Reunion with Death
His voice deepened unconsciously—low, heavy, edged with resolve.
"The 'god' you spoke of… how many ships did he send?"
The female native blinked, surprised by the strange question. But after a pause, she answered with certainty:
"One. A super huge… and incredibly beautiful ship."
Yang Ning saw the longing in her eyes—the blind faith. He lost all interest in questioning her further. If she wouldn't see the truth, words were useless.
He planned to go straight to the source: Hei Lu.
Silently, he sheathed Kotetsu and turned to leave. But halfway out the door, he stopped—and asked, almost to himself:
"If everything you believe is a lie… if those people weren't taken to a divine kingdom, but tortured to death… would you resist?"
The question struck deep.
The old woman, who'd stayed silent until now, suddenly stood. Her eyes burned red as she locked onto Yang Ning.
"There's no deception! God wouldn't lie to us! Those people didn't ascend because their offerings were insufficient. Even if God killed them… there was a reason!"
The two children said nothing—but their stares were pure, unwavering hatred.
They wouldn't believe.
They wouldn't question.
They wouldn't fight.
They were pitiful. And infuriating.
Yang Ning left without another word.
Outside, he activated Observation Haki—and instantly locked onto the strongest life force in the village: Hei Lu.
No detours. No stealth for its own sake.
He sprinted through the dark—scaling walls, leaping rooftops—cutting a near-straight path to his target.
Within minutes, he stood before a lavish house, utterly out of place among the crumbling huts. Light spilled from its windows. Laughter, music, the clink of wine glasses floated on the air.
Yang Ning had seen it earlier. He'd assumed it was some ceremonial hall.
Now he realized: this was Hei Lu's palace.
Compared to Arthur—living in a two-room thatch hut in the temple—this chief really did play the god.
"Bang!"
Yang Ning kicked the door open, sword already in hand. He strode in like he owned the place, ignoring the startled guards.
Upstairs, Hei Lu had been hosting a grand banquet. At the crash, he set down his wine cup and stepped onto the second-floor terrace.
Their eyes met.
Hei Lu turned pale. Sweat poured down his face. He stumbled back three steps.
"What's wrong?" demanded a voice from the main seat.
The old man—the World Government agent—sat draped in fine silks, arrogance radiating from him. A stark contrast to his fearful self from the daytime.
Hei Lu didn't answer. He roared at his aide:
"Go to the temple—fetch Arthur! Now!"
The aide dropped his wine, his meat, his women—and bolted.
"Idiot! Use the back door!" Hei Lu shouted after him.
Once the aide was gone, Hei Lu turned to the old man, voice tight:
"That outsider… he's back."
The old man's pupils shrank. Wine sprayed from his mouth. All arrogance vanished.
"That sword-wielding pirate?! Why is he here again?!"
Hei Lu shook his head. "I don't know. But don't worry—once Arthur arrives, that outsider is nothing."
"Nothing?!" the old man thought, rolling his eyes. These bumpkins have no idea what they're dealing with.
He paced, muttering:
"Even if you survive another minute—which I doubt—what makes you think Arthur can stop him? If that pirate doesn't feel like giving face, he'll chop your 'Grim Reaper' into eight pieces, too!"
Just then—a cold voice cut through the tension.
"What did you mean… 'not worth fearing'?"
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Heavy footsteps echoed on the second-floor terrace.
Yang Ning stood at the top of the stairs, gaze calm, almost bored.
The old man opened his mouth—but Hei Lu stepped forward first, chest puffed.
"Outsider! I let you go earlier out of respect for the Divine Envoy! You dare return? Do you really think I won't kill you?!"
Yang Ning stared. Then—he laughed.
"Yeah. The same trash I chopped up like vegetables this afternoon. How'd you get this brave?"
"First there was the 'God of Blades,' Joseph. Then the 'Sword Saint,' Johnny. Now you—the King of Getting Beaten Up, Black Law?"
He didn't waste another second.
Crack!
His foot shattered the marble floor. In a blur, he was in front of Hei Lu.
Their eyes met again—but Yang Ning's held no anger, no contempt. Just the dispassionate focus of a man sharpening his blade.
He didn't use Kotetsu.
He didn't need to.
He swept his leg low—a single, devastating kick.
Hei Lu's legs severed mid-thigh. He collapsed with a guttural scream.
Before he could writhe, Yang Ning's size-44 boot slammed onto his face.
One twist—and his skull would've burst like a melon.
But Yang Ning held back.
He needed Hei Lu alive.
He was waiting for Arthur.
And so was Yang Ning.
He didn't wait long.
Outside, green light bloomed like wildfire—hundreds of tiny sparks converging, swirling, igniting the night.
At their center stood Arthur, the Fifth Generation Grim Reaper.
Dressed in simple black, eyes still closed, expression grave.
He waved the natives back—stopped them at the gate—and entered the mansion courtyard alone.
He looked up at Yang Ning on the balcony.
"Outsider… why?"
Yang Ning grinned. With his foot, he kicked Hei Lu off the terrace.
The chief crashed through the railing—and landed with a wet thud at Arthur's feet.
"No reason," Yang Ning called down. "Just… annoyed by scum."
Arthur's head lowered. Green energy swirled around him—spreading to the torches in the natives' hands, tinting the whole courtyard emerald.
"You had to go this far?!" Arthur's voice trembled—not with anger, but desperation.
Yang Ning saw it: the boy was gathering power for something big. A last resort.
He couldn't let that happen.
So he cut through the ritual with six words:
"You're doing this for your sister, aren't you?"
Arthur froze.
Yang Ning leaned on the broken railing, voice dropping to a near-whisper.
"Don't you want to know… how she's doing?"
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