The relentless clash of fists and claws left both Karasu and Barak looking battered and disheveled.
Barak, wary of the sudden appearance of yet another formidable fighter in Flevance—and suspecting that this Karasu might be connected to Yahn—kept trying to probe his identity with pointed words.
But Karasu was not a man of words. Fierce in appearance but silent by nature, his voice was so faint that he wore a beak-like amplifier over his mouth just to be heard. To Barak's repeated questions, Karasu offered no response—only more crushing blows, keeping him locked in a suffocating duel.
Boom!
Barak's fist, wrapped in dense Armament Haki, met Karasu's claw-like strike with bone-rattling force.
Szzzt—
The screech of clashing power cut through the air. They locked in deadlock, fist and talon straining against one another.
And then—behind Karasu, a storm of black crows erupted into the sky, diving down like bullets toward Barak.
Danger!
Barak's Observation Haki screamed in alarm. Those crows, seemingly harmless, radiated lethal intent.
Armament Haki?
His eyes narrowed. The beaks of those jet-black crows were coated in Armament Haki! What kind of bizarre Devil Fruit was this?!
Barak wrenched himself free by slamming a kick into Karasu's chest, using the recoil to break loose from his grasp.
"Paper Drawing/Arts!"
His body fluttered like a sheet of paper caught in the wind, weaving past the murder of crows that came crashing down in a wave of black.
But in that instant, through the storm of wings, Barak thought he saw it—
a blade.
"Shatter—Kyōka Suigetsu."
The whisper reached his ears.
He blinked—
and the blade was gone, as if it had never been. His Observation Haki registered nothing, no danger, no presence.
Yet the moment he retreated, his back prickled with killing intent.
Karasu—the crow-like man—was suddenly behind him, talons thrusting straight for his heart.
Boom!
Elbow met claw, detonating a shockwave that ripped through the street. Their battle surged into an even fiercer exchange.
But Karasu himself froze in confusion.
For while he clashed with Barak, Yahn strolled calmly out from behind the man, hands in his pockets. Barak, oblivious, continued flailing like a madman—fighting shadows that weren't there.
Yahn stepped to Karasu's side. "Apologies for not greeting you earlier. Things were a bit hectic. You're the comrade sent by Dragon to assist me, aren't you?"
Karasu nodded, his beak-amplifier crackling. "Yes, Lord Yahn. My name is Karasu."
Yahn clapped his shoulder. "I appreciate your support. We can withdraw now."
Karasu glanced worriedly at Barak.
"No need," Yahn said with a smile. "He won't be interfering anymore."
Karasu nodded once. His great black coat dissolved into a cloud of crows, carrying him as he followed Yahn's pace.
As they moved back toward the square, Yahn spread his Observation Haki wide.
"Karasu, most of Flevance's citizens have already begun evacuating. But some are still hiding in their homes. Do what you can to find them, bring out as many as possible."
Karasu wordlessly complied. His body scattered into a storm of ravens, disappearing into the ruins to seek survivors.
Yahn watched him go, murmuring, "An intriguing fruit. When there's time, I should ask him what it truly is."
By the time Yahn returned to the square, the surviving Flevance citizens were already marching north, fleeing for their lives.
In their place, Revolutionary soldiers busied themselves disguising the scene of the massacre. Conveniently, there had been no shortage of corpses—condemned criminals from neighboring lands, and the many who had already perished from Amber Lead Sickness. With those, the staging could be made convincing enough.
Most of Flevance had begun its exodus, streaming toward the border.
Meanwhile, soldiers from neighboring nations went door to door, clearing out any remaining citizens to ensure none survived.
With manpower stretched so thin, Yahn had little choice but to entrust the rescue of stragglers to Karasu. The Revolutionaries were far too few compared to the sheer mass of civilians; saving everyone was impossible. All they could do was minimize the deaths.
He exhaled quietly.
"In the original timeline, the only survivor of Flevance was Trafalgar Law. He should be somewhere in that column by now…"
But there was no way Yahn could single him out among thousands.
Confirming that no other cracks remained in the plan, Yahn set off toward the border himself, ensuring the safety of the long line of evacuees.
For the people of Flevance, the road ahead would be merciless.
They were old and young, sick and weak. Nearly all bore Amber Lead poisoning, living each moment in agony. Crossing the border would not mean safety—they would still need to march endlessly, through rough wilderness and mountain paths.
Along the way, many stumbled and collapsed, never to rise again.
Yet there were still strong men and women among them. They carried the frail on their backs, supported the children and elderly. The march was slow, but in their weary eyes burned the stubborn light of survival.
Only one thing troubled Yahn: despite the Revolutionaries' repeated persuasion, the Flevance citizens refused to abandon the "body" of Yahn—his illusory, fallen self.
They insisted:
"Even if we flee, we must take our hero with us, away from that cursed land."
"We cannot leave him behind, alone in the darkness."
"The light of freedom—our hero must share in it too…"