In the latter half of the Grand Line, on a secluded island, dense jungles and rocky cliffs shielded the ocean from view.
Far from civilization, it was as if this place was a secluded haven, cut off from the outside world.
Sengoku staggered into a makeshift camp, panting heavily, sweat and blood mingling as they dripped from his forehead down his cheeks.
He raised a hand to his chest, his face etched with pain and resentment.
Each cough felt like a tear ripping through the wound in his chest, accompanied by waves of excruciating pain.
"Cough... cough..."
Sengoku struggled to control his breathing, but blood spilled from his lips, staining his fingers red.
It was a clear sign of internal injury, a wound that couldn't be healed immediately; fractured bones and internal trauma left him barely able to endure it.
He supported himself, slowly collapsing onto a rock, his breathing heavy, a complex mix of emotions flickering in his eyes: pain, anger, and even helplessness.
"I never imagined... it would come to this..."
He murmured to himself, staring blankly at the hazy ocean in front of him.
Recalling everything that had happened in the battle, the betrayal, the sudden rebellion...
It wasn't just one or two Marines who had turned their backs, but a portion of the corrupted power, they had already planted the seeds of rebellion.
Sengoku gritted his teeth, forcefully suppressing the turmoil within, unwilling to see his former comrades, his former comrades-in-arms, abandon the Marines, and unwilling to see his loyal troops trampled upon so wantonly.
"This belief, I've carried it my whole life, how can it just..."
His eyes were piercing, but each breath felt like he was using his last bit of strength.
Outside, Garp and Tsuru stood at the edge of the camp, along with several wounded Marine soldiers, busily comforting the other Marines.
Countless figures moved around them: the wounded, medics providing emergency treatment, and bewildered young soldiers, all exhausted by the shock of the rebellion.
For many, it was a fatal betrayal, and not just a simple battle.
Tsuru frowned, and said to Garp in a low voice:
"General Sengoku... is seriously injured. Although he says he can hold on, I'm afraid that if he doesn't receive proper treatment, it won't be long before..."
Her voice was full of worry.
Garp, as unkempt as ever, wore a wry smile:
"We all know his temper; he won't easily admit he can't hold on, but this time he really..."
He didn't continue, turning to look at the dim, yellowing sky in the distance, a hint of heaviness in his heart.
They had missed too much.
Each time, they thought they could turn the tide, but it seemed there was never a true victory.
"I know he's the pillar of the Marines, but this time..."
Garp's words stopped abruptly, but his gaze grew even more determined.
"We can't let him bear it all alone; we have to find other ways."
Tsuru nodded silently; although she didn't speak, the anger and determination in her heart had been ignited. She knew that at this time, they could no longer rely on one person's strength; the future of the entire Marines didn't depend on Sengoku alone.
At the same time, Sengoku sat on the rock, trying to regulate his breathing, feeling the waves of pain coming from his chest, the taste of blood spreading in his mouth.
He knew that if he didn't speed up his recovery now, the wound might become more serious, even directly endangering his life.
He began to gently press his abdomen and chest, as if trying to control the frantic flow of blood.
The traces of the wound were slowly spreading, like countless cold steel needles piercing into his muscles and bones, the pain almost unbearable.
But his eyes didn't leave the distance; he knew that the most important thing now was not his wound, but how to lead these Marines out of this unprecedented predicament.
His hand tightly gripped the Marine emblem on his shoulder, the symbol of his life's honor. Even though he was seriously injured at this moment, that sense of responsibility had never diminished in the slightest.
"Cough, cough..."
Another violent cough, and this time, Sengoku couldn't completely suppress the blood from spilling out, a few drops dripping from the corner of his mouth.
His gaze became even harder.
"The Marines will never fall."
He whispered to himself, as if encouraging himself, and as if making a final promise to the people he loved and the comrades he trusted.
He knew that he could survive, not just for himself, but for the Marines who were still persevering.
Because Sengoku understood that without their persistence, the Marines would completely collapse, becoming a pile of meaningless ruins.
His fingertips slowly clenched into a fist, that never-fading fighting spirit seemed to surge out from the depths of his bone marrow again. Although the wound was still raging, although his body and mind were nearing their limits, there was still no reason to give up in Sengoku's heart.
He was the pillar of the Marines and the last hope of this world.
"No matter what, we must stand up."
Sengoku gently raised his head, gazing at the sky in the distance, that former glory, now still rising before his eyes.
......
After arriving on this island, the Marines' goal became clearer: to stay away from the World Government's pursuit, to hide their whereabouts as much as possible, to find a glimmer of hope, and to wait for the opportunity to regroup.
Although Sengoku's injuries were severe, under his leadership, the Marines did not lose their will due to betrayal and heavy losses.
On the contrary, this tragic battle stimulated the desire to survive and the sense of responsibility deep in their hearts—their goal was not only to survive, but to fight for a new Marines, even a new order.
Sengoku was still sitting on that rock, having not moved for a long time.
His injuries had begun to ease, although the recovery was slow, but his eyes were still full of strength.
Each deep breath, although the wound in his chest was still extremely painful, and his heart felt like it was being crushed in a crack between rocks, Sengoku's spirit was becoming firmer day by day.
That sense of responsibility to do everything possible for the Marines was still burning in his body. Although his body was no longer able to support too much physical exertion, his will had never wavered.
He knew that the road to rebuilding the Marines was full of thorns, but he could not stop, especially at such a moment.
Sengoku slowly raised his head, his gaze passing through the clouds in front of him, looking at the vast sea in the distance.
The future of the Marines, like this boundless ocean, was full of infinite possibilities, and also full of great dangers.
His heart was full of heaviness, but also with an undeniable determination:
"No matter what, we cannot fall here."
He took a deep breath, a firmness that seemed to be extracted from his bone marrow.
Garp stood beside him, looking at Sengoku, his brow furrowed.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
He asked, his voice low, as if adding a bit of heavy burden to the question.
"We have nothing to rely on now. The Marines have been cut off from too much power. Even if we want to rebuild, I'm afraid not many people will be willing to stand up."
"Who else would be willing to join us?"
Sengoku did not answer immediately. He looked down at his wound, still feeling some pain, but he endured it, not allowing the pain to affect his thinking.
"Yes, we have no resources, no large fleet, no sufficient power.
Moreover, we can't even determine the path to the future.
But Garp, remember—even if everything is lost, the Marines' belief still exists.
Our generation of Marines may disappear, but the spirit of the Marines will not be destroyed, and will always be reborn one day."
"But..."
Garp hesitated, a hint of helplessness in his eyes.
"The current situation... is not something that can be revived just by saying so."
"Have you forgotten what our belief is?"
Sengoku turned to look at Garp, his eyes showing firmness and a hint of deep emotion.
His tone was full of determination:
"We are here to protect the order of this world, to protect the innocent people.
This belief has already been engraved in the hearts of each of us, and no one can erase it.
No matter where we are, no matter how many of us there are, the Marines' ideals will never change.
We will find like-minded partners and then stand up again."
Garp sighed, shook his head, but he didn't say anything more, just stood beside Sengoku, quietly accompanying him.
...
...
