Ronn's eyes flashed with a hint of delight.
So it worked.
Charlos had resurrected not because time was rewound, but because Ronn chained three forces together: Soul Snare from the Tome of Sorcery to keep the soul from dispersing, the Dog Talisman to preserve vital signs, and dragon magic to rebuild the flesh.
At that moment, Saint Charlos patted himself in disbelief.
Alive?
Was all of that… just an illusion?
Yes—surely it had to be!
He kept repeating it to himself—until Ronn's voice sounded beside his ear:
"Next… let's try ice."
Frost bloomed across Charlos' body.
He felt his skin blanch, his limbs stiffen, his nerves turn numb.
Then the deeper parts went: subcutaneous tissue, muscle, bone—necrosis spread, and his life-signs thinned to threads.
That was when he understood: the earlier horror hadn't been a hallucination, and this wasn't either.
Weakness.
Desperation.
Collapse.
His pupils trembled.
He tore his lips apart despite the frozen seal, and screamed:
"I—I was wrong! Spare me!"
"I can give you endless wealth, power—even Devil Fruits!"
"A bit late for that," Ronn said with a shrug, closing his hand.
A razor-cold wind sliced through the room.
Charlos froze solid—then shattered.
Ice shards clattered across the floor.
A beat later… his body reassembled again.
What followed was a cycle of deaths.
Again and again.
With each termination, the light in his eyes dulled further; the will to live was ground into nothing.
By the tenth time, the exalted Celestial Dragon wanted only one thing—to die.
Ronn turned to the two chained women, their skin cut and bruised by iron links.
"Would you like a turn?" he asked softly.
"Call it… reclaiming what's owed."
Their faces twisted, beautiful features eaten by hatred.
"Scum! I want you to die ten thousand times!"
"Give me back my husband and child!"
They lunged, heedless of chains biting into their flesh.
To Charlos, their madness was worse than Ronn's magic—an animal, hysterical fury.
For five relentless minutes, the tavern filled with Charlos' hoarse pleas, the women's broken laughter and sobs, and the wet rip of nails raking flesh.
The door banged open.
"Brat, why are a Celestial Dragon's guards dead outside—"
Rayleigh stopped mid-sentence as the scene hit him: the two women tearing at Charlos' body.
He went blank for a heartbeat.
Killing a Celestial Dragon in broad daylight?
Weren't they worried the three Admirals would level the place?
"He tried to kill me, kidnap Tohru, Rem, and Ram—and said he'd marry Lucoa," Ronn said with a helpless smile and shrug.
Rayleigh's eyes slid to Lucoa and the others.
Right.
The fool was begging to die.
He stepped forward and, almost as an afterthought, kicked Charlos twice in the head.
Before long, Charlos' breath ran out.
His whole body was a geography of ruin; even his eyes had been gouged.
The women's hatred needed no translation.
"You can go," Ronn told them gently.
One, voluptuous and fox-bright, bit her lip.
"Can I… stay and work here? Any conditions."
The other—soft, homebound in bearing—nodded hard, clutching her torn clothing to show lines she hoped would buy safety.
They knew what killing a Celestial Dragon meant: the Navy and the World Government would come, and they would not stop.
The women of the tavern all frowned, alert.
"You're free now," Ronn said, tone firm.
"Don't abase yourselves. Don't cling. Find your own future."
Turned away, the two women could only leave.
As they reached the door, Rayleigh—ever considerate in his own crooked way—slipped them money and asked for their addresses on the archipelago.
His intentions were… not subtle.
When they were gone, quiet returned.
Tohru and the twins cleaned the blood from the floor; the air still held a metallic tang, but otherwise, it was as if nothing had happened.
Rayleigh tasted the tiger-whip wine just served and chuckled wryly.
"This is trouble. Every Celestial Dragon carries a locator. And the bodies outside—someone's seen them. The Navy and the Government will know you killed him."
Protecting the Celestial Dragons—this privileged caste—was the Government's paramount task.
A dead Dragon would be the world's loudest headline.
They would come for the killer, whatever it took.
Ronn lit a cigarette.
"Let them know. I welcome a visit. Charlos' corpse is right there."
Once, he might have hidden it.
Not now.
"Hah…" Rayleigh sighed. "There's no changing your mind."
"Don't stew on it," Ronn said. "Drink."
Rayleigh did, a bit faster than usual.
According to Shakky's intel, Navy forces on the Archipelago had swelled again.
With the search net tightening, Ace would likely be found within two days.
If Whitebeard's fleet arrived before that, the Navy would be in deep trouble.
They traded idle words as regulars filtered in:
Morgana and Keisha, Shendu and his whelp—the tavern hummed alive.
Then the noise outside swelled.
Soldiers stationed in Area 12 poured toward Area 30 like a breaking river.
No one paid it mind—until Morgana lifted her gaze.
"It's starting."
A pillar of fire punched the night; darkness buckled in Area 30.
BOOOOM!
The ground of the Sabaody Archipelago shivered, as if exhaling.
"Blackbeard," Shendu growled, scarlet eyes filling with murder.
The hunt had begun.
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