Standing atop Roger's execution stand in Loguetown, Dante Ashford, the Warlord, gazed over the crowd. He raised his arms, commanding silence before his voice thundered through the square.
"Ladies and gentlemen, pirates and peasants, marines and miscreants, hear me now!
I stand before you, a true visionary, a man of the people-of the real, hardworking, sea-loving folk of the East Blue. And today, my friends, I bring you a promise. We are building a wall. A wall so massive, so impenetrable, so divine in its sheer glory that the gods themselves will look down and weep like sniveling cowards. The greatest wall in history, a wall that will stand eternal, an iron fist raised against the filth that dares call itself nobility.
Why, you ask? Because we are sick of the stinking, festering human garbage that is the World Government and their inbred, brain-dead piglet masters—the Celestial Dragons. Sitting in their lofty pigpen Mary Geoise, they are the most pathetic, most degenerate parasites to ever disgrace the ocean. These bubble-wrapped imbeciles slither around in their silk, pissing themselves at the very thought of breathing the same air as real men. Pathetic, isn't it? A disgrace to even call them human.
Look at them-gasping, wheezing like dying hogs, too weak to even exist without their precious masks and their Marine lapdogs holding their hands. The gods of this world can't even handle air. Imagine that. They rule over us, yet they fear the very air they claim control over. What's next? A Celestial Dragon that drowns in his own bathwater? Wouldn't be surprised.
For centuries, these sniveling, half-witted mongrels have pillaged, enslaved, and defiled everything they touch. They pat each other on the back with their limp-wristed little hands, stuffing their pig faces with stolen wealth, laughing through their drooling, slack-jawed mouths. It's like watching a pack of overfed hogs congratulate each other for shitting the most in the trough. Well, guess what? The East Blue says no more. We're done. We will not pay their taxes, we will not bow to their divine right, and we will not let them put chains on our people and brand us like cattle. Let them rot in their bubbles like the diseased filth they are.
And who makes sure these so-called gods never face consequences? Who carries out their filthy work like loyal, obedient dogs? The Marines.
Oh, those spineless dogs, those shameless whores of tyranny, those dumb-as-rocks order-following cowards. Justice means nothing to them-nothing but a salary and a pat on the head from a diaper-wearing noble. They'd burn down an orphanage if a Celestial Dragon so much as sneezed near it. In fact, they actually practice looking the other way.
I've seen it firsthand. I was one of them. A high-ranking officer from Marine Headquarters. I know exactly how deep the rot goes. They have special training camps where they perfect the art of pretending not to see atrocities. 'Oh, a noble just murdered a man in broad daylight because the noble fancied the man's wife and took her? I saw nothing, sir. Would you like me to lick your boots now?' Pathetic.
But not in the East Blue. Not anymore. We are sealing ourselves off, cutting ties with these leeches, locking them out like the disease they are. Our wall will keep us strong, keep us free, keep us pure. Let them wallow in their own corruption. Let them burn in the fire of their own making. We will stand tall while their world crumbles into dust.
From Loguetown to Syrup Village—no more tributes.
From Orange Town to the Goa Kingdom—no more slaves.
Across every shore and every town—no more Marine boots on our necks.
This is our land, our sea, our freedom.
And if those bloated, brainless, bed-wetting Celestial hogs barge in? We will make them crawl. Let them beg. Let them cry for mercy they will never receive. Maybe if they cry hard enough, we'll let them be useful—for once in their lives—as bricks in the wall. But we do not forgive. We do not forget. And we sure as hell don't kneel.
East Blue first. East Blue forever. Make East Blue Great Again."