"Lord Eli Winters, may I ask that you give me this one favor and bring this matter to an end."
A deep, steady voice echoed from afar, cutting through the tension of the battered battlefield. Everyone's attention snapped toward the source of the sound.
Up in the sky above Little Garden, Hawkeye Mihawk's expression shifted slightly, something between amusement and resignation flickering in his eyes. He recognized that voice instantly. After all, this was not the first time he had heard that same man utter those same words.
Eli Winters turned his head as well, his gaze following the voice to the horizon.
A massive ship sailed slowly toward the island. The prow was carved into a majestic red dragon head, so lifelike it seemed ready to roar at any moment.
Standing atop the dragon figurehead was a man with a strong build and an air of unrestrained confidence. His bright crimson hair whipped wildly in the ocean wind like dancing flames. Three scars crossed his left eye, adding sharpness to his already commanding presence. A short, rough beard lined his jaw. His left arm was missing, yet the loss did nothing to diminish his aura of power.
He wore a pristine white shirt beneath a sweeping black cape that billowed behind him. A pair of patterned brown quarter-length pants hung loosely to his knees, and simple sandals rested on his feet. At his waist hung a long, beautifully forged sword, its guard glinting coldly.
The man who had spoken was none other than the legendary Red-Haired Shanks, an Emperor-level figure whose name was rising rapidly across the New World.
Behind him stood the officers of the Red Hair Pirates. Some looked helpless, clearly accustomed to their captain's habit of requesting "favors." Others maintained strict vigilance, eyes scanning every possible threat. Their reactions differed, but every one of them carried the weight of responsibility on their shoulders.
Eli suddenly burst into loud, unrestrained laughter. The sound echoed across the battlefield, sharp and wild.
He could not help it. Countless memories from his previous life floated into his mind, jokes and memes poking fun at Shanks as if he possessed a fictional Devil Fruit: the "Face Fruit," giving him the ability to ask anyone, anywhere, to "give him face."
And now the real Shanks stood before him, requesting that very same thing.
But the laughter faded quickly. Eli's expression turned cold and hard.
He might not intend to kill Whitebeard or the other two Emperors today. But that did not mean he would let a stranger walk up and demand a favor from him. Not Shanks, not anyone.
Eli's voice was icy and indifferent. "Do I know you? Why exactly should I give you anything?"
Despite the harshness, Shanks showed no anger. His tone remained calm and respectful as he bowed slightly. "Forgive my intrusion. I am Shanks, captain of the Red Hair Pirates. I came today hoping to discuss a matter with you."
Eli barely acknowledged him. He already had a vague idea of what Shanks wanted to say. But whether or not he spared Whitebeard's crew would never depend on a simple request from Shanks. Red Hair simply did not have that kind of authority over him.
He ignored Shanks' calls and descended slowly from the air, drifting like a feather until he landed on the massive deck of Whitebeard's ship.
Instantly, the atmosphere tightened like a drawn bowstring. Every member of the Whitebeard Pirates stiffened in panic, their weapons raised, their eyes locked on the man who had already defeated their Emperor.
Eli scanned the deck, expression unreadable. Then he began walking straight toward the severely wounded Whitebeard.
All the captains stepped forward at once, forming a solid wall of bodies between Eli and their dying captain.
Marco, still desperately treating Whitebeard's wounds, could not leave his side. So the third division commander, Diamond Joz, moved to the very front.
His furious voice boomed. "Eli Winters, if you want to harm our father, you'll have to step over my dead body first!"
A dazzling brilliance erupted from his skin. His entire form crystallized into a body of gleaming diamond as he braced himself for a life-or-death battle.
The other captains followed his lead, gripping their weapons tightly, their killing intent so thick it felt as if the air itself had frozen.
Then Eli spoke, his voice cold enough to slice through steel. "Whitebeard, if you don't want to watch them die for nothing, tell them to move."
Whitebeard gritted through pain, but his voice still carried the overwhelming authority of the world's strongest man. "All of you, stand down. I have not fallen so far that I need children to shield me."
But Joz refused. His body trembled with anger and helplessness. "Father, we can fight. We cannot let this man stand over us like this."
The others looked equally ashamed. If they were stronger, Whitebeard would never be in this condition. Their inability had brought them here.
Whitebeard's next command thundered across the deck. "Move. That is an order."
His gaze swept over them, sharp and commanding, leaving no room for resistance.
One by one, the captains reluctantly stepped aside, shoulders tense with frustration and grief. Yet every pair of eyes that followed Eli was filled with pure venom, as if they wished to tear him apart with their hatred.