A sharp metallic clang rang out, followed by a thunderous crash.
The blue-and-white slash was deflected mid-air, careening off toward a nearby building. It sheared through the rooftop, gouging out a jagged chunk. The uneven cut was proof enough—this wasn't a clean strike.
That attack had been forcefully knocked off-course. The immense counterforce disrupted its cohesion, leaving it more like a blunt weapon than a blade. That was why Oliver's slash struck with the boom of a battering ram rather than the hiss of a sword.
A blow like that was no longer about sharpness. It had become a weapon of pure force.
Oliver rested Nagamitsu casually over his shoulder and muttered with lazy indifference.
Chunks of shattered stone erupted where Copra had stood. Dust billowed. But Copra was already gone, having slipped to the side just in time.
Gorbo yanked his arm from the cratered ground and scowled. "Slippery bastard. Dodged it."
The spot he'd slammed down on was exactly where Copra had been moments ago. Now it was just a one-meter-wide pit, crushed by Gorbo's bare fist.
"Damn it... these guys are monsters," Copra muttered, half-kneeling, cold sweat streaming down his temple.
The Chris Pirates' officers were way beyond anything he'd faced before. Each one was terrifyingly strong. Compared to the ragtag lieutenants he'd commanded, these were elite fighters—every last one. Even those a notch below his level weren't easy prey. He couldn't finish them quickly. Not one.
And the first mate, Gilbert Arlan—the blue-haired one—and that swordsman on par with a master... their strength was at least equal to his, maybe greater. Especially that brute Backan, the one with the Rust-Rust Fruit. He was Copra's natural enemy.
Copra didn't even dare use his Flying Shot technique against him. What kind of idiot brings steel weapons against a man who can corrode metal with a touch? That'd be throwing meat to the dogs. Worse, he was already down to three loaded short-barrels out of six.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Copra rolled instinctively—just as gunfire shredded the earth behind him. Bullet craters stitched the ground.
Up on a rooftop, Millie and Mina—each wielding a pistol—opened fire, laying down precision shots.
Earlier, when Aeridar ordered that Copra be taken alive, the twins had rushed back to gear up. By the time they returned, Arlan and the others were already engaging Copra. So they flanked instead, climbing a rooftop to provide ranged support.
"Tch, those twins are no joke. Sharp shooters..."
Copra gritted his teeth, glancing toward the roof where Millie and Mina reloaded fluidly.
Still crouched low, he scanned the battlefield—his attackers surrounding him like wolves.
Three long-range marksmen (Dimitri, Millie, and Mina).
Two Devil Fruit users with troublesome abilities (Arlan and Backan).
One swordmaster of terrifying skill (Oliver).
And a fighter with both raw power and deadly technique (Gorbo).
With a lineup like that... escape seemed impossible.
Meanwhile, on the southern side of Saintin Island, hidden within a narrow strait, seven or eight warships lay anchored, their sails furled, awaiting orders.
At the center, aboard the flagship—a first-rate battleship—Vice Admiral Nielmark Syrons was squatting on the railing, half-asleep, brushing his teeth in pajamas.
Gurgle gurgle... gurgle gurgle...
Upstairs on the second deck, in the command center, a Den Den Mushi suddenly rang.
"Moshi moshi. This is the First Assault Fleet. Rear Admiral Lief speaking, flagship captain on duty," came the calm voice of a marine in a Justice coat, katana at his hip.
"Hello, Rear Admiral," replied a tense voice on the other end. "This is Lieutenant Quintan from Naval Intelligence, stationed at Port Nanohana. I need to speak with Vice Admiral Syrons. Urgent matter."
"I'll fetch him immediately," Lief said, alarmed by the urgency. He clutched the Den Den Mushi and ran up to the deck, where Syrons was just rinsing his mouth.
"Vice Admiral, urgent intel from Port Nanohana. They say it's serious."
"Again? Didn't we just hear from them last night?" Syrons grumbled, clearly not a morning person. Still, he took the receiver with a sigh. "Moshi moshi, this is Syrons. Make it quick."
"Vice Admiral! This morning, Copra the Flying Shot, captain of the Flying Shot Pirates, bounty seventy million berries, engaged the Chris Pirates. Their first mate, the blue-haired Gilbert Arlan, confronted him. Confirmed: he's a Paramecia-type Bomb-Bomb Fruit user. Then—then Sir Crocodile himself showed up! The three sides are now in a heated clash!"
Lieutenant Quintan's nervous gulps echoed through the receiver.
"What?! Crocodile's there too?!" Syrons jolted upright.
Anything involving a Warlord of the Sea was never "just another skirmish."
"Yes, sir! Chris T. Aeridar, the Chris Pirates' captain—bounty eighty million—has engaged Sir Crocodile directly in the desert, outside the port. Meanwhile, all the Chris Pirates' officers are pinning down Copra, trying to capture him. Copra's crew is rushing in. There might be a full-blown battle inside Port Nanohana. What are your orders?"
Syrons furrowed his brow into a deep scowl.
"Stay put. Do not act without orders," he said after a pause. "The Flying Shot Pirates are already crippled from their run-in with the Crimson Man-Eating Flower. They won't last long. And there's a five-thousand-man Royal Army garrison near the port. Let them bleed each other out."
He paced, then continued grimly:
"As for Crocodile... just observe. With his strength, he won't lose to a rookie. If he defeats Chris Aeridar, then that solves our problem. If he doesn't, we still haven't revealed ourselves. Once both sides are weakened—we strike and eliminate the Chris Pirates."
"Understood. We'll maintain surveillance."
Lieutenant Quintan's voice steadied with clarity.
The line cut, but Syrons still frowned.
He knew the reports on Chris T. Aeridar—Paramecia-type Impact-Impact Fruit user, wielding dual Haki.
A real monster in the making.
Not someone who'd go down easy.
"Vice Admiral..." Lief hesitated. "Are we really just going to stand down?"
"Alabasta is a sovereign kingdom. This is still Crocodile's turf. According to the agreement between the World Government and the Warlords of the Sea, the Navy can't intervene without justification. Not unless things spiral further out of control..."
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