"Hey, hey, Oliver—wanna see who racks up the higher body count?"
Grinning as he glanced around, Aeridar called out to Oliver with a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Do I look like an idiot to you?"
Oliver shot him a deadpan look. "You're way stronger than me. One Impact Wave from you wipes out a whole squad. What's the point in even trying? That's just asking to get humiliated."
"Didn't the vice captain used to brag all the time? Said he could take out pirates with bounties of thirty, forty million berries."
"Yeah, so why'd he go down so fast?"
"Let's avenge him! Kill them both!"
"There's only two of 'em—we've got the numbers! Everyone, attack together!"
"Right! All together now!"
They were stunned, sure, that their vice captain had been killed so quickly—but most of them had barely seen the real horrors of the Grand Line. They still clung to the idea that sheer numbers meant victory. Maybe their vice captain hadn't been bluffing after all—maybe he really could take down pirates with thirty or forty million bounties.
But the ones who killed him weren't some low-tier wanted men.
They were monsters—with far, far higher bounties.
"Bunch of ignorant fools, blind to the world around them," Oliver muttered in contempt. Spinning his blades into a flourish, he dashed into the crowd without hesitation—ready to slaughter.
It was a massacre. Like a tiger loosed upon a flock of sheep. These thugs couldn't even scratch Oliver. He moved through them like a specter, no flashy techniques—just clean, efficient killing. One swing, one body. Ten, maybe fifteen of them? It only took that many slashes. None escaped. Not a single one.
Aeridar tilted his head, his expression flat with disinterest.
Flicking the blood from his blades, Oliver turned toward him. "They were just a bunch of rookies who barely made it onto the Grand Line. Pirates like us? You see maybe one crew like ours every few years."
"In that case..." Aeridar suddenly looked exhilarated. "Let's give these bastards a parting gift."
"A... gift?" Oliver blinked, suddenly wary.
Aeridar strode toward the center of the road, planting his feet wide, a feral grin spreading across his face as he stared into the heart of the town. He clenched both fists tight—his right arm rising as veins bulged violently along his forearm. His muscles, hidden beneath his sleeves, flexed like coiled dragons, nearly ripping through the fabric.
"Wait, wait—are you about to blow up the whole town?"
Oliver's instincts screamed danger. "Yeah, no thanks!" He sprinted out of range, wisely choosing a safer spot to spectate from.
"That kind of thing... doesn't really matter."
Aeridar's grin widened as he looked over the town. Then, with a booming shout, he launched his attack.
"Blow 'em away—Impact Cannon!!!"
With a whoosh, it was as if a cyclone had erupted from nowhere. A violent storm of wind burst outward from Aeridar, centered on his fists. The very air warped and twisted—forming a visible pale-white, translucent ring of energy. It surged forward like a colossal, cylindrical blast wave.
The three-meter-wide shockwave ripped across the ground like a divine judgment. The earth tore open beneath its path, carving a deep trench through soil and stone alike. Dust erupted in its wake as the wave surged into the town.
Everything in its path was annihilated. People. Cannons. Buildings. Even the ground itself was sundered. It was indiscriminate destruction—storm-force devastation in a straight line. Neither pirate nor bounty hunter could have predicted such a cataclysm.
"Wh-what the hell is that?!"
"Damn it, this is insane!!"
The Impact Cannon plowed straight through the rear of the battlefield. Those pirates who had been locked in combat with bounty hunters turned in horror, only to see their town being split in half—the land itself torn asunder, steel shattered, people obliterated.
Even the bounty hunters—though they'd thought they had the upper hand—were caught in the maelstrom and reduced to pulp in an instant.
From above, one could see it clearly: a pale-white shockwave had carved a canyon straight through the heart of the town. Dust clouds rose like funeral smoke, and silence fell beneath the weight of awe and terror.
Aeridar's attack wasn't even an area-of-effect technique—it was a linear, single-directional assault. But the psychological effect was overwhelming. The sheer destructive power left the town reeling, split cleanly down the middle like a natural disaster had struck.
The pirates and bounty hunters alike were stunned speechless. None of them had ever seen power .
"What... what in the actual hell..."
Gruho stumbled backward, eyes wide in disbelief. Covered in blood, he dropped onto the ground as his legs gave out, consumed by fear.
He had watched—with his own eyes—as Baz, the battle-hardened Head of Combat, had been caught in the blast. Baz, with his massive, iron-forged physique that he'd always bragged about, had been ripped apart in an instant. His blood had sprayed all over Gruho, and the only thing left of him was a severed arm, twitching on the ground.
Everyone stared at the fresh trench cutting through the town. Bounty hunters. Pirates. No one could stay calm. The more knowledgeable among them instinctively gauged the width and depth.
Over three and a half meters across. Nearly a full meter deep.
And they had no idea what had caused it. For all they knew, it might've been an earthquake. Or some twisted divine punishment.
Thud... thud... thud... thud...
From behind the pirates, inside the haze of rising dust, a pair of voices emerged, followed by steady, deliberate footsteps. The conversation that drifted out made them all go pale.
"Hey, hey, hey, Captain—you really split the whole town in half. That's just crazy."
"Sorry... guess I used the wrong move."
"'Used the wrong move' is not an excuse!"
"I was gonna try to blast the whole thing sky-high, but midway through, realized I'm not quite there yet."
"...So instead, you just split it in half."
Two silhouettes emerged from the smoke. As they came closer, their forms became clear.
One wore a coat with black fabric and white wave patterns, golden ring in one ear, cropped black trousers, black leather shoes. Bare-handed, clean-cut, bright sunny smile—he looked like any other carefree wanderer.
The other was lean, sharp-eyed with a hawk-like nose and thin lips that gave him a cold, lazy air. His white coat was left open, revealing a scarred chest, tight black trousers, heavy-soled black shoes. He held two swords—one resting on his shoulder, the other pointed to the ground.
"Whoa." Aeridar blinked, finally noticing all the stunned faces staring at him. "There's still this many of you left? And why's everyone looking at me like that? Did I unlock some kinda attention-drawing aura or something?"
"...You're spouting nonsense again." Oliver rolled his eyes, exasperated. Then he looked at the trembling enemies and said flatly, "Alright. Anyone planning to surrender?"
But Aeridar's sunny grin twisted into a cruel, cold sneer. His voice dropped to an icy whisper that made everyone present shiver.
"We don't accept surrenders. Kill them all."
"Got it." Oliver smiled.
"Two-Sword Style—Gale Severing Slash!"
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