The colossal black hand stretched across the sky, bringing with it a terror that went beyond the simple fear of death. It was not a physical pressure, but a direct crushing of the soul and will. Under its shadow, the Holy Land of Mary Geoise fell into an absolute, suffocating silence.
Just as despair began to solidify, a complex, eight-pointed symbol suddenly materialized in the distant sky. It rotated slowly, casting a cold, ethereal light.
"Presumptuous!"
A furious roar, like a clap of thunder, was filled with an unquestionable majesty that instantly shattered the fear gripping everyone's hearts. A slash of frigid light shot from the symbol, crossing a distance incomprehensible to ordinary people in an instant. Where it passed, the very air condensed into ice crystals, and even the raging flames below seemed to dim.
The giant black hand, constructed from billions of souls, was as fragile as a paper screen before this cold light. It was silently split in two, then completely disintegrated into nothingness. The residual power of the slash did not weaken, still carrying a bone-chilling cold as it shot straight for Kyle on the city wall.
In the nick of time, a figure soared into the sky. Mihawk leaped high into the air, gripping Yoru with both hands, and brought down a hundred-meter-long emerald green slash of his own.
Boom!
The emerald green and icy cold attacks collided with a thunderous roar. The dispersed energy exploded into a gale that swept through the inferno below, parting the flames and revealing large patches of scorched earth.
A figure landed on top of a nearby tower. The sound of bone hooves tapping on stone bricks echoed crisply in the night. The newcomer had the upper body of a man but the lower body of a ferocious, skeletal warhorse. He held a long blade that emanated an ominous aura—the Shodai Kitetsu.
It was one of the Five Elders, the Warrior God of Finance, Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro. He stared at Mihawk on the opposite wall, his expression grim. The power of that slash had been pure and ruthless; in terms of swordsmanship alone, this man was certainly his equal.
Mihawk slowly rested his black blade on his shoulder, his hawk-like eyes burning with an unprecedented fighting spirit. He could feel it. This inhuman existence before him was an opponent worthy of his full strength. Today, perhaps, was the day he would truly prove himself the World's Strongest Swordsman.
Just as the tension between the two swordsmen reached its peak, a lazy voice broke the silence.
"Yo, old fossil." Kyle waved casually at Nusjuro, as if they were old friends. "Long time no see. I've come to fulfill a promise from many years ago."
Nusjuro's gaze shifted from Mihawk to Kyle, his expression so dark it could drip poison. A promise? That arrogant declaration to personally come to Mary Geoise and find them? A surge of rage at being so thoroughly played with welled up in his heart. Years ago, after Roger's execution, their compromise—to turn a blind eye to Kyle—was meant to be a leash to control a fierce beast. Now, he saw it for what it was. They hadn't been controlling a beast; they had been raising a tiger.
What was even more infuriating was that, even now, they had no easy way to deal with him. This was Mary Geoise. If Kyle wished, his bizarre Devil Fruit ability could instantly level most of the Holy Land and slaughter over seventy percent of the Celestial Dragons. The Five Elders didn't care about the lives of those foolish nobles, but the authority of the World Government could not be challenged. If news spread that pirates had trespassed in the home of the gods and slaughtered them like livestock, the absolute rule they had maintained for centuries would collapse overnight.
Simply put, they could not afford to lose face. Nusjuro tightened his grip on his cursed blade. This Holy Land, the ultimate symbol of their power, had now become the very shackles binding their hands.
While the gods faced each other on the walls, the fates of mortals were being decided below.
Inside a magnificent palace, Stella leaned against a cold wall, the heavy slave collar on her neck chafing her skin. She clutched a sharp shard of porcelain in her hand—her last shred of defiance. Suddenly, she noticed the shadow at her feet begin to move on its own. It was no longer still, but twisted and writhed as if it were alive.
Click.
With a soft sound, the collar on her neck snapped and fell to the floor. Before Stella could even gasp, the shadow surged like a tide and engulfed her. She sank silently into the darkness beneath her feet, disappearing without a trace.
At the same time, on the outskirts of Mary Geoise, Boa Hancock and her two sisters had escaped the burning hell. They were catching their breath behind a giant rock.
"Sister, we…" Sandersonia and Marigold, their faces filled with the joy of survival, turned to thank the sister who had protected them. They turned back. There was no one there. Hancock, who had just been covering their rear, was gone.
Amidst the chaotic crowd, Gild Tesoro charged against the flow of people like a man possessed. The fire of hope in his eyes suddenly blazed brighter. He saw him. The Celestial Dragon who had casually bought Stella from him. Now, that "god" had stumbled to the ground in a panic, his bubble helmet knocked askew, with no guards around him.
Tesoro's mind went blank; his body reacted on pure instinct. He darted forward and, under the horrified gazes of those nearby, grabbed the Celestial Dragon and dragged him into a nearby alley engulfed in flames.
"Where is she?!" Tesoro slammed the noble against the wall, his eyes bloodshot as he roared. "The girl you bought! Stella! Where is she?!"
The Celestial Dragon, having never been treated this way in his life, recovered from his initial shock with a burst of deep-seated fury. "Peasant! How dare you touch me?!" he shrieked. "Guards! Kill this filthy bug!"
His answer was Tesoro's fist.
Bang!
The bubble helmet shattered. The Celestial Dragon choked on the hot, unfiltered air as if it were poison. Tesoro didn't stop, delivering another punch straight to his face. Once. Twice. Warm blood splattered on Tesoro's face, but he didn't feel it.
"I'm asking you, where is she?!"
The noble was completely dazed by the beating. The pain and the unprecedented fear brought him to the brink of collapse. How could he possibly remember a single slave? He had bought countless.
"Which toy… Ah! I remember now…" he cried out indistinctly. "That toy… it was broken a long time ago! So I threw it away!"
Broken… Thrown away…
Tesoro's fist stopped in mid-air. The sounds of the world seemed to vanish. The roar of the flames, the distant screams—all of it faded away. In his mind, only those cold, cruel words echoed over and over. He had once thought that with money, he could save her. He had once thought that with effort, he could reclaim his light. It turned out that the treasure he had risked his life to protect was, in the eyes of a god, just a toy to be casually broken and discarded.
The golden light in his eyes, once burning with hope, was completely extinguished, settling into a dead abyss. He silently swung his fist, mechanically, slamming it down again and again. The "god" beneath him, who had been shouting "peasant," grew progressively weaker, until he was finally silent.
After an unknown amount of time, Tesoro came back to his senses. He slowly released his hand and looked at the unrecognizable corpse beneath him, his face devoid of any expression. The hatred for nobles, the insane craving for wealth and power—at this moment, like poisonous seeds, they took root and sprouted in the ashes of his heart.
He staggered to his feet and walked out of the alley, his soul hollowed out. He had to escape. Then, he would use all the wealth in the world to build an empire of his own, a place where no one could ever take anything from his hands again.
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