One Piece: Silent-Silent Fruit

The Marine Headquarters' A1 Armory was the largest weapons depot in all of Marineford, guarded by a force of several thousand marines under the command of a rear admiral.

Ever since Admiral Sengoku implemented the "loose outside, tight inside" policy, he had secretly deployed numerous elite officers around the armory in plainclothes to keep a covert watch.

But the moment the battle erupted, every single one of those hidden officers had already been intercepted and taken down by the BloodSworn Guards. As for the rear admiral leading the defense, he had been flattened by a single palm strike from Jack. With only the ordinary soldiers guarding the armory left, they were completely outmatched by the First Division—especially with a powerhouse like Jack present, whose strength now rivaled the top Vice Admirals.

Just as the First Division was about to break through into the armory, a lone figure suddenly burst out from the ranks of the marines, brandishing a long blade that stopped Jack in his tracks!

The moment that man appeared, Jack grew wary. He clenched his fist, imbued it with Armament Haki, and punched forward. The blade clashed with his fist in a loud ring of force—neither side giving way.

"Who are you? There's no way someone like you is a nobody in the Marines!" Jack narrowed his eyes, his instincts screaming caution.

"As expected of the Admiral's foresight… I am Vice Admiral Dalmatian of Marine Headquarters. Surrender now!" said the man in marine garb, revealing his true identity—Vice Admiral Dalmatian!

"It's Vice Admiral Dalmatian!" the marines shouted in excitement, rallying behind the familiar name.

"Hmph, looks like Bins and the others weren't thorough enough in clearing out the pests… Who would've thought a big rat like you would be hiding among the insects. Still, this just got more interesting. If all I had to deal with were these weaklings, it'd be a real letdown," Jack grinned.

"A rat is a natural counter to a mammoth! Jack the Mammoth, you're not taking another step forward today," Dalmatian declared.

Because of Rosinante's elaborate schemes and psychological games, many Marine officers had begun to lower their guard, thinking Rosinante was all bark and no bite. That he wouldn't really dare attack Marineford.

Some even mocked their more cautious peers, saying they were bringing shame to the Marine name. How could the mighty Marine Headquarters tremble just because of one ridiculous challenge?

But even if others became complacent, Sengoku—renowned as a strategic genius—never relaxed his vigilance. In fact, his instincts told him to be even more alert.

Not because he fully understood Rosinante, but because the sheer precision and layered tactics in Rosinante's movements told Sengoku one thing: this wasn't a bluff.

If everything that had happened was truly part of Rosinante's grand design, then many of the Marine forces had already fallen into his trap. And if the plan succeeded—especially with Bins's space-warping abilities—Marineford would suffer a massive, possibly irreversible, loss.

So, even as he enacted a façade of lax defense, Sengoku discreetly placed trusted Vice Admirals in disguise throughout the base—stationed exactly where it counted most.

"You think you alone can stop me?!" Jack roared, unleashing another brutal punch.

Dalmatian met it with a fierce sword strike. Fist and blade collided again—Armament Haki crackled at the point of impact, ringing through the air like steel on steel.

Dalmatian felt a terrifying force travel up his sword arm. He had to shift his stance to deflect some of the power, then swiftly followed with another slash toward Jack.

Jack's towering frame was an easy target. Dalmatian's blade slashed deep into his side, carving out a long gash.

"Damn, that hurts," Jack growled, not even bothering to dodge or defend. He stared down Dalmatian with a cold, mocking sneer, as if the wound was nothing.

And then—right before their eyes—the long, bloody gash on Jack's body began to close on its own, healing slowly but surely.

"So that's it... just as I feared. What a troublesome ability. Not even awakened Zoan users have regenerative power this overwhelming," Dalmatian said, his eyes narrowing.

From the battle at the Joromia Kingdom, the Marines had collected detailed reports on Rosinante and his subordinates. Among the many troubling revelations—aside from their suicidal "Silent Limit" technique—was their freakish healing ability.

No matter how severe the injury, Rosinante's forces would heal rapidly—almost unnaturally so. And it wasn't just one or two people; nearly every top officer under Rosinante displayed this resilience.

Eventually, Marine intelligence analysts reached a conclusion: the injuries were not healing per se. They were being silenced—locked away by Rosinante's power.

The theory was that Rosinante's ability, Wound Silence, didn't erase injuries, but sealed them. That eerie healing was, in fact, the result of the wounds being suppressed by this power.

It sounded outlandish, but it was the only theory that fit the evidence.

"It seems your Marines have learned quite a bit about us," Jack said with a cold smirk.

"The intel we've gathered goes far beyond your imagination," Dalmatian replied. "Rosinante's Wound Silence can mute the pain and damage from any injury—essentially turning people into nearly immortal monsters. But anyone marked by this ability also falls under Rosinante's control."

"Because those silenced wounds aren't gone—they're just sealed. And Rosinante can unseal them at any moment. If he does, all those locked injuries erupt at once… and the victim dies instantly."

When the Marines first uncovered this, they were both stunned and deeply alarmed. If Rosinante truly wielded such a power, then he could build an army of undead soldiers—a terrifying prospect.

Relentless investigation by the Marines and the World Government eventually unearthed more. Spies embedded in Big Mom's crew had confirmed detailed information about Wound Silence.

"To think... the infamous Mammoth Jack reduced to a slave under Rosinante's threat. What a joke!" Dalmatian sneered.

As he laughed, Jack's expression darkened—his face twisted like a volcano on the brink of eruption.

"Captain Jack, don't let him get to you!" Sol called out, clearly worried. The other members of the First Division shared his concern, their eyes on Jack.

"You think I only follow the captain because Wound Silence holds my life hostage?" Jack asked in a low, thunderous tone.

"Maybe that was true... at first."

"But now? It's become a mark of pride in the Grey Kingdom. Only the BloodSworn Guards, the captains and vice-captains of each division, and those who've earned great merit can receive the mark."

"Use it to threaten us? The captain doesn't need to stoop that low. This mark now exists for one reason—to let us fight without holding back. That's all I care about," Jack said coldly, his voice like grinding stone.

Every year during the vassal tribute, all divisions returned to the capital. Rosinante would then personally summon the captains and vice-captains—not for training, but to treat them. He would unseal their injuries, nurse them back to health, and reapply Wound Silence to protect them.

With Rosinante's current strength, he no longer needed to use this ability as a leash. Now, it was simply a tool to keep his warriors alive.

"What are you waiting for? You want to die?" Jack suddenly barked at Sol and the others. "Finish the captain's mission—now!"

"Damn it, Jack! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Sol snapped. Then he turned to the rest of the division. "Alright, listen up! You've got ten minutes! If that depot isn't ours by then, your training regimen's getting doubled!"

"Kill!!" the soldiers roared in terror. They'd all gone pale.

The First Division surged forward like a tidal wave. Marines and pirates clashed again with a fresh burst of fury.

The marines quickly noticed—something was off.

The First Division was fighting even more ferociously than before, like they'd been injected with pure adrenaline. Blades flashed, fists flew, and blood sprayed through the air.

It was madness.

And the marines understood why—training in the First Division was already a nightmare. If it got even worse… they'd rather die on the battlefield than face that.