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Chapter 440: Machine Gun Sweeps Across Whitebeard
Teach bent down and leaned close to Mihawk's ear, his voice dripping with the mockery of a gloating nouveau riche.
"And the result? A mortal body daring to block a car? Did you think we were still in the New World!? The steel here is ten thousand times harder than your bones!"
Mihawk's lips twitched slightly as if he wanted to say something, but the blood surging up his throat choked off his words.
Teach straightened up, looking up at the blinding sun in the sky. He spread his arms wide, reveling in the ultimate thrill of trampling over a powerhouse.
"What World's Strongest Swordsman. What Hawk Eyes Mihawk." Teach laughed uproariously, his voice echoing far down the empty highway. "I think you should just change your name to Dog Eyes Mihawk! A fool who can't even tell the difference between a steel cage and a meat sack! Zehahahaha!"
Teach didn't bother using a gun to finish the job. He figured that leaving this proud swordsman here to slowly bleed to death, or be electrocuted alive by the Blue Zone, was the best form of torture. He turned and walked back toward his Jeep, which was still belching black smoke.
This island was too fun. As long as he had this car, to hell with the Admirals or the Four Emperors. They would all be turned into meat paste beneath his tires.
Teach climbed back into the driver's seat. Shifted into gear. Floored the gas. The Jeep roared and charged toward the end of the highway once more.
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Back in the tavern at Foosha Village, Blake sat behind the bar, watching the holographic projection floating in mid-air. The screen was currently broadcasting the entire sequence of Teach running over Mihawk with the car.
Blake picked up the coffee cup beside him and took a small sip, an amused smirk hooking the corner of his lips.
"Gentleman, times have changed," he muttered softly.
In the face of absolute rules, even a Grand Swordsman who had honed his blade into his very bones still had to obey the uncompromising Laws of Motion.
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Along the coastline of Erangel, the Blue Zone sparked with blue-purple electricity, advancing mercilessly inland. This flesh-devouring electric net had already engulfed more than half the island, distorting the air wherever it passed.
At the southernmost tip of the island lay a cross-sea bridge connecting the main island to the Military Base. This was the final, unavoidable route leading to the Safe Zone. The toll station on the northern side of the bridge was completely barricaded with abandoned cars and rusty wire fences. A dry sea breeze blew past, kicking up a few yellowed newspapers, creating a suffocatingly tense atmosphere.
Crouched behind the collapsed load-bearing pillars of the toll station were three men wearing Marine uniforms.
"Why isn't that old madman back yet?" The current Fleet Admiral, Sengoku, held a fully kitted M416 Assault Rifle tight against his chest, glancing irritably at the electronic map on his wrist.
The green dot representing Garp was still wandering around near the wheat fields. Ever since he heard there was heavy firepower in the Super Airdrop, Garp had limped off without even stopping to bandage himself. As a result, their esteemed Marine Supreme Combat Squad was currently missing a crucial assaulter.
Beside Sengoku, Admiral Kuzan was wearing a heavily scuffed Level 2 Helmet. He was huddled behind the tire of an abandoned truck, a lit but unsmoked blade of grass dangling from his mouth. Having lost the powers of his Ice-Ice Fruit, he was actually finding the sea breeze chilling to the bone.
"Fleet Admiral, sir, that's Vice Admiral Garp we're talking about." Kuzan lazily shifted the Tommy Gun in his hands. "He's definitely gotten distracted by some fun new toy. We should just focus on guarding this half of the bridge."
In the toll booth window on the other side, Admiral Sakazuki was racking the bolt of his weapon with a thunderous scowl. A bloody bandage was wrapped around his forehead—the resulting concussion from Kaido smashing him with a Pan back at Georgopol. It was a humiliation he would never forget for the rest of his life. In his mortal body, the injury still made him feel faintly nauseous.
Stripped of the Mag-Mag Fruit's power to incinerate everything, a violently fierce fire burned in Sakazuki's chest. His current weapon was an M249 Light Machine Gun he had looted from the Shelter. This beast held a full hundred-round capacity and was currently the only heavy suppressive firepower point for their squad.
"I hope plenty of pirate trash shows up," Sakazuki said, mounting the machine gun on the windowsill, his iron sights locked firmly onto the broken road at the bridgehead. "I'm going to turn every last one of them into a sieve."
Just as he spoke, Kuzan spat out the blade of grass. Looking through the shattered window of the abandoned truck, he spotted a thick cloud of grey-yellow dust billowing up from the road on the opposite side of the bridge. Accompanied by the dust was the massive, roaring sound of wildly over-revved engines.
"Someone's crossing the bridge." Kuzan pulled the bolt on his Tommy Gun. "And they're moving fast."
Sengoku poked half his head out from cover. Through the lens of his tactical binoculars, he saw two vintage motorcycles with sidecars roaring onto the bridge.
When he got a clear look at the driver of the lead motorcycle, the veins on his forehead twitched violently.
It was a man of incredibly exaggerated proportions. The captain of the Whitebeard Pirates, the Yonko Edward Newgate.
His proud, crescent-moon mustache was blown straight up by the wind. Sitting in the driver's seat of a motorcycle, his mountain-like physique looked utterly comical and out of place. The rear tire of the motorcycle was visibly deformed under his weight, and the shock absorbers screamed in agony. Whitebeard wasn't holding his naginata; his massive arms were simply gripping the handlebars.
Trailing closely behind him was the second motorcycle. Driving it was the 1st Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, "The Phoenix" Marco, a man with a bounty exceeding 1.3 billion Beri. And sitting on Marco's backseat was the 3rd Division Commander, Diamond Jozu. Jozu, with his torso as sturdy as an iron block, was crammed onto the back seat, clutching an AKM Assault Rifle.
In this world where Observation Haki was useless, they had no visual cover whatsoever, charging blindly straight into the Deadly Crossfire Network set up by the Marines at the toll station.
Two hundred meters. One hundred and fifty meters.
"OPEN FIRE!"
There wasn't a shred of martial honor in Sengoku's mind right now. As a Fleet Admiral, he had studied positional defense and tactical suppression better than anyone at the Marine Academy. He roared the command and was the first to squeeze the trigger of his M416.
Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! The 5.56mm bullets, trailing tracers, tore through the air like a violent rainstorm. The asphalt on the bridge was shredded, sending crushed stone flying everywhere. Several stray bullets ricocheted wildly against the metal surface of Whitebeard's front fender. The tires hit a bullet crater, causing the entire motorcycle to violently jolt.
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