NOVEL NEXT Chapter 321: The Extinguished Light
Daren felt like he was starting to uncover something buried deep.
The fog clouding the truth seemed to be thinning, just enough for glimpses to emerge.
The top-tier combatants in this world could destroy mountains, tear open the earth, or even, with certain Devil Fruit powers, unleash disasters so devastating they could shatter islands.
But no matter how strong, no ability—no power—should be able to make an entire island, or even a whole nation, vanish from the world map without a trace.
That was something far more terrifying.
Staring intently at Roger, Daren spoke with certainty.
"Roger. If it wasn't Rocks, if it wasn't you, or Garp… if none of you had that kind of power—then there's only one possibility."
Roger gave him a sidelong glance and pretended not to understand.
"During the God Valley incident, the Marines did launch a Buster Call. Sengoku was the one in charge."
Daren shook his head.
"I know exactly how effective a Buster Call is. Don't forget—I've led one myself."
"Five Vice Admirals, five battleships, thousands of elite troops... it's not enough."
"Sure, a Buster Call can level an island, turn it into a scorched ruin... but to completely erase it from the ocean? That's impossible."
"So Roger—what really happened at God Valley?"
Roger's eyes flickered. He was silent for a few seconds before taking a slow sip of wine and smiling.
"You really don't want to know."
Daren exhaled sharply.
Riddlers... damn them all.
"You should get going," Roger said with a grin, pointing off in the distance.
In that direction, Zephyr's chapped lips trembled slightly—he was on the verge of waking up.
Daren paused, slightly puzzled.
"I thought you said you wanted a fight?"
Roger laughed.
"Forget it. Next time, maybe."
He winked and raised his bottle.
"You're still not fully healed, right? Wouldn't be much of a fight like that."
"Once you've patched yourself up, settled all that mess you've got going on—when you've got no distractions—then we'll have ourselves a proper brawl."
Daren thought it over for a second.
"Fine."
He smiled and lifted his bottle.
The two bottles met.
Clink!
The pale green glass collided mid-air, and amber liquid splashed upward, catching the sunlight in a bold shimmer.
At that moment, the two most dangerous criminals in the world looked at each other and smiled.
Then they both tilted their heads back and drank deeply.
...
Aboard the distant Oro Jackson,
Buggy, Shanks, and the rest of Roger's crew leaned over the railing, jaws slack as they stared at the scene.
"Something's not right…"
"Captain Roger's drinking with that bastard."
"That's seriously weird."
"…"
Rayleigh lounged on the deck, resting against the rail with half-lidded eyes, his face flushed with drink.
Nearby, Gaban held a bottle and let out a quiet sigh.
Deep inside the ship, a lone figure in a samurai robe, arm missing, was already passed out in a drunken stupor.
…
He watched as Daren vanished into the sky with Zephyr, their figures disappearing into the distance.
Roger leaned back against a large rock, sitting on the ground without a care, and let out a long, weary breath.
"I thought you were going to give him the answer."
At some point, Rayleigh had walked up behind him and handed over a bottle of beer.
Roger smiled and shook his head.
"If you learn the answer too early, what's the point of living?"
He twisted off the cap, took several big gulps, then looked up at the sky, his cheeks flushed.
"Besides, even if you knew the answer, what could you do?"
"The truth buried for 800 years... that kind of power isn't something that kid can fight against—not yet."
Rayleigh went quiet, a shadow flickering in his eyes as though something unpleasant had resurfaced.
"We thought it was a one-time thing…"
Roger suddenly let out a hoarse laugh, eyes red as tears streamed down his face.
He pushed up with one hand, staggering to his feet.
The cool sea breeze swept over him, lifting his blood-red captain's cloak and making it whip loudly in the wind.
He stood there silently, staring off into the endless blue horizon, lost in thought.
"Rayleigh, do you still remember Shyarly's prophecy?"
Roger spoke suddenly.
Rayleigh paused, then nodded.
"The mermaid princess would be born ten years later... and based on what we deciphered from the Poneglyphs, she's the legendary ancient weapon, Poseidon."
"Exactly," Roger muttered, taking another swig of his drink. His voice was low, fading into the wind.
"I heard that 'voice.' 'The king' and 'the king' will meet at last."
"Someone who hasn't even been born yet... will one day surpass us."
He burst into laughter.
But within that bold, unrestrained laugh, there was an unmistakable trace of bitterness.
"We were too early. Me... and that brat Daren too…"
"No one can change that cruel truth."
He stumbled slightly, then collapsed backward onto the ground.
Rayleigh jumped in surprise, but relaxed when he realized Roger was just drunk.
As dusk fell, the Pirate King—worshipped, feared, and hailed as the man who conquered the Grand Line—lay on the ground like a mischievous child, arms wrapped around an empty bottle, smiling drunkenly as he mumbled,
"I wish I'd lived in the same era as you, Joy Boy..."
Whether in the past or the future...
Too bad I'm out of time.
...
At the same time.
Red Line.
Holy Land Mary Geoise.
Deep within Pangaea Castle.
A tall figure, crowned and draped in white robes, stood silently in an ancient chamber.
Dust swirled through the dim air. Photographs covered the gray-black walls.
Most were faded and warped with age, time having gnawed away at their edges.
But the most chilling detail was what they all had in common:
Each one was marked with a large, blood-red X.
The figure stood motionless before the wall, as if deep in thought—or in some kind of slumber.
"Another... light... is about to..."
A hand slowly lifted.
Slender fingers, sickly pale, slipped out from oversized sleeves.
"...go out."
The fingers drifted over Roger's photo.
Then moved to the last and newest one.
"Now... it's your turn."
"Rogers... Daren."
In the depths of the ancient chamber, the voice echoed cold and rigid—like something out of a nightmare.
Behind the figure, black mist writhed and twisted.
A massive straw hat loomed in the shadows, faintly visible.