roger.
And such a man had personally turned himself in to the worst enemy of all pirates, the World Government.
There was only one thought on every spectator’s mind as they watched the executioners twirl their blades, polished metal flashing.
Why?
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Donquixote Doflamingo stood off to the side, hidden from most people’s view by the alleyway. His red sunglasses blocked his eyes and offered no insights into his thoughts as he lounged against the yellow brick wall, draped in a pink fur coat.
To his Observation Haki, Gol D. Roger shone like a beacon. Doflamingo was standing nearly fifty meters away from the forefront of the crowd, yet he sensed that if the Pirate King wanted him dead, he would die. It rankled him to think that he, a born Celestial Dragon, could do nothing to stop a man of such common birth. The barrier of civilians would not stop him for even a second. His restraints might as well have been made of paper.
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And that was what made Roger’s current circumstances even stranger. He could escape if he wanted to. The only reason he would not was because Roger wanted a public execution. The World Government had paraded the news far and wide to anyone who would listen; the Pirate King had surrendered to the mercy of the Marines, for he had seen the futility of resistance. A load of bullshit for those in the know; the Navy had never once captured Roger until he delivered himself to their front door.
Donquixote Doflamingo didn’t know what Roger’s plans were. But his intuition was telling him today would go down in history, and not for the reasons the Navy expected.
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Shanks stood alone in the plaza, snot and tears dripping down his face, lips scrunched together as he tried to suppress his sniffling. He knew Buggy was somewhere here as well, wearing that stupid black bandanna and the squeaky red clown nose that made him look downright moronic, probably bawling his eyes out too. They had argued the night Captain Roger had disbanded the crew, and both had sworn to come to see Captain Roger off for the final time, no matter what.
Shanks didn’t know why Captain Roger had turned himself in. But he could still feel the weight of his Captain’s hand the day he’d placed a straw hat on Shanks’ head.
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Dracule Mihawk stood near the front of the crowd, his black hair slicked back and his orange-ringed irises focused on the man kneeling on the execution platform. The Marine Hunter, “The Strongest Swordsman In The World”, stared at Gol D. Roger. He was bare-chested, a high-collared purple jacket slung over his shoulders and his Black Blade, Yoru, mounted on his back. The sword’s golden crossguard was embedded with gems and the blade itself seemed to devour all light like a black hole.
Mihawk had come to Loguetown seeking the Pirate King, one of the few people left in the world who could have defeated him. Instead, he found not a rival, but a man who had surrendered. Given up, to the Marines, of all people. Mihawk cared not for the grand purpose behind it, if there even was one. All he saw was someone who would die very soon, and the challenge he sought would evade his grasp yet again. Perhaps he should have joined the Seven Warlords.
Dracule ‘Hawkeye’ Mihawk didn’t know why Roger hadn’t continued fighting against the World Government. But he was disappointed.
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Sir Crocodile puffed on his cigar, stone-faced as he watched the Pirate King accept his death. Internally, he scoffed at the sight. Gol D. Roger had always been an immutable figure of the Grand Line. Yet, looking at the man now, he saw none of the majesty, none of the power, none of the wealth that one would expect from a King. It showed him that even those lofty Gods and Kings were only human. They could bleed. They could die. They could be deceived.
Crocodile didn’t know what had caused the King of Pirates’ fall from grace. But no matter what happened afterward, Roger had lost his respect.
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Gecko Moria cackled as the executioners hefted their blades. His pale, impish face stretched into a rictus of glee, displaying a mouth full of sharp incisors. Purple hair sprouted from his scalp like a fire rising into the air. He salivated over the idea of managing to take the Pirate King’s shadow. With it, he would be unstoppable. Ah, but once he unveiled his presence there would be no escape. There were too many other big players on this shithole of an island.
Gecko Moria didn’t know just how monumental this day would end up being. But he knew it would be entertaining.
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Time ground to a halt.
All was silent.
All was still.
Dozens of Grand Line pirates were present. None of them made a move.
Not a single person made the slightest noise.
Not a single bird chirped on the rooftops.
Not a single gust of wind disturbed the trees.
This was the day Loguetown became ‘the town of the beginning and the end.’
The world held its breath.
Things were being set into motion that could not be stopped.
This was history in the making—
“Hey, King of the Pirates!”
The cry came out of nowhere. Amidst the crowd of thousands, it might as well have been disembodied, speaking on behalf of every person there.
“Where did you hide all the treasure you found?!”
The speaker faltered, then yelled with renewed volume.
“You got it, didn’t you?! That legendary treasure!”
It was a throat-tearing, guttural shout now.
“That great treasure!”
And their next three words screamed across the town, across the seas, across the world.
“The One Piece!”
And the Pirate King responded in kind. His sneer inflated even wider. His eyes had a wild light in them.
He bellowed in excitement, throwing his head back and laughing til the air was driven from his lungs.
“My treasure?”
“If you want it, you can have it!”
The executioners raised their blades to finish Roger, but paused. Perhaps they were curious as well.
“Find it!”
“All the world had to offer, I left in that place!”
Immediately after, the swords fell, and Gol. D Roger, the greatest pirate of them all, died.