The Momo Momo no Mi granted Waldo blistering speed—so fast that the incoming slash looked almost laughably slow by comparison. His body flickered once, and he was already clear of the attack.
The faces of the opponents on the other side darkened instantly. The difference was obvious—Waldo had dodged effortlessly, while their reactions looked clumsy by comparison.
Zhou Duan's blade hadn't struck flesh, but the aftermath alone was staggering.
Clang!
His slash struck the main tower's outer wall, cutting through stone and steel alike. The massive building groaned—and then split cleanly in two! The upper section tilted, sliding down with a thunderous crash.
It was proof enough of the strike's terrifying power.
Unfortunately for CP9, their opponents were simply on another level.
The moment the attack failed, the others moved in without hesitation. The one who'd taken the form of a hulking werewolf—Jabra—sprang to his feet and charged straight at Arthur.
"Soru!"
"Tekkai Kenpō — Heavy Wolf Fist!"
His growling voice blurred into the roar of air as he vanished and reappeared in front of Arthur, fists coated in Haki, driving forward with savage ferocity.
The power of a wild beast, amplified by the Zoan-type Devil Fruit, collided with the lightning-armored youth head-on.
Arthur only smirked.
"Looks flashy… but a bug is still a bug."
Black Armament Haki surged across his left arm, turning it pitch-dark. He didn't even bother using a technique—he simply punched.
BOOM!
Crack—crack!
The shockwave from their collision rattled the entire building. Dust exploded outward, wind shrieked through the broken hallways, and the air trembled from the sheer pressure.
Then came the sound of bone shattering.
"AAAGH!!"
Jabra's scream echoed through the hall as his enormous body hurtled backward, crashing through a wall and vanishing in a cloud of debris.
"Go patch him up. You two, finish this quickly—I don't have all day." Arthur said mildly, brushing his hand as if swatting dust from his sleeve.
It was as though nothing had happened.
The agents of CP9 stood frozen, faces pale.
What the hell just happened?
That man had punched their comrade—transformed, reinforced, at full power—straight into a wall.
With nothing but raw strength.
Even a Zoan user, famed for their monstrous durability, couldn't take that blow.
It was inhuman.
Before they could react, Arthur was already walking past them toward the exit.
"Stop right there!" Kaku's voice cut through the stunned silence. He couldn't let the man just walk out.
They were CP9—elite assassins of the World Government. They had pride. They had dignity.
He vanished with Soru, reappearing several meters away—just in time to see the spot where he'd stood a second ago split apart from a single strike.
A figure stood in the drifting smoke, sword gleaming faintly violet.
The Red Count.
"Your opponent," he said coldly, "is me."
Kaku's pupils contracted. The nobleman's gaze was like a blade—dark, commanding, and utterly devoid of mercy. It was the look of a predator who had already decided his prey was dead.
Kaku shuddered despite himself.
"Lucci! Assist me!" he barked through his Den Den Mushi earpiece.
"Life Return — Lion Finger Gun!"
Before Kaku's call was finished, Blueno's fellow assassin Kumadori—the lion-headed agent—had already moved. His mane twisted like living cords, bunching into thick strands that shot out like fingers, stabbing toward the Red Count from behind.
The hairs lashed like serpents—faster, sharper, and deadlier than steel.
But the Red Count didn't even turn his head. His Observation Haki sensed every movement behind him.
He stepped lightly, weaving through the storm of attacks as if strolling through falling petals. To him, the Lion Finger Gun was full of holes.
Not a single strand so much as brushed his coat.
Kumadori snarled, snatching back his hair, and switched tactics in an instant.
"Lion Flame Blossom!"
His iron staff spun in his hands, the tip igniting with searing heat before he hurled it like a comet at the Red Count.
The Red Count's blade flicked up. A single slash of sword energy cleaved the fireball in two.
But when the flames parted—Kumadori's form was gone.
He reappeared beside the Red Count, thrusting his iron staff like a spear straight for the nobleman's ribs.
"Shigan—Q!"
It was a feint—his earlier assault had only been a distraction for this lethal strike.
For anyone else, it would have been fatal. CP9's agents were executioners trained to kill pirates far beyond ordinary means; their missions were always those the Marines couldn't publicly touch.
Becoming one of them meant being the best of the best.
Unfortunately, their target was no mere opponent. The Red Count, Patrick Redfield, had ruled the seas long before CP9's grandparents ever drew breath.
His blade moved once—graceful, almost lazy—and the clash was over.
Clang!
Kumadori's staff went flying. The moment their weapons met, a crushing force surged through his arms, tearing at his muscles and joints.
He gasped, the tiger stripes on his face contorting in agony. His weapon slipped from numb fingers.
But he wasn't done.
His plan had always been to close the distance.
"Life Return — Hair Bind!"
His prehensile mane shot out again, wrapping around the Red Count's limbs, binding his arms and legs.
"Got you!" he roared.
"Kaku! Now!"
Not far away, Kaku had already transformed—his long giraffe neck coiling in preparation.
"Giraffe Cannon!"
He compressed his neck like a spring, then released it with a thunderous boom, launching his head forward like a living cannonball straight toward the Red Count's skull.
For a split second, Patrick Redfield's expression changed—first surprise, then faint approval.
Impressive teamwork, he thought. It's been years since I've seen young fighters this coordinated.
But… experience was everything.
With a flick of his wrist, the Red Count's sword shimmered. In a blur too fast to follow, the hair binding him was severed.
The next instant, his blade intercepted the incoming strike with a metallic crash.
The entire exchange took less than a heartbeat.
Kumadori's eyes widened in disbelief. He had counted on the restraints lasting long enough for that attack to land—but the Red Count's reflexes were monstrous.
Even their perfect coordination had been read, broken, and countered in a single motion.
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