Haa… Calm down. Stay calm!
In this life-and-death moment, Buffet unexpectedly regained a trace of his former sharpness.
His mind spun at full speed.
This steel gate is made of the latest alloy.
Breaking it in a short time is impossible.
So escaping… is not an option.
Does that mean I have to fight him head-on?
*But I haven't fought anyone of my level in almost ten years.
And that guy—
he's clawed his way out of mountains of corpses.
If I fight to the death…
I won't stand a chance!*
No… I don't have to fight to the death.
I just need to stall him.
As long as I hold out until Hanpao from the Happo Navy arrives—
the outcome will be very different.
Having found a sliver of hope, Buffet inhaled deeply, then turned around with a forced smile.
"Haha!
You must be the crimson swordsman, Apophis?
Allow me to introduce myself—
I am the master of this domain, Benjamin Buffet.
Welcome to the paradise of the mafia!"
But Apophis continued advancing silently—unmoved, indifferent.
"Perhaps… some misunderstanding exists between us.
As long as we clear things up,
I believe we can still be friends."
Still no reaction.
Buffet's confidence began to crumble.
"W-who wants me dead?
Whatever they offered you,
I'll pay double—
no, triple!"
Apophis remained silent.
"No room for negotiation at all?
I'm a man with a 120-million berry bounty!
If we fight to mutual destruction, neither side benefits!"
Buffet threatened with a trembling voice,
while quietly inching sideways—
toward the wall where his triple-flail hung.
Once a symbol of his brutal power,
now coated in dust and rust.
"I'll give you a chance."
A cold voice finally drifted from behind the demon mask.
"Pick up your weapon."
Buffet froze.
He saw right through me…
and he's not even attacking while I'm unarmed?
Is he one of those old-fashioned bushido idiots?
Or does he simply… not see me as a threat?
"Heh… looking down on me like this…
you'll regret it!
I, Buffet the Skull-Crusher—!"
Apophis took a single step forward.
Buffet immediately swallowed his bravado and shut up.
He lunged forward and grabbed his weapon.
A two-meter-long iron staff
with three spiked iron balls connected by chains—
a brutal three-headed flail,
each ball armed with jagged spikes that gleamed coldly in the light.
Weapon in hand,
Buffet's long-lost confidence began to return.
He lifted the flail high above his head and swung.
The three iron balls spun violently,
tearing through the air,
producing a bone-shaking sonic boom.
One direct hit
would turn a man into paste.
"I crushed countless skulls with this weapon!
Apophis!
You won't be the first—
and certainly not the last!"
Apophis walked forward silently.
A long, ancient-looking sword slipped down into his right hand—
as if emerging from within his palm.
Ghostly green flames flickered along the blade,
transforming him instantly
from wandering specter
to death-summoning demon.
"H-how can a sword… come out of your body…?
What is that cursed flame…?!
A-are you a human… or some kind of monster?!"
The ancient fear that predates all others—
fear of the unknown—
wrapped its tendrils around Buffet's spine.
He retreated instinctively
until his back pressed against the cold steel gate.
No retreat remained.
Terror, pushed to its limit,
erupted into madness.
Buffet swung the triple-flail with all his rage.
"You damned monster!
Go back to whatever hell you crawled out of!!"
In the world of pirates, raw power can crush all.
Even in a future era,
the brute known as Edward Weevil,
claiming to be Whitebeard's son,
became a Warlord simply by having strength equal to young Whitebeard.
Buffet was no monster like Weevil—
but the old intel had not exaggerated:
He truly possessed monstrous physical strength—
strong enough to punch apart a small mountain.
The three spiked iron balls crashed down like meteors.
The floor exploded.
Cracks radiated outward like a spiderweb.
Half the hall collapsed in an instant.
But—
That power amounted to nothing.
Because Apophis simply placed one foot
on the chains of the flail.
Buffet's veins bulged purple.
He gritted his teeth.
He roared.
But he could not pull it free.
"Impossible…
IMPOSSIBLE!!
I can't lose in sheer strength to a swordsman!"
Swordmasters must possess extreme speed and extreme power.
But physical durability varies—
most swordsmen are "glass cannons,"
fast and sharp but fragile.
Speed compensates for attack.
The blade compensates for lethality.
Yet now—
Buffet realized something horrifying:
This swordsman had no weaknesses.
And Apophis raised one foot—
Buffet, unable to retract his force in time,
pitched forward and slammed face-first into the floor.
The triple-flail recoiled,
the iron balls smashing brutally into his back.
Buffet screamed.
"A-Apophis…
what do you mean by this…?!"
The icy voice returned.
"The game ends here.
I'm done playing with trash like you."
"Ga…me…?"
Something snapped inside Buffet.
His vision went red.
Blood surged in his veins.
He roared—
muscles writhing like knotted tree roots,
a violent power exploding from deep within.
"DON'T LOOK DOWN ON ME!!!
DIE!!!"
The flail spun at insane speed,
wind and thunder howling around it.
Apophis raised the Seven-Star Sword,
flicked it upward—
no flourish, no technique—
only pure, absolute speed and force.
The three iron balls—
weapons forged of solid steel—
disintegrated instantly into dust.
As if a thousand years of rust consumed them in a heartbeat.
The shockwave blasted Buffet backward.
The alloy steel gate behind him shattered in the same instant.
Buffet lay on the ground, staring up at the demon mask.
"If this were ten years ago…
I wouldn't be this pathetic…"
Apophis's voice carved through his delusion.
"From the moment you ran from the Grand Line—
you were already a loser."
"Ten years ago…
my defeat… was already decided…?"
Buffet murmured blankly.
Far away, through a spyglass,
Capone Bege's face went pale.
"One strike…
Only one strike…
and Buffet—
the underground ruler of Aitfi,
a former 120 million berry pirate—
is reduced to nothing?"
Bege felt cold sweat soak his entire back.
He had fantasized about killing Buffet and taking his territory.
But in terms of raw strength,
he was much weaker than Buffet.
Which meant—
"If it were me…
I'd be even worse off.
I need to retreat—
far from here—
to the opposite side of the island."
For the first time,
Capone Bege felt no safety in his own men.
Only fear.
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