After obtaining the information he wanted, Yoriichi Tsugikuni stepped across the air, swiftly leaving the pirate ship behind.
Rising higher, he unleashed a flying slash that cleaved the ship cleanly in two. From above, he lingered for only a brief moment, watching as the vessel sank beneath the waves. When no bodies surfaced, he turned back toward the patrol ship, gliding through the air with practiced ease.
To Yoriichi, "pirates" were not even worth considering as people. Concepts like honor or mercy simply did not apply to them.
Within a few breaths, he had returned to the patrol ship's deck. The area was empty—no sailors in sight, only the lingering scent of gunpowder and splintered wood from the earlier bombardment.
But the instant his boots touched the planks, a different smell reached him—thick, metallic, unmistakable.
"Blood," Yoriichi murmured, eyes narrowing. "Something's happened."
Following the trail of the stench, he soon spotted the open hatch of the ship's interior. At the same time, his Observation Haki spread out like a wave, instantly scanning the lower decks. A heartbeat later, his form vanished from the deck entirely.
Inside the control room, chaos reigned.
"Cyrus! You dare raise your sword against fellow Marines?!" a stocky middle-aged officer barked, holding a pistol aimed straight at the red-haired swordsman before him. "You killed Sergeant Santos—and so many of our men besides!"
His voice trembled, but he forced authority into every word.
"Have you betrayed the Navy?! Do you have any idea what you've done?!"
He cocked his pistol with a sharp click.
"I've already reported what happened here to Colonel Kane at the 133rd Branch. Even if you kill every last one of us, the Navy will hunt you down, traitor!"
Behind him, seven armed sailors formed a shaky semicircle, rifles leveled at Cyrus. Their hands quivered, their knuckles white. Despite their numbers, fear radiated from them like heat from a forge.
The control room floor was littered with corpses—nearly thirty dead Marines sprawled across the planks. Some had been cut down with sword wounds, others riddled with bullet holes. Blood pooled around their bodies, seeping into the floorboards, filling the air with its coppery scent.
At the center of the carnage stood Cyrus, both hands gripping his sword, fury blazing in his eyes.
"You're lying!" he roared. "When I got here, Sergeant Santos was already dead—shot, not cut down! The others too, all murdered before I even arrived!"
"And when I came to investigate, you tried to kill me!"
"I was defending myself! The real traitor is you!"
His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword as rage shook his voice.
The officer sneered. "Still trying to deny it? We all saw what you did! You think I'd turn on my own comrades after years of serving with them?!"
He motioned toward the men beside him. "They can all testify to what happened!"
Despite his bluster, his tone betrayed his nerves. His name was Fabrice Simic, a sergeant of the 133rd Branch. He led the patrol's combat squad—one of three small units aboard the ship.
Now, including him, only eight of his men remained alive. The rest lay scattered across the floor, along with the dead from the other two squads.
When Yoriichi had left to pursue the pirates, Cyrus had followed his instructions and gone to check on the control room. But by the time he arrived, the slaughter had already taken place. The only survivors were Simic's squad—and the moment Cyrus opened the door, they opened fire without a word.
Fortunately, Cyrus's reflexes were lightning-fast. He dodged, deflected, and countered with swift, precise swordwork, slicing through the bullets as they came. When their first volley ended, he closed in—just as Yoriichi had taught him.
"If anyone attacks you," Yoriichi had said, "don't hesitate. Strike back immediately."
Cyrus did exactly that.
In the blink of an eye, more than ten sailors fell beneath his blade. When the remaining men reloaded, only eight of them were left to face him.
The two sides now stood locked in tense stalemate. Cyrus waited, sword poised, his eyes fixed on their gun barrels—ready to move the instant they fired.
Simic and his men hesitated. They had seen his speed. Firing carelessly would only get them killed faster.
So they waited, too—guns trembling, nerves stretched taut.
Meanwhile, inside Simic's mind, the truth was far uglier than his accusations.
He had been a Marine for years, but his wages barely kept his family fed. Then one day, a wealthy "businessman" from the Mia Kingdom took an interest in him. With the man's "help," Simic's lifestyle had improved drastically.
Last night, that same benefactor approached him with a task: kill two people aboard the ship. In return, a fortune—and safety.
At first, Simic had hesitated. But the plan was meticulous, foolproof, or so the man had promised. The "pirates" would show up to cover everything afterward. All he had to do was eliminate everyone onboard and later report that the ship had been ambushed at sea.
Simple. Clean. No witnesses.
But what his patron hadn't told him… was just how powerful that "former pirate hunter" really was.
Now, facing Cyrus's burning glare, Simic could barely hide his panic.
"You bastards…" Cyrus hissed, his voice trembling with fury. "You're not worthy of the Navy's uniform!"
Then, with a shout, he lunged.
The eight Marines fired in unison. Gunfire erupted in the confined space, deafeningly loud.
Cyrus weaved between the bullets, his sword flashing. In a blur of red hair and steel, he closed the distance.
By the time his blade stilled, every one of Simic's men lay dead.
Simic himself collapsed last, eyes wide with disbelief.
And just then—
BANG!
The door burst open with a violent kick.
Yoriichi stepped through, eyes sweeping across the blood-soaked room. Dozens of corpses. The stench of death. Cyrus standing amid the carnage, breathing hard.
Yoriichi's expression darkened.
"..."
Then, quietly, he spoke.
"Looks like… we've walked right into a trap."
(End of Chapter)
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