Chapter Ninety-Nine: Farewell, Bucky (Second Update)

Zephyr’s question left Roland in silence. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to answer, but rather, logically speaking, Zephyr shouldn’t have asked this before Edward Weevil—Whitebeard Jr.—became one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. At this point in time, Zephyr’s hatred for pirates should have stemmed only from that incident seven years ago.

That’s why Roland found the question a bit odd. He couldn’t tell whether Zephyr truly wanted to know, or if someone else wished to probe his thoughts through Zephyr. Yet, judging by Zephyr’s demeanor, it seemed to be a spontaneous curiosity rather than a premeditated inquiry.

Frankly, Roland himself despised the Warlords system. A legal pirate organization like that simply shouldn’t exist. Maybe the navy needed to recruit some powerful pirates to counter the Four Emperors of the New World, but wasn’t this arrangement just telling ambitious men that if they sided with the navy, they’d be allowed to plunder legally?

Among the Warlords, Jinbei and the Pirate Empress acted for the sake of their own nations, Kuma was an undercover agent, and Hawkeye only sought amusement. As for the others—Doflamingo, Crocodile, and Moria—who among them didn’t have ulterior motives? Otherwise, why would Doflamingo and Crocodile each scheme to take over a country? Was it really just to play at being king for the thrill of it?

After pondering for a moment, Roland finally replied, “The Seven Warlords should never have existed. They not only stain the cause of justice, but also encourage those with ambition.”

“Admiral Zephyr, as long as the Warlords are around, even if you wipe out all current pirates on the Grand Line, countless new schemers from across the seas will come to take their place.”

“Karp told me you’re a different kind of youth,” Zephyr nodded in satisfaction, a rare smile appearing on his face. “Now I see he wasn’t lying. You really are quite interesting.”

“I was thinking of inviting you into my Anti-Pirate Guerrilla Unit, but it seems you have your own ideas.”

“But that’s all right. If ever there comes a day when you need this old man and my unit, I’ll bring them to support you.”

In all his years teaching marines—whether it was Vice Admirals like Onigumo, Doberman, or Mole, or even Sakazuki, Borsalino, and Kuzan, the three current admirals—none had piqued his interest like this.

Roland’s attitude toward pirates was much like Sakazuki’s hawkish stance, and similar to Zephyr’s own views now, but in his understanding of justice, Zephyr thought Roland was very much like Kuzan.

And as for the idea of ending the Great Pirate Era—none of the admirals, not even Sengoku or Karp, had ever truly considered such a thing. Sengoku’s only wish was for the seas to be stable.

“Kid, I heard from Karp you want to learn the Navy’s Six Styles. But aren’t you supposed to be a swordsman?” Zephyr suddenly returned to the main topic at hand.

“Be it swordsmanship, martial arts, or even Devil Fruit powers, they’re all just facets of my strength,” Roland replied. “Perhaps I won’t be the greatest in any one area, but in overall ability, I hope to become the strongest.”

He had once struggled with this question before his teacher, Shiki, who had finally helped him see the light. What he wanted was not to be the world’s greatest swordsman, nor just a master of martial arts—he aspired to be the world’s strongest in overall power.

“Heh, you really are a greedy one,” Zephyr laughed, baring his teeth. He liked this sort of person far more than those who said one thing and meant another.

“Come with me, then. The Six Styles are the navy’s most widely taught combat techniques, but not everyone is qualified to learn them.”

With that, Zephyr set off toward another training ground.

This was the navy’s most basic practice field, where all marines trained. But the Six Styles were not taught here.

Following Zephyr out of the third training ground, Roland soon found himself at the edge of a forest. Looking up, he could see a number of figures above the trees, apparently practicing Moonwalk, one of the Six Styles. After only a few steps in the air, most would plummet straight down.

Among them, one figure stood out to Roland. While others stepped on the air with their feet, this person did nothing of the sort—in fact, below his ankle, there wasn’t even a foot, yet he moved about freely in midair.

Naturally, this was the man famed for his luck—the World’s Fourth Haki, endowed with the Conqueror’s Luck: Buggy.

Watching Buggy’s little tricks, Roland couldn’t help but laugh. Did Buggy really think the navy was full of fools who couldn’t see through his antics?

Sure enough, moments later, Roland saw Buggy’s expression change as he crashed straight down from the sky.

“See someone you know?” Zephyr asked curiously, noticing Roland staring in a daze.

“No, let’s head in, Admiral Zephyr,” Roland replied, shaking his head.

Zephyr didn’t press further and simply led Roland into the forest.

After crossing dozens of meters through the trees, an open space appeared before Roland’s eyes. Looking around, he saw that most here were at least navy majors—for only those of that rank or higher could maintain their justice cloaks in battle or rigorous training, never letting them touch the ground.

Among the crowd, Roland seemed to spot Bogart, who was sparring with Zoro.

As for Koby, someone else was guiding his training, and judging by their posture, it looked as if he too was learning the Six Styles.

Besides them, Roland also noticed Buggy, who now sat cross-legged on the ground in clear agony, a pair of Sea Prism Stone shackles fastened to his ankles.

“May I go over and say hello?” Roland asked, gesturing toward Bogart and the others.

Zephyr glanced at his watch. “Just ten minutes. My time is limited, and I won’t be staying long at the base. If you truly want to learn the Six Styles, you’ll need to make the most of it.”

No sooner had he spoken than Roland bounded over to Buggy, grinning mischievously. “Long time no see, Big Red-Nosed Buggy.”

“Who—who’s calling me… Oh, it’s Colonel Roland! It’s been ages since we last saw each other in the East Blue, hasn’t it?” At the words “Big Red Nose,” Buggy bristled instinctively, and somehow, even with Sea Prism Stone shackling him, he managed to explode into pieces in outrage.

But the moment he saw Roland, Buggy instantly deflated, reassembling himself and putting on a fawning smile.

As for what had happened three days ago, the other marines might not know, but as Karp’s subordinate and a fellow native of the East Blue, Buggy knew all too well.

Someone who could defeat a Vice Admiral and still have the energy to provoke Fleet Admiral Sengoku was no one to trifle with.

If he angered Roland, even if he got beaten to a pulp, old Karp wouldn’t speak up for him. After all, Karp had mentioned Roland to him more than once, always with high regard.

So, for now, it was best to play it safe. This wasn’t cowardice—it was respect for a senior officer.

Yes, respect for a superior—nothing more.