Roughly three to four nautical miles from the Gigiriel, three pirate ships flying skull-and-crossbones flags were charging across the waves at full speed.
"Move it, boys! That's a ship from the Red Clover Merchant Guild—take it!" roared a grotesque pirate, over two meters tall and covered in rolls of fat. Standing at the prow of the largest of the three ships, he swung a massive spiked club nearly as long as he was tall, bellowing at the bloodthirsty crew around him.
"Aye, Captain Broo!" came the chorus of gleeful, twisted pirates—each one dressed like a reject from a gothic fashion show, their faces alight with cruel excitement as they brandished swords and spears.
Back on the Gigiriel, Captain Jaron stood at the bow, one hand resting on the hilt of his longsword. "Did you get a look at their flag? Which crew is it?" he asked a nearby crewman.
"It's the Broo Pirates," the sailor replied, trembling as he peered through his spyglass. "Two crossed spiked clubs beneath a skull. That's Head Buster Broo—he's got a bounty of sixteen million Berries."
"Head Buster Broo, bounty sixteen million..." Captain Jaron rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "What rotten luck. One storm blows us off course, and the moment we return to the trade route, we run into one of the most dangerous pirate crews in the East Blue."
He muttered grimly to himself, "Damn it. The Gigiriel might be larger than their ships, but they've got three vessels and five hundred men. That bastard Broo is a savage brute—and strong. I might not be able to take him down myself."
"Captain, what do we do?"
"They're not going to let us go, sir. We've got no choice."
"Alright, everyone, get ready!" Jaron drew his sword and pointed it toward the enemy ships now closing in fast. "Once they enter cannon range, open fire. Try to sink them before they get close. The rest of you—prepare for close-quarters combat!"
"Oooh! Pirates!" Aeridar leaned over the railing, wide-eyed with childlike excitement. "A real naval battle! This is amazing!"
"Two hundred meters! Prepare to fire!"
"One hundred fifty! Ready the cannons!"
"One hundred! Fifty! They're almost on us!"
The lookout called out the distances, voice tight with tension. The rest of the crew moved in anxious silence, sweat dripping from their brows.
"Target in range! Open fire!"
Both sides opened fire at once—heavy cannon blasts echoing across the waves as smoking black shells flew through the air. Most shots missed, crashing into the sea with thunderous splashes.
One cannonball struck the second deck of the Gigiriel, tearing through a wall and leaving behind a smoldering hole surrounded by splintered wood.
"We've been hit! No critical damage," the lookout called out, eyes darting to the smoking impact site.
The exchange of cannon fire raged on. The Gigiriel boasted eight 24-pounder cannons—four on the main deck, four more in the lower gun deck. Its firepower was formidable.
The Broo Pirates' three ships had a total of thirteen cannons between them—five 24-pounders and eight 18-pounders. More guns, but individually weaker. In terms of sheer firepower, they were evenly matched.
As the battle dragged on, the enemy ships crept closer. Cannon blasts rocked the sea, waves crashing against the hulls. The deck grew slick with seawater, spraying high with every near-miss.
"Damn it, I hate seawater," Aeridar growled, dodging geysers of spray and cannonballs alike. He raised one hand—and with a sharp downward strike, sent a blade of force slicing through the air, exploding a cannonball mid-flight.
The Gigiriel took a beating—nine cannonballs and three chain shots struck the decks, snapping a secondary mast. Seven more cannonballs slammed into the hull, opening two leaks. Eleven crewmen were dead, eight severely wounded, and six more lightly injured.
"We're within two hundred meters!" Jaron shouted. "Prepare for boarding!"
"Heheheh... come on then. I can barely contain myself," Aeridar muttered, not at all disturbed by the bloodshed. If anything, his eyes shimmered with eerie excitement—dark pupils tinged with a gleam of crimson, like something feral had awakened inside him.
Jaron didn't seem to notice. "Aeridar, I hope you'll lend a hand."
"Of course. We're in range."
With a wicked grin, Aeridar pushed aside a crewman blocking his path, then suddenly leapt into the air.
"...What the hell's he doing?" Jaron blinked, stunned as the boy soared skyward.
"Rankyaku—Hand Style: Palm Shock Slash!"
With a sharp breath, Aeridar raised his arm, fingers pressed tightly together, and swung it down in a clean arc.
A one-meter tall blade of blue-white energy burst from his palm, cutting across the ocean like a guillotine—
—and cleaved the main mast of the enemy's leftmost ship clean in half, as though slicing through tofu.
"What the hell was that?!"
"Damn it! The main mast's down!"
"Raise the auxiliary sails—NOW!"
"We've gotta move! We're sitting ducks !"
Panic broke out aboard the enemy ship as it coasted a few dozen meters forward—then stalled, dead in the water.
"What... what was that attack?!"
"He cut the mast down from a hundred and fifty meters away—with his bare hand! Is he even human?!"
"Unreal... is that the power of a Devil Fruit?!"
Back on the Gigiriel, the stunned crew gaped in disbelief.
"Ha! That was incredible!" Jaron beamed as Aeridar landed back on the deck. "You pulled off a ranged slash—without a sword! That's no ordinary power."
He'd seen powerful swordsmen unleash flying slashes before—Sword Beams, Air Blades, call them what you will. But those were rare, elite techniques, wielded by the strongest warriors. That Aeridar could do it barehanded?
Sixteen years old... and this strong already? Incredible.
In truth, Aeridar couldn't normally unleash such a slash with his hand—only with his foot. The only reason he'd pulled it off just now... was because of his Impact-Impact Fruit.
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