One Piece: Collective Viewing of the Future, Starting from God Valley

Chapter 20: Chapter 20: Whitebeard’s Death—His Dying Words “Scare” Sengoku to Tears?

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The scene on the light screen rippled like water. The cheerful drinking scene beneath the cherry blossom tree gradually faded. That fleeting glimpse of conversation about the Will of D ultimately went unheard by the people of God Valley.

[The brief, dazzling memory came to an abrupt end. The scene suddenly switched back to the incomparably brutal battlefield of Marineford!]

Gun smoke filled the air. Corpses lay everywhere.

The barrels of the Blackbeard Pirates’ guns were still hot, magazines empty. With victors’ sneers, they stared at the mountain-like figure that still stood tall—riddled with holes.

Everyone believed that after enduring so many fatal wounds and such a torrent of bullets, Whitebeard’s life had finally reached its end.

A deathly silence spread across the battlefield.

Yet amid that silence, from the throat of the ”giant” everyone thought was surely dead came a low, hoarse voice.

First, he slowly—extremely complicatedly—glanced at the patricidal traitor on the ground: Marshall D. Teach. In that gaze might have been pain, disappointment, and countless other emotions.

Then Whitebeard raised his unyielding head. His line of sight pierced through the chaotic crowd and locked precisely onto Fleet Admiral Sengoku.

”It wasn’t you...”

Though Whitebeard’s voice was weak, it carried a certainty that seemed to pierce through time and space: ”The one Roger was waiting for... was definitely not you!”

The words landed like a thunderclap—stunning everyone present!

Marines, pirates—all were shocked by this sudden, seemingly nonsensical declaration.

Who could have imagined that a man whose heart should have long stopped beating could still utter such a baffling prophecy!

Whitebeard ignored the surrounding astonishment. It was as though he wasn’t stating a fact—he was proclaiming an inevitable future.

Blood continued to spill from the corners of his mouth, yet his expression remained unusually calm, like the deep sea after a storm.

”Just as there will be someone to inherit Roger’s will...”

His voice rang like an ancient bell, echoing in everyone’s ears: ”One day... there will also be someone to inherit Ace’s will!”

Whitebeard paused. Flames seemed to burn in his lion-like eyes—the undying fire of will.

”Even if the bloodline is severed, their flames will never be extinguished! They will pass on like kindling, generation after generation... and one day in the future, someone will emerge who can shoulder the weight of these hundreds of years of history!”

His voice suddenly rose, carrying world-shaking weight: ”Someone who will challenge this ’world’ will appear!”

”Pfft!”

Another mouthful of blood sprayed out, staining his white crescent mustache red.

Yet Whitebeard’s body remained ramrod straight—as though no force in the world could make him bend. He stared at the ashen-faced Sengoku and spoke word by word, each one like a hammer striking the hearts of the Marines and the World Government:

”Sengoku... what your World Government fears! That massive war that will one day sweep across the entire world!

Though I have no interest in it... when that treasure is found, the world will surely be turned upside down!”

His words were prophecy—and curse.

”Someone will find it... that day will surely come!”

At these words, Whitebeard smiled. Unlike Blackbeard’s manic grin, this was the smile of someone who had seen through the past and glimpsed the future—utterly at peace and incomparably bold!

But to Sengoku’s eyes, that smile was more terrifying than any attack, for it represented an unquenchable hope and will.

And in that instant, everyone watching outside the light screen seemed to experience an illusion.

Beside Whitebeard’s towering figure, the hearty silhouette of Gol D. Roger seemed to quietly appear!

In this moment, the overlords of the era—across the boundary of life and death—found resonance in their wills!

”ONE PIECE——!!!”

With the very last of his life’s strength, Whitebeard slammed Murakumogiri into the ground. He threw his head back and roared to the heavens—a thunderous cry that could reach every corner of the world:

”IT’S REAL——!!!”

The dying declaration of an Emperor of the Sea rang out like the final tolling of a great bell, proclaiming to all!

In that instant, everyone on the Marineford plaza—Marines and pirates alike—stood stunned, mouths agape in disbelief!

The entire world seemed to fall into a brief pause and dead silence before this dying testament.

In God Valley too, a pin-drop silence reigned.

[Whether on the Marineford battlefield or watching breathlessly through Transponder Snail broadcasts, every heart was gripped tightly in that moment!]

”You... bastard!!!”

[Fleet Admiral Sengoku completely lost composure. His meticulously planned execution—to intimidate the seas and end the Great Pirate Era Roger had begun—was now overturned by Whitebeard’s life-betting final words!]

[Whitebeard not only proved through his actions that ”the era has not ended”—with these dying words, he lit the brightest beacon for the next grand, surging age...]

The calm strategist and mastermind vanished in an instant. Like an enraged tiger, he roared in heart-wrenching fury toward the now-silent towering figure.

But Whitebeard could no longer hear him.

”Zehahahahahaha!!!!”

In stark contrast came Marshall D. Teach’s piercing, manic laughter—mixed with exhilaration, excitement, and indescribable ambition.

He spread his arms wide, as though embracing a world that Whitebeard himself had just pushed toward even wilder horizons.

Whitebeard’s death had cleared his greatest obstacle. And these final words had—for him, and for countless others chasing dreams or ambition across the seas—paved a golden route straight to the ultimate treasure!

He had won the gamble! The power he stole, the bonds he trampled—all seemed ”worth it” now!

Outside the light screen, the people of God Valley held their breath.

They saw Whitebeard’s weathered face—eyes wide with fury—slowly, peacefully close.

He heard neither Sengoku’s curses nor Teach’s laughter. In his final conscious moments, he stepped into a quiet realm that belonged only to him.

It was his farewell to his family.

”My sons...”

”Forgive this unworthy father... forgive me for leaving behind Teach, that irredeemable bastard...”

Whitebeard’s thoughts swept across vivid faces: Marco’s phoenix flames, Ace’s burning fire fists, Jozu’s unyielding diamond wall, Vista’s dancing rose swords...

Those noisy, beloved children who adored him.

”From all of you... I received everything...”

Family, warmth, bonds, the belonging of home...

Things he had craved but never known in childhood—he found them on the sea and built a vast family.

”I... go no further...”

No regrets—only deep attachment and release.

He had fulfilled his duty as ”father,” protecting his children even if not perfectly. In the most glorious way possible, he had lived up to what it truly meant to be a ”pirate.”

”Thump...”

A heartbeat so faint it was nearly imperceptible finally ceased—signifying the complete extinguishing of life’s flame.

[Edward Newgate—DEAD!]

The World’s Strongest Man, in the end, could not defy the passage of time and the law of death.

Yet his colossal body remained standing like a mountain! His hands gripped his beloved naginata Murakumogiri for support.

Even though breath had stopped and soul had departed, that straight spine never bent in the slightest!

His proud figure seemed even more majestic and unshakable than the ruined Marine Headquarters building behind him!

”What a... long journey it has been...”

As though in response to this silent sigh, the light screen began flashing back through Whitebeard’s epic life at astonishing speed.

Scenes flowed:

A war-torn town. A small, skinny boy staring at barren land and gray skies—yet his eyes sparkled with curiosity and yearning for the world beyond the sea.

His first voyage—sitting at the bow of a crude little boat, sea wind blowing through his dazzling golden hair, face full of fearless youthful bravado.

Later, as his strength grew, the name ”Whitebeard” rang across the seas. He clashed with Roger, Shiki, and other titans—swallowing the world like a tiger.

He sat atop the great whale figurehead of the Moby Dick. Behind him, from empty space gradually gathered a group of ”sons” who admired and followed him.

The banquets on the Moby Dick—cups clinking, laughter shaking the sky. Family gathered together, listening to him recount past adventures, sharing their dreams.

He sat at the head, watching the lively scene with a satisfied, peaceful smile.

...

He had obtained what he pursued his entire life: a true, warm, vast ”family.”

[Edward Newgate—DEAD!]

The cold announcement appeared again, forming a cruel yet majestic contrast with the life flashing by.

Though dead—his body did not yield! That wounded yet still upright posture, that unyielding spirit that fought a thousand enemies to the very last, became the deepest imprint—forever etched onto the Marineford plaza!

Etched into the hearts of everyone who witnessed it!

On the light screen, merciless statistics began to appear—each number a tragic song of valor and endurance:

Blade wounds: 267 in total!

Gunshot wounds: 152 bullets!

Cannon wounds: 46 impacts!

Yet despite enduring damage that could destroy an army, his back remained like an indomitable giant!

Filled with an awe-inspiring dignity and pride that no one dared meet directly!

Until the very end of his life, he lived up to the title of ”World’s Strongest Man”!

Or rather—looking back over his entire career as a pirate—no matter the desperate straits, the words ”flight” and ”dishonor” had never existed in his dictionary!

At that moment, a sea breeze blew past.

His signature white captain’s cloak—the knot finally snapped—slowly slid from his broad shoulders, fluttering down to cover the ground at his feet.

Beneath the cloak, his solid back was fully revealed.

Not a single wound!

This was his lifelong pride—he had never turned his back to an enemy in battle, never retreated!

And even more striking was the large, vivid tattoo on his back.

It was the skull emblem of the Whitebeard Pirates, crossed bones behind which curved his lifelong crescent mustache.

This was Edward Newgate!

This was Whitebeard!

He died standing—back bearing his symbol, facing the tides of the entire world.

In the most manly way possible, he put a soul-stirring period at the end of his legendary life.

An era—with his fall (though his body did not fall)—came to a complete end.

But the spark he ignited, the truth he shouted, would surely blaze into an even more unstoppable wildfire across these raging seas!

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