Chapter 288

"You let them go, Miyamoto-san. May I know why?" I sighed, watching the three remaining Vice Admirals retreat in the distance. They had fled the moment Admiral Agana fell, and we were so close to finishing them off.

Miyamoto didn't flinch. "There is no honor in striking down an opponent who has already laid down their arms, Ross-kun," he said, his voice unwavering. "It goes against my samurai code."

I couldn't help but shake my head, though a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

That was Miyamoto—unyielding in his beliefs. One of the reasons we let him follow his code, even as a member of the Donquixote family, was because he never compromised his principles, not even in the heat of battle.

"Fine... but you know we could've ended this quicker." I waved it off with a sigh. "Let's go check on Smoker and Lucci. They must be wrapping things up on their end by now."

As I spoke, Mansherry—who had been perched on my shoulder—immediately jumped down and began tending to the deep cuts and bruises scattered across Miyamoto's body.

He'd fought fiercely against five veteran vice admirals and a couple of CP0 agents, barely holding his own despite having just breached the Admiral level himself.

His victory had come at a steep cost, but nonetheless, he stood triumphant, even if his body screamed otherwise.

Little Robin scanned the battlefield from beside me, her face pale at the sight of the devastation. Blood soaked the earth, pooling in the trenches of the ruined terrain. Shattered weapons and bodies littered the ground, the remains of soldiers from both sides scattered in grotesque forms.

The smell of blood was thick, metallic, and nauseating. Robin's face twisted as she fought the urge to gag, but she held herself together.

Dora, on the other hand, was surveying the coast, which had been reshaped entirely by the battle's ferocity. The once-proud cliffs and beaches were now jagged, torn apart by the unimaginable destruction. If Kano Country hadn't been such a massive landmass, it might have been sunk by the sheer force of the conflict alone.

It was carnage—chaos incarnate.

"Ross-kun..." Miyamoto's voice cut through the silence. His expression was hard to read, but I knew what was coming. "What do we do about the soldiers still unconscious? I've handled most of the Happo Navy, but should I—" he hesitated, glancing at Robin, who was watching me with pleading eyes.

There was a long pause. I could feel the weight of the question, the burden of the choice we had to make. Robin's eyes held a quiet, unspoken plea for mercy.

I closed my eyes for a moment before answering. "We'll leave them to their fate, Miyamoto-san. There's no need to finish off those who can't fight back. We have bigger fish to catch." My voice was firm, but I could feel the tension in the air lighten. It wasn't weakness—it was pragmatism. We had no time to waste here.

Miyamoto gave a slow nod, and with that, we turned and moved in the direction of Smoker and Lucci.

As we neared the site of their battle, the devastation from earlier clashes became even more apparent. Debris from shattered buildings and the craters left from powerful attacks marred the landscape, but none of that compared to what we found.

Smoker was still fighting.

He was a wreck—barely standing, his body broken, blood streaming from deep gashes on his chest and arms. His usually pristine trench coat was in tatters, hanging from his shoulders like a torn banner from a war long lost.

His breathing was ragged, every inhale a struggle, his ribs clearly shattered beneath the surface. Despite it all, he was relentlessly chasing down the stragglers, marines and pirates alike who had managed to flee. The battle was over, but he wasn't ready to give up.

The sight of him still fighting, still moving despite the sheer agony he was in, was both awe-inspiring and gut-wrenching. His tenacity was on full display—a teen who refused to back down, no matter the cost. His hands clenched his jitte tightly, stained with blood, but his eyes—those fierce, burning eyes—remained focused on the enemy ahead.

"Smoker!" I called out to him, but he barely registered my voice, still locked in pursuit of the enemy. His body trembled with exhaustion, yet he continued forward, dragging himself with sheer willpower.

He was already beyond his limits, yet he pushed forward. I knew this wasn't just about victory for him. It was personal.

I quickly caught up to him, stepping in his path. "Enough, Smoker. It's over. You've done more than enough." My words came out firm, but with respect. Smoker wasn't someone you commanded lightly. He earned respect through his own stubborn drive.

He stumbled slightly but caught himself, breathing hard. His chest heaved as he tried to find words through the pain. "Ross,they... they'll just regroup... if we let them go..." His voice was strained, raw from yelling orders and pain.

"They won't," I reassured him, my tone firm. "They're running because they know it's over. They won't have the courage to try again, not today… not ever."

For a moment, he just stood there, breathing heavily, glaring into the distance where the remaining marines and pirates were disappearing. Then, finally, he let out a long breath, nodding slightly as if acknowledging the truth of my words.

Miyamoto approached from behind, his hand resting on his katana, nodding silently at Smoker. There was a shared understanding among all of us—victory wasn't always about completely annihilating the enemy. It was about knowing when the battle had been won, and when to prepare for the next one.

We didn't need to destroy everyone here today. We had already left a mark, and they knew it.

I respected the choices of my crew, each of them bringing their unique principles into battle. Smoker's relentless pursuit of victory, Miyamoto's adherence to his code, Robin's quiet plea for mercy—it was these differences that made us stronger.

Suddenly, a ripple of disturbance pricked at the edges of my Observation Haki, and I couldn't help but grin widely. Even before I saw it, I knew what was coming.

A few moments later, through the blood-soaked mist and smoke, a shadow emerged, parting the haze as if the chaos itself bowed before him.

It was Lucci.

And what immediately caught everyone's attention was the massive figure he dragged behind him like a piece of discarded meat. The sight was unmistakable: Chinjao the Drill, the legendary leader of the Happo Navy, beaten and broken.

His once-fearsome drill-shaped head, which had shattered mountains in its prime, was now limp, battered beyond recognition. His once-commanding presence was reduced to nothing more than a bloodied, motionless heap, and Lucci hauled him effortlessly across the shattered pavement, his limp form scraping against the corpses and debris without an ounce of regard.

For a moment, I caught Smoker's expression out of the corner of my eye—his lips twitched into the briefest hint of a grin before he quickly masked it behind his usual grim demeanor. But I could sense it.

The quiet satisfaction he felt seeing Chinjao beaten into the ground was unmistakable. Smoker had been through hell, yet knowing that Lucci had conquered one of the strongest figures on this battlefield gave him a sense of grim delight.

But Lucci… Lucci was a different beast altogether.

As he strode toward us, dragging Chinjao as if he were nothing more than a broken doll, his entire body was soaked in crimson—most of it not his own. His coat, torn and battle-worn, clung to his muscular frame like the armor of a god of war, and the cold, calculating look in his eyes sent shivers down the spines of everyone watching.

Even the air seemed to grow heavier in his presence, as if the sheer aura of menace he exuded was enough to crush the weak-hearted.

Lucci's expression was emotionless, devoid of any sign of fatigue or even satisfaction. His demeanor was that of a predator who had simply completed a task—efficient, ruthless, and indifferent.

Blood dripped from his hands, a dark red trail marking where he had dragged Chinjao through the remnants of the battlefield, but he didn't so much as blink. To him, it was just another day, another victory. The carnage didn't faze him; it never had.

I had always known Lucci was strong, but there was something different about him now. Something… more. His aura had a gravity to it, a darkness that radiated power and control.

It was almost overwhelming to those with weaker wills. I could feel it in my bones—the raw potential that simmered beneath his cold, unyielding exterior.

As I watched him, a thought crossed my mind, one that sent a surge of excitement through me: What if… just maybe… Lucci could awaken Conqueror's Haki?

The world believed that Conqueror's Haki couldn't be taught. It was something you were either born with or not, a force of will so immense that only the rarest, the strongest, and the most dominant could ever hope to wield it.

But Lucci… he was different. His talent was staggering, perhaps even greater than mine, if not for the two souls that inhabited my body.

If anyone could defy that rule, it was him.

I studied him closely as he approached, dragging Chinjao through the battlefield like a hunter returning with his prize. The thought of unlocking that untapped potential within Lucci sent a thrill through me.

Could it be possible to train someone to wield Conqueror's Haki? To awaken something that everyone believed was beyond mastery?

No one in this world had ever truly understood the depths of Haki. It was a force of will, a power that transcended mere strength, and yet it remained a mystery even to the greatest of warriors. But I saw something in Lucci—an intensity, a drive, a darkness that could be molded into something even more terrifying than what he already was.

He had the raw potential to reshape the battlefield, to bend the wills of those around him with nothing more than a look, a force so unstoppable that even legends would bow before it.

I made a mental note then and there—I would help Lucci awaken his Conqueror's Haki. The world didn't know it yet, but if I succeeded… Lucci would be unstoppable. A force so godlike that even the emperors of the seas would tremble in his presence.

He was already a peerless monster, but with Conqueror's Haki?

He would become a god.

As he reached us, he dropped Chinjao's battered body at our feet with a dull thud, his gaze cold and indifferent. The battlefield around us seemed to pause, the silence broken only by the soft drip of blood from his hands.

"Done," he said simply, his voice as cold as ice.

I smiled, unable to hide my admiration. "You've outdone yourself, Lucci."

He said nothing in response, his eyes scanning the battlefield, already looking for the next challenge. But I could see it—the flicker of something deeper in his gaze. Something dark, something powerful.

And I knew, without a doubt, that Lucci's true potential was only just beginning to reveal itself.

Within the grand palace of Kano Country's capital, a palpable tension hung in the air. The once-ornate corridors were now bustling with panicked footsteps and hurried commands, all originating from the treasure vault deep within the palace.

Inside, Ramen, the head of the ruling family, frantically barked orders at his subordinates. He wore a resplendent green robe, its white collar and cuffs a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around him.

A thick metal chain hung heavily around his neck like a symbol of his wealth, but his small circular sunglasses, which usually masked his calculating gaze, did nothing to conceal the fear in his eyes. Atop his head rested a small ceremonial hat that marked his authority—but right now, no amount of wealth or power could shield him from what was coming.

"Faster, you idiots!" Ramen snarled, his voice cracking with desperation as the soldiers scrambled to pack chests full of berries, treasures, and priceless artifacts his family had hoarded for generations.

Despite the immediate danger, his greed refused to let him leave behind even a single chest of gold or jewels. He reassured himself that he would only take what he could carry, but each new chest loaded with treasure betrayed his frantic greed.

"Pack everything! Every last coin! We don't know how long those damned Marines and the Happo Navy can hold that monster back!" His roar, filled with panic, shattered the veneer of calm and composed authority he normally wielded.

Beside him, his son—an ambitious young man in his twenties—looked less concerned, more annoyed at the frenzy. The young heir, dressed in fine silks, approached his father with an air of indifference.

"Father, are you sure this is necessary? Why should we fear them? We can negotiate. We've paid off the Happo Navy for years. I'm sure we can make a deal with the Donquixote Family too.

There's nothing in this world that money can't buy," he said, his tone almost smug, confident that even pirates could be swayed by the right price.

"Smack…!"

The sound of Ramen's hand connecting with his son's face echoed through the vault like a gunshot. The young man's head snapped to the side, and before he could recover, his father struck him again, each blow more furious than the last. His cheek swelled instantly, turning red and raw from the repeated slaps.

"Fool! You absolute fool!" Ramen bellowed, his voice filled with rage and fear. "Do you really think these monsters care about money?! We tried to kill them, boy! We lured them into a trap! Do you think they'll simply wag their tails and take our berries like the Happo Navy does?! No! We must run, you fool! Run before it's too late!"

The young heir clutched his swollen face, stunned into silence. His arrogance drained away, replaced by the cold, creeping realization of just how grave the situation had become. The room was thick with tension, the subordinates casting nervous glances at one another, unsure of what fate awaited them.

Then, a voice.

Soft. Cold. And unmistakably deadly.

"For a man so smart… who understood the consequences so well… I wonder what drove you into making such a stupid decision, Ramen. Was it something the World Government promised?"

The voice was like a knife through the air—cutting, sharp, and filled with malice.

Ramen froze, his heart seizing in his chest as a cold jolt of terror shot up his spine. His blood ran cold. Every muscle in his body locked in place as the dread settled in. Slowly, he turned his gaze upwards.

There I sat.

Perched casually atop the grand chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling, bathed in the soft, flickering light of the candles. My eyes, hidden beneath the brim of my hat, stared down at him with an eerie calm, like a predator watching its prey. The room fell deathly silent. Even the air itself seemed to grow heavier, stifling the very breath of everyone within.

The soldiers around the vault shifted uneasily, beads of sweat forming on their brows as they realized who had arrived. Some of them unconsciously took a step back, their hands trembling at their sides. No one dared move. No one dared breathe too loudly.

This was Rosinante, the absolute pillar of the Donquixote family, the man who orchestrated death and devastation with a smile, the man who was rumored to be death incarnate. His reputation preceded him like a storm, and Ramen knew all too well the stories of what happened to those who crossed him.

Every tale of terror he'd ever heard about me flashed through his mind in that instant—the gruesome fates of those who dared defy the Donquixote Family.

Ramen's mouth went dry. His hands shook as he took a step back, his greed momentarily forgotten in the face of pure, unadulterated fear.

I tilted my head slightly, observing the scene below me with a faint smile, my voice still low but dripping with menace.

"Was it worth it, Ramen? Selling your loyalty to the World Government for the promise of… what, exactly? Power? Safety? Or maybe they promised you a future where the Donquixote Family no longer existed?"

His lips trembled as he struggled to form words, but nothing came out. The weight of my presence crushed any response he might have had.

"And now look at you," I continued, my voice barely a whisper but echoing throughout the vault.

"Scrambling like a rat, clutching your precious treasure as if it'll save you. You tried to trap us. You tried to kill us. And now, here we are. What do you think comes next?"

Ramen's heart hammered in his chest, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. His son stood behind him, face pale, eyes wide with terror. The soldiers, once feverishly packing the chests, were now frozen, unsure whether they should continue or flee.

"Please…" Ramen finally croaked, his voice breaking. "Please… there must be a way… It was those five families…Yes, it was them."

I raised an eyebrow. "A way?" My smile widened. "Maybe there is… But tell me, Ramen—what could you possibly offer that would interest me now?"

"As for the five families, you don't have to worry about them anymore…." I chuckled with a cold tone.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Ramen's face drained of color, the reality sinking in. His mind raced, desperately searching for an answer, for some kind of escape, but there was none. His greed had led him down this path, and now the consequences had come knocking.

He realized then that no amount of treasure could save him from the monster in front of him.

The weight of that realization pressed down on him like a boulder, and for the first time in his life, Ramen—the ruler of Kano Country, the man who had always believed that wealth could solve anything—felt true, unrelenting terror.

And I?

I simply waited.

Calm. Unyielding. Patient.

Because in the end, they all break.

Ramen's knees hit the cold stone floor with a dull thud, his once-proud posture now reduced to a crumpled, pleading mess. Sweat poured down his face, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"I will do anything... anything if you give me a way out," he choked, his voice barely above a whisper as he bowed his head, pressing his hands together in a sign of complete surrender. His trembling eyes darted around the vault, scanning the walls, as if searching for some hidden escape. But there was none.

His subordinates—the men who had once served him without question—began glancing toward the only exit, eyes widening in fear and panic. Yet any thoughts of fleeing were quickly crushed.

Standing at the entrance, a samurai leaned casually against the doorframe, his sword resting lazily at his side, as if the carnage inside the vault was beneath his concern. He watched them with a detached, cold indifference, like a wolf watching a pack of sheep penned in before slaughter. No one was leaving.

"Anything, you say?" I said, my voice echoing off the stone walls, each syllable laced with malice.

"Now, that's interesting..." I rubbed my chin in mock contemplation, savoring the growing tension that gripped the room.

Ramen looked up, hope flickering in his desperate eyes.

"I've killed too many people today, and I'm feeling magnanimous." My smile twisted cruelly as I looked down at him from the chandelier. "So I'll tell you what. I'll let one of you walk out of this vault alive today."

The room went deathly silent as my words sank in. Slowly, the dozen or so men in the vault exchanged horrified looks, their eyes flickering with panic and disbelief. Then the madness began.

"Schlick…!!!"

In a single, fluid motion, Ramen's son drew his saber and, with no hesitation, slashed at the nearest soldier, severing the man's head clean off. Blood sprayed in an arc, painting the gold and jewels in the vault crimson as the headless body crumpled to the floor. For a moment, the room stood in stunned silence, then all hell broke loose.

Suddenly, the desperation to survive shattered whatever fragile alliances had existed between them. The men who had once stood side by side, bound by loyalty to Ramen and the nation of Kano, turned into feral animals. Their faces twisted in terror and fury, and their swords flashed through the air, slicing through flesh, muscle, and bone with savage brutality.

Chaos. Pure, bloody chaos.

The vault, once a repository of wealth and power, became a slaughterhouse. Men lunged at each other, their swords and knives gleaming in the dim light as they hacked and slashed, driven by nothing but the primal need to survive. One man, blinded by panic, tried to make a break for the door, but the moment he reached the entrance, the samurai moved like a viper.

"Slash!!!"

The runner was cut in two, his torso falling in a grotesque heap at the threshold. His legs buckled before collapsing, sending up a pool of blood that quickly spread across the marble floor. His scream was cut short—just a gurgling, sickening sound—and then silence.

Another soldier, eyes wide with terror, swung his sword wildly, cleaving into the chest of his comrade. But before he could recover, a third man ran him through from behind, the blade piercing his abdomen and erupting out the front with a spray of crimson. The man gasped, dropping to his knees, clutching his guts as they spilled to the floor.

Blood coated everything—the walls, the treasure, the air itself seemed thick with the stench of iron. The once-pristine vault was now a charnel house, bodies piling on top of each other as men scrambled, slashing and killing in a desperate attempt to be the one who survived.

Ramen knelt in the middle of it all, his head bowed, his face hidden in his hands. The storm of violence swirled around him, but he made no move to join it. He simply waited, eyes closed, his lips whispering silent prayers that he might somehow emerge unscathed.

His son, however, was not so passive. Despite losing his arm in the fray—blood poured from the severed stump, staining his once-fine clothes—he continued to fight like a cornered animal.

His face was a mask of desperation, his remaining hand slick with blood as he wielded his sword, cutting down anyone who dared approach. His survival instinct drove him forward, despite the pain, despite the horror.

Finally, the violence began to subside. The once-frantic clashes of steel gave way to silence, broken only by the ragged, gasping breaths of the last man standing.

Ramen's son.

He stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his face pale from blood loss but alive. The dozen or so men who had filled the room were now little more than torn, broken bodies littering the floor like discarded dolls. His breath rattled in his chest as he turned, his one good arm clutching his sword, blood dripping from the blade.

"Father..." he rasped, stumbling toward Ramen, who still knelt in silence. "Father, we can leave. I... I did it."

But as he reached down to help his father up, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and relief, Ramen's hand shot out. In an instant, a knife plunged deep into his son's throat.

The young man's eyes went wide, choking on blood as the betrayal set in. "Why... father...?" he gurgled, his voice a wet rasp, blood spilling from his lips.

Ramen's face twisted in a grimace of sorrow and necessity. He pulled the knife free, and his son's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. "I'm sorry... I didn't want to..." Ramen whispered, his voice shaking.

"But you see... the monster said only one can walk out of here alive. I had no choice. I... I can have another son. But I can't die here."

I chuckled softly from my perch on the chandelier, the sound cold and devoid of any warmth.

"Tch, tch. You sure are a cruel man, Ramen," I said, my voice carrying a dangerous edge. "It's said that even the most ferocious of Sea Kings wouldn't prey on their own offspring. But look at you."

Ramen stared down at the body of his son, his hands trembling, stained with the blood of the one person he should have protected.

I stood, hopping down from the chandelier with a smooth, practiced motion, my boots landing in the pool of blood with a soft splash. My eyes locked onto his, and a deadly, icy glint flickered in them. "You know, Ramen... if you had chosen to sacrifice yourself for your son, I might have let him walk out of here. Maybe he would've left this island unharmed."

Ramen's eyes widened with horror, realization sinking in.

"But now..." I continued, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "Now I think I'll plan a fate for you worse than death. Because there's one thing I truly can't forgive—someone who betrays their own blood."

Ramen's breath hitched, dread crawling up his spine like icy tendrils. He knew now that no matter what happened next, the true nightmare had only just begun.

*****

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