The moment Shiryu coated his strange black club in Armament Haki, Ian didn't dare take him lightly.
Before Shiryu could close in, Ian swung his right fist.
White clay surged outward like a living tide, rapidly stacking and swelling.
In the span of a heartbeat, Ian's arm ballooned to something nearing the size of a Giant's.
With a heavy roar of force, the massive clay fist hurtled forward.
Giant Clay Fist!
Across from him, Shiryu also swung his right arm—bringing down that bizarre, ugly, jet-black cudgel.
Boom!
Black and white collided.
The two weapons—different in form, nature, and color—slammed into each other with a thunderous explosion. A violent shockwave blasted outward, rattling the tables and chairs of the prison mess hall.
But Shiryu was still Shiryu.
One of Impel Down's twin pillars of strength.
Even without his beloved blade Thunderstorm, his Armament Haki alone was nothing to scoff at.
Against his hardened black club, Ian's giant clay fist only lasted a few seconds before collapsing.
Chunks of clay shattered, raining down across the floor.
Yet clay was clay—soft, yielding, absorbing impact.
Shiryu's power had been greatly cushioned. His swing slowed… and ultimately stopped.
Not only because the clay had eaten some of the force—
But because inside the collapsing clay fist, something hard and unyielding had caught his weapon cold.
Iron Body.
Ian's real fist was buried inside the giant clay construct.
Its surface was now covered in a thin, glossy layer of black.
In that moment, Ian's fist felt like a nail forged from pure steel—stopping Shiryu's club in its tracks.
If he had opened his status panel right now, he would've seen a new entry appear:
[Armament Haki: ☆]
Even without seeing those stars, Ian could feel it.
That power—
That pressure—
That sensation he'd experienced once before, when he blocked the Sphinx's barrage—
This was it.
Haki.
Ian's eyes lit up. He wanted to push forward, to strike, to test the limits of his newly awakened strength—
But a furious shout cut across the mess hall.
"Both of you—STOP!!"
Locked in battle, Ian didn't react.
Shiryu didn't react either.
So—
"Poison Dragon!!"
Two deep-purple dragons of venom roared across the room.
Ian stood firmly in place, unflinching.
Shiryu, however, reacted like a rat spotting a cat.
He swung his black club, shattering one venom dragon's head, then flashed aside to avoid the splattering toxins.
"Magellan…"
Shiryu's voice was low and full of wariness as he glared toward the entrance.
"Oh! Chief!"
Ian raised a hand and greeted the newcomer with perfect calm.
Magellan looked at the blood at Shiryu's mouth…
Then looked at Ian, who seemed completely untouched.
Wait.
Wasn't Shiryu supposed to be the merciless butcher turning on his colleagues?
So why…
did it look like Ian was the one beating him up?
"YOU TWO! How dare you brawl in front of all your colleagues?!"
Magellan's face darkened—literally darkened—as purple veins pulsed across his skin.
"You're completely out of control!"
His outrage triggered an instant eruption of venom.
Pitch-dark toxins flooded across his body, dripping onto the floor with a hiss that ate into the stone.
When it came to raw destructive power, the Venom-Venom Fruit had no equal.
In the presence of the enraged Poison Man…
The entire mess hall went silent.
Magellan didn't care whether Ian beat Shiryu or Shiryu beat Ian.
Two officers fighting publicly was unacceptable.
His decision was swift and merciless.
"Both of you will be punished!
Solitary confinement!"
The Poison Dragons flicked their gazes toward Ian and Shiryu, delivering the sentence.
Ian received a "24-Hour Special Training Tour of Blazing Hell."
Shiryu received a "Seven-Day All-Inclusive Vacation to Freezing Hell."
Ian was stunned.
He was being punished too?
"Chief! It was self-defense!" he protested.
The little white dragon perched on his shoulder hissed in indignation alongside him.
"But you still caused unnecessary chaos!"
Magellan's voice was stern.
"Since it's your first offense, you're only being sent to Blazing Hell!"
The fourth level—Blazing Hell.
The fifth level—Freezing Hell.
The latter was far crueler.
Magellan had clearly taken into account that Shiryu struck first, and assigned a harsher punishment accordingly.
Knowing he couldn't win this argument—and likely unwilling to test Magellan's patience—
Shiryu quietly released his Armament Haki, wiped the remaining clay from his club, and turned to leave without a word.
"Hannibal!
Escort Ian to Level 4!"
Magellan barked the order, then strode off after Shiryu.
He intended to personally ensure Shiryu reached Freezing Hell.
Once the two wardens were gone—
Hannibal shuffled over, grinning obsequiously.
"My dear Chief Warden of Level Four… you're incredible! Even Shiryu couldn't take you down!"
"Not at all."
Ian shook his head.
To onlookers, it had looked like he was dominating the fight.
And… he kind of was.
But the truth?
Ian unleashed a flurry of flashy moves—
but his damage only amounted to something like 2.5.
He made Shiryu bleed a little, yes.
But he never truly threatened him.
As a master swordsman with monstrous physique, Shiryu's durability far exceeded beasts like the Sphinx.
Meanwhile, the Clay-Clay Fruit simply lacked raw destructive power.
If only his Devil Fruit hit as hard as Magellan's Venom-Venom Fruit…
…Forget it.
Devil fruit power was defined by its nature.
The Clay-Clay Fruit created clay.
Even if he sculpted it into impressive forms—
Wait.
Sculpting?
Art?
A certain four-mouthed, clay-making, art-obsessed "young man" flashed across Ian's mind.
Maybe…
Maybe he could infuse his clay with new properties.
Raise its base destructive power… through "art."
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