Limited by one-sided intelligence, people tend to trust their own subjective notions, which are often incomplete or even wrong.
So it was with the three—Mihawk, Hancock, and Doflamingo. Even knowing Charles had once defeated Crocodile, they still hadn't taken him seriously enough.
Now it was different. Charles's mana surged forth as flame and cleared an entire zone.
Marines and pirates alike were forced out of the area, and only the three Warlords facing Charles could withstand this inferno of a field.
They, too, adjusted their mindset—or rather, Charles forced them to get serious.
Charles had already activated his dragonflame battle gear and crossed a long stretch in a single step to appear before Mihawk.
Of the three, the most dangerous was Hancock, who could turn people to stone, but the strongest in sheer combat was undoubtedly Dracule Mihawk.
A fist sheathed in dragonscale gauntlet smashed against the broad spine of the black blade, bending the world's strongest great sword to an absurd angle and sending Mihawk skidding with the weapon's rebound.
"Kiss Gun!"
Hancock mimed a pistol with her hand and "fired" a tiny heart from her fingertip at Charles.
But Charles was no longer there, slipping past the cute-looking—and truly perilous—shot.
The little heart struck the ground and went off like a high-explosive grenade; a chalky layer of petrification crawled over the crater it left.
Just that one strike, fusing Armament Haki with her fruit power, proved Hancock hadn't become a Warlord on looks and figure alone.
"Five-Color Strings!"
Not to be outdone, Doflamingo swept down his hand, five razor threads extending from his fingers to hood Charles.
What met them was a fist wrapped in searing flame.
Charles's punch blasted a pillar of fire skyward and burned through all five steel-hard threads as he closed on Doflamingo.
The swaggering grin that never left Doflamingo's face vanished, replaced by a mask of pain.
Charles's fist had sunk into his gut; the shock caromed through him and speared into the sky, and the crisp crack of breaking ribs rang out.
He gave Charles no chance to follow up. Mihawk stepped in, sword raised.
Four steps forward from Mihawk, four steps back from Charles—yet in those four steps Mihawk loosed dozens of cuts.
Charles had thought swordsmanship here was all about slashing faster and harder.
Mihawk showed him what exquisite swordcraft really was. In the first two steps, Mihawk's slashes sealed every avenue of evasion; in the next two, his edge hunted every vital point on Charles's frame.
Charles answered in kind. His forearms flickered trails of afterimages, parrying and dismantling every strike.
On the fourth step, both halted for a heartbeat, then unleashed stronger blows.
Charles's fist and Yoru's edge crashed together. The ground underfoot shattered in an instant, and gravel spat like bullets.
"Overtwist Whip!"
Doflamingo's threads massed and braided into a single cable that lashed at Charles as he braced Mihawk's blade.
The blow didn't do much to Charles, but it sent Mihawk's fighting spirit plummeting.
Charles might not be a swordsman, but to Mihawk he was a rare foe worth treating as an opponent.
Teaming up with others soured it—and teaming with Doflamingo, a man he held little regard for, soured it most.
"Boring."
So said Mihawk as he sheathed and stepped away the instant the thread-whip came down.
Charles flowed with it, sweeping out a Fire Dragon's Wing Attack that sliced Doflamingo's strike apart.
Midair, Doflamingo hadn't imagined Mihawk would suddenly pull out; now he had to face Charles's hostility alone.
Instinct told him to retreat, but Charles, wreathed in flame, was already in his face.
Doflamingo's eyes hardened. He wasn't some pushover. Armament Haki coated his shin and he whipped a kick in.
Charles kicked at the same moment. A bang popped in the air and their legs crossed, deadlocked.
Black lightning burst. Doflamingo unleashed Conqueror's Haki to overawe Charles and force an opening.
Flame surged from Charles's back, taking the form of a majestic beast. One roar shattered the black lightning outright!
Every onlooker's eyes went wide.
Among top-tier combatants on the sea, crossing Conqueror's Haki is as common as a greeting.
Clashes of wills aren't rare, and at most the stronger side suppresses the weaker. Shattering it outright was… abnormal.
Conqueror's, in the end, is merely a force of will extended from the soul. Mana reaches deeper still on that front.
For someone who understood both powers, what Charles did wasn't surprising.
Doflamingo, whose Conqueror's had been broken, suffered backlash. His mind blanked and his body lost all response.
By rights, that state is no different from offering up his neck. Luckily for him, he wasn't fighting alone.
The problem was that his "ally" had no intention of saving him—and in her next attack, she included him as well.
"Captive Arrow!"
Hancock kissed a huge pink heart from her lips, gripped it with her other hand, and loosed it at the fighting pair.
A rain of rosy heart-arrows poured down, engulfing both Charles and Doflamingo.
"Four Symbols Fist: Azure Dragon Form—Flowing Water!"
Charles dropped Doflamingo, slipped into a streaming blur, and threaded the heart-shower without taking a single hit.
Seeing him close fast, Hancock didn't bull her way in; instinct made her retreat.
Charles wasn't someone you "simply" dodged. Switching from the Azure Dragon form to the Vermilion Bird, he blitzed to her in a burst.
Even facing the world's most beautiful woman, he showed no mercy. A Fire Dragon's Talon kick slammed into her slim waist and sent her flying.
Behind him, Doflamingo lowered his one good hand; his other arm had turned to stone.
Desperate survival instinct had jolted him awake as Hancock's attack fell, and he'd slipped clear—only to get grazed and petrified along the limb.
Just as Charles had said, Doflamingo wasn't one to bleed for the World Government. In this state, even if he hated Charles, he wouldn't stick his neck out again.
Feeling Doflamingo's venomous but fight-less aura, Charles curled his lip in disdain, gave one glance to Mihawk—who had no intention of reengaging—and turned to race after Little Oars Jr., who had surged forward again.
Charles versus three Warlords—no one had expected him to win, even on the surface. One flank of the Marine line buckled hard.
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