After completing his talent adjustments, Rowan silently reviewed the transformation of his abilities.
Combat System
Firearm Proficiency: 50
Close Combat: 100
Warp-Warp Fruit: 165
Rokushiki: Soru: 0
Rokushiki: Kami-e: 0
General System
Agility Enhancement: 50
Physical Enhancement: 100
With Advanced Physical Enhancement and 165 proficiency invested into the Warp-Warp Fruit, the difference was no longer subtle it was foundational.
His musculature, endurance, and structural resilience had risen to a level befitting a true Grand Line combatant. While not yet comparable to monsters who had mastered Haki, Rowan's body could now properly endure the strain of repeated spatial distortion.
Previously, extended warping would leave his muscles trembling under backlash. Now, the burden felt controlled contained.
The effective range of his Warp-Warp Fruit expanded to nearly fifteen meters.
Within that radius, he could bend space, redirect trajectories, and distort perception. It was not intangibility like a Logia; he did not "become" space. Rather, he folded it creating refracted zones that altered how objects traveled through his vicinity.
Flintlock bullets entering that field would have their paths twisted. Even enhanced ammunition would veer off target.
Portable cannons?
With full concentration, he could bend their trajectories as well though the stamina cost would not be insignificant.
Rowan inhaled slowly.
Above him, the bombardment continued.
Collapse
Less than two minutes later, the already weakened structure above gave way completely.
With a thunderous crash, the building collapsed in a cloud of debris and fire. Rubble exploded outward, injuring several gang members who had stood too close to the blast zone.
At the forefront of the formation stood Capone Bege, cigar clenched between his teeth, expression unmoved.
"Flintlock Squad, cease fire. Cannoneers -- continue."
His voice was calm. Controlled. Authoritative.
"Yessir!"
The flintlock squad lowered their weapons. With the building reduced to rubble, precision shooting had lost its purpose. The cannons, however, continued roaring.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
For ten full minutes, artillery hammered the ruins until no standing wall remained. The district block was reduced to shattered stone and scorched iron fragments.
A minor officer approached.
"Godfather, cannonballs are nearly depleted. At this rate, we'll exhaust supplies."
Bege exhaled smoke in a slow ring.
"Keep two rounds per cannon. Fire the rest. Consider it a funeral salute."
"Yes, Godfather."
The final barrage erupted.
Gang members laughed cruelly as smoke drifted over the flattened ruins.
"This is what happens when you cross us!"
"Pirates still have to touch land eventually!"
The last cannon fell silent.
Ash drifted in the wind.
Bege turned to a subordinate holding a Den Den Mushi camera.
"Was everything recorded?"
"Perfectly, Godfather."
"Good. The Marines won't dispute the bounty then."
Ghost Hand Rowan carried a bounty of forty million Berries. Combined with the other target's head, it would fund significant expansion.
Firepower required capital.
Capital required proof.
Bege turned to leave.
That was when the rubble shifted.
Emergence
A low crack echoed through the wreckage.
Several gang members stiffened.
Another crack.
Then
Crash!!
Stone fragments burst outward.
From within the smoking ruins, a figure stepped forward.
Unburned.
Untorn.
Untouched.
Rowan brushed a thin layer of soot from his shoulder as though inconvenienced by dust rather than artillery.
His eyes locked onto Capone Bege.
"You didn't truly believe it was over."
His tone was calm.
Direct.
"Capone Bege."
A vein pulsed faintly at Bege's temple.
He bit down on his cigar.
"I didn't expect you to survive that," he admitted coldly. "But walking out in front of my entire force? Do you think numbers mean nothing?"
Rowan's expression did not change.
"We'll find out."
He began walking.
Not charging.
Not sprinting.
Walking.
Steady.
Measured.
The air grew tense.
Dozens of flintlocks and portable cannons snapped into alignment.
"Fire!"
Bege's command cut sharply.
Gunfire erupted in unison.
Bullets tore forward. Cannon shells roared through smoke.
Yet when they reached Rowan
Their trajectories bent.
Space around him warped like heat rising from desert sand. Projectiles entering his fifteen-meter distortion field curved away violently, spiraling into the ground or arcing harmlessly past him.
It was not that the bullets passed through him.
They never reached him.
"What?!"
The gang members stared in disbelief as their volleys distorted midair.
Another barrage followed.
Again, trajectories twisted unnaturally, as if invisible currents redirected them.
Rowan continued walking.
Calm.
Unhurried.
The effect resembled refraction through water his outline occasionally shimmering but the body itself was real. Present. Solid.
Bege's eyes narrowed sharply.
Not intangibility.
Not a Logia.
Spatial manipulation.
He adjusted instantly.
"Stop aiming at him!" Bege roared. "Saturate the center! Full spread fire!"
The gang obeyed.
This time they unleashed a chaotic, 360-degree barrage, flooding the entire area with gunfire.
The distortion intensified.
Bullets struck warped pockets of space and ricocheted unpredictably. Some collided midair. Others embedded themselves into stone at impossible angles.
The ground cratered.
Smoke filled the square.
Yet Rowan emerged from the haze still advancing, each step deliberate.
A cannon shell entered his distortion radius
For a split second, space folded violently. The shell's trajectory bent downward and detonated prematurely against stone, showering debris outward but missing him entirely.
The stamina cost registered.
He felt it.
But his enhanced physique absorbed the strain.
Panic began spreading among the gang.
"It's not working!"
"What kind of Devil Fruit is this?!"
Even seasoned gunmen hesitated.
The idea of firearms being rendered meaningless struck at the foundation of their confidence.
Bege remained still but his mind raced.
Ghost Hand Rowan was not merely surviving.
He was dismantling morale.
And in battle
Morale was as lethal as artillery.