Chapter 34: The Saint's New Toy! A Game of Death!
The Grand Line sun beat down mercilessly on the open sea, reflecting off the waves with a blinding glare. But for the Marines aboard the escort fleet, the heat they felt had nothing to do with the sun. It was the cold sweat of impending doom.
Six black cannonballs, heavy with death and packed with enough gunpowder to shatter a hull, whistled through the air. They formed a perfect arc, aimed squarely at the Vermillion Wing.
"Direct hit trajectory confirmed!" a gunner on the lead Marine ship shouted, a grin of nervous relief on his face. "That pirate ship is toast!"
On the deck of the target ship, however, there was no panic. There was no scrambling for cover. There was only a terrifying, unnatural calmness.
Rem stood near the bow; her blue maid dress fluttering gently in the sea breeze. Her single visible eye tracked the incoming projectiles with the precision of a radar system.
"Hmph," she scoffed softly. "How rude. Throwing heavy metal at a clean ship."
She didn't brace herself. She simply flicked her wrist.
WHIRRRRR—!
The heavy iron chain of her morningstar uncoiled from her arm like a striking viper. The spiked iron ball at the end, weighing easily over a ton, blurred into a black streak.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
It wasn't a blunt impact. It was a display of supreme technique.
Rem spun the weapon with finesse that defied physics. She didn't just block the cannonballs; she caught them in the momentum of her swing. Using the centrifugal force, she guided the projectiles around her body in a graceful pirouette.
Then, she released the energy.
"Return to sender," Rem whispered.
WHOOSH!
Three of the cannonballs were launched back the way they came, flying faster than they had been fired. They screamed through the air, sound barriers breaking in their wake.
BOOM!
The bow of the nearest Marine warship exploded in a shower of splinters, iron, and fire. The redirected shells tore through the reinforced wooden hull as if it were wet paper.
"AAAAGH!"
Marines screamed as the deck beneath them disintegrated. A gaping, jagged hole appeared at the waterline, and the sea began to pour in, dragging the ship down by the nose.
Almost simultaneously, Albedo moved.
She didn't summon her battle-axe. She didn't spread her wings. She simply stepped to the port railing, her expression one of utter boredom.
As the remaining three cannonballs approached her face, threatening to turn her into a red mist, she raised her hand. Her palm was coated in the obsidian sheen of Armament Haki.
She didn't catch them. She slapped them.
PAH! PAH! PAH!
It looked as casual as a noblewoman swatting away annoying flies during tea time. But the force behind those slaps was monstrous—stat-breaking strength from YGGDRASIL applied to One Piece physics.
The cannonballs reversed trajectory instantly. The kinetic energy transferred to them caused the iron casings to warp mid-air.
BANG-BANG-BANG!
Explosions blossomed along the broadside of the second warship. The main mast snapped in half, crashing down onto the gunnery deck and crushing the cannons. Smoke billowed into the clear sky, turning the day into night.
"R-Report!" The lookout on the lead ship stammered, dropping his telescope. His hands were shaking so hard he couldn't pick it up. "The enemy... the enemy just played tennis with our bombardment! Both escort ships have taken critical damage! We are taking on water!"
The absolute absurdity of the counterattack plunged the disciplined Marine fleet into chaos. Sailors scrambled to put out fires, shouting orders that were lost in the roar of the flames. The formation broke. The hunters had become the prey.
But on the deck of the Saint Noros, the massive luxury liner in the center, the reaction was disturbingly different.
"Oh? How interesting."
Saint Jalmack leaned forward in his velvet chair, peering through the thick glass of his bubble helmet. He watched the burning warships not with concern for his soldiers, but with the delight of a child watching ants burn under a magnifying glass.
His gaze fixed on the two women who had just humiliated the Navy.
"Did you see that, Ferguson?" Jalmack chuckled, a wet, rattling sound inside his helmet. "It seems they are not ordinary commoners. They actually know how to perform tricks to amuse me. That's good. It saves them from being broken too quickly."
He waved his gloved hand dismissively at the Vice Admiral standing beside him.
"Order the Marines to continue the attack! Don't stop! I want to see more tricks! Sink that ship, but keep the women alive! If they get a scratch on their faces, I'll feed you to the Sea Kings!"
Vice Admiral Ferguson gritted his teeth. He looked at the dying men on the escort ships, then at the monster sitting in the chair.
"Understood..." Ferguson growled, his pride swallowing bile.
Just as Jalmack finished speaking, a shadow fell over him.
WHOOSH!
A figure soared through the air like a great bird of prey. He had leaped effortlessly from the deck of the Vermillion Wing, crossing fifty meters of open ocean in a single bound.
THUD.
Suzaku landed steadily on the gold-plated deck of the Saint Noros. He didn't stumble. He didn't crouch. He landed with the weight and presence of a mountain.
He stood up, straightening his coat and dusting off invisible specks of dirt. He was less than ten meters from the Celestial Dragon.
The silence on the deck was deafening. The bodyguards froze, their hands hovering over their weapons. The Marines stared, unable to comprehend the audacity.
Vice Admiral Ferguson, his face draining of color, finally recognized the intruder. The wanted poster he had reviewed that morning flashed in his mind—the rookie who had defeated the Golden Lion.
"Vermillion Bird... Suzaku Yareon!"
Ferguson stepped forward, drawing his saber with a metallic hiss. He tried to project the authority of a Marine Vice Admiral, though his voice wavered slightly against the suffocating pressure Suzaku exuded.
"This is the flagship of the World Noble, Saint Jalmack, escorting the vital Heavenly Tribute! You dare to attack a Marine fleet and disturb a Celestial Dragon? Your crime is unforgivable!"
He pointed his sword at Suzaku's chest.
"Surrender immediately, and perhaps your execution will be swift! You have nowhere to run!"
He hoped the weight of the World Government would crush this upstart. After all, a bounty of 150 million Berries was impressive for a rookie, but Ferguson was a veteran of the New World. He had two Vice Admirals and an elite Cipher Pol unit. This was just an arrogant kid from the East Blue who didn't know the immensity of the world.
"Surrender? Who gave him permission to surrender!"
Saint Jalmack's shrill voice cut through Ferguson's attempt at intimidation. The World Noble stood up, kicking his chair over. He pointed his golden cane at Suzaku with pathological excitement.
"It's not often I get some decent entertainment delivered to my feet! Ferguson! Momonga! Attack! I want to see you beat him until he begs for mercy on his knees! I want to hear him scream! Make it bloody! Break his legs first!"
Ferguson grimaced. He hated taking orders from this man, but disobedience meant death.
"Understood," Ferguson growled.
But before he could move, his partner acted.
Vice Admiral Momonga, a silent, stoic man with a mohawk and a mustache, didn't waste breath on words. He was a man of action, a master of the blade.
Soru!
Momonga's figure blurred and vanished. The deck cracked where he had stood.
In the blink of an eye, he reappeared directly in front of Suzaku, his katana drawn in a lethal iaido strike aimed at Suzaku's throat. The speed was blinding. This was the pinnacle of the Six Powers (Rokushiki).
His intention was clear: Decapitate the leader instantly to demoralize the crew.
However, the blade never reached Suzaku.
CLINK!
A crisp, ringing sound of metal on metal echoed across the deck. Sparks flew.
A heavy, spiked iron ball had interposed itself between Momonga's blade and Suzaku's neck. The katana bit into the metal of the flail but couldn't cut through.
Holding the chain was Rem. She had crossed the distance from her ship in a blur of blue and white, using Geppo to fly, appearing at her master's side like a loyal phantom.
"A 'Battle Maid' with a 20 million Berry bounty?" Momonga's eyes narrowed in genuine surprise. "You blocked my strike?"
The fact that she could react to his Soru meant the intelligence reports were fatally wrong. She wasn't worth 20 million. She was worth at least ten times that.
But Momonga was a veteran. Failing the first strike, he immediately shifted tactics. He didn't retreat; he pressed the attack.
Geppo!
He kicked off the air, propelling himself over Rem's head, spinning in mid-air to strike at Suzaku's unguarded back.
"Finger Pistol: Heart Piercer!"
Momonga's index finger turned black with Haki. He thrust it forward like a spear, aiming for Suzaku's spine with enough force to punch through steel plate.
"Got you," Momonga thought.
But just as his finger was inches from Suzaku's coat—
THUMP!
A muffled, sickening sound rang out.
Momonga's eyes bulged. His attack stopped dead. His finger hit something hard.
He looked down.
A shapely leg, clad in white armor greaves, was buried deep in his abdomen.
"Too slow," a cold, feminine voice whispered in his ear.
Albedo stood there, her leg extended in a high kick. She hadn't even looked at him. She had simply intercepted him mid-air with casual disdain, reading his trajectory before he even moved.
"Guh...!"
Momonga coughed up a mouthful of bile and blood. The force of the impact felt like being hit by a speeding Sea Train. His internal organs shifted violently. His ribs cracked.
BAM!
Albedo flicked her leg.
The Vice Admiral was sent flying across the deck like a ragdoll. He smashed through the luxurious cabin wall behind Jalmack, destroying the fine wood and gold leaf.
CRASH!
He landed in a heap of debris, leaving a man-shaped hole in the wall. Dust and splinters rained down on the terrified Celestial Dragon.
Suzaku didn't even turn around. He remained perfectly composed, his hands in his pockets, watching Ferguson and the Celestial Dragon as if the battle behind him was beneath his notice.
Albedo slowly lowered her leg, smoothing her skirt. She looked at the hole in the wall with a sneer.
"Filthy insect," she muttered, wiping invisible dust from her armor. "Trying to touch Suzaku-sama with such dirty hands."
She retreated to her position half a step behind Suzaku, folding her hands respectfully. She transformed instantly from a demon of war back into the perfect, dutiful guardian.
"Momonga!"
Vice Admiral Ferguson screamed, his voice filled with disbelief. Cold sweat instantly soaked his back, plastering his uniform to his skin.
Momonga was his equal. A Headquarters Vice Admiral. A master of Haki. And he had been swatted away like a fly by a subordinate? By the "Blackwing Demon" whose bounty was a mere 70 million?
"Monster..." Ferguson whispered, his grip on his sword tightening until his knuckles cracked. "These aren't rookies. They are monsters from the New World in disguise!"
But Saint Jalmack saw things differently. He possessed no combat sense, no Haki, only twisted desire and arrogance.
He stared at Albedo, his eyes practically popping out of his skull. The violence didn't scare him; it aroused him. Her strength, her beauty, her cold cruelty—it was everything he wanted in a slave.
"Wonderful! Absolutely perfect!"
Jalmack gesticulated wildly, slobbering inside his helmet. He roared at the terrified Marines, pointing his cane at Albedo.
"Did you see that?! Did you see that kick?! I want her! Capture these two women for me! Do not harm their faces! Especially the one with the wings!"
He trembled with greed.
"I must turn them into my slaves! Take them back to Marijoa! I will train them to be my personal pets! Hurry up! Capture them! Use the nets! Use the gas!"
Vice Admiral Ferguson's heart sank to the bottom of the ocean. He looked at the screaming idiot beside him, then at the three figures standing calmly on the deck.
The maid who blocked a sword with a chain. The demon who kicked a Vice Admiral through a wall.
And the Captain.
Ferguson's gaze shifted to the black-haired youth, "Vermillion Bird" Suzaku.
Since boarding, Suzaku hadn't lifted a finger. He hadn't drawn a weapon. He hadn't even unleashed his Haki. He just stood there, smiling faintly, watching the chaos unfold as if it were a play written for his amusement.
That absolute, unshakeable composure was more terrifying than any threat.
"If the subordinates are this strong..." Ferguson thought, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. "Then just how powerful is the master?"
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