The Collapsed Boy
"What happened to my sister?!"
The boy's eyes snapped open in fury—grayish-white, blank, identical to Fujitora's—staring straight at Yang Ning.
He wasn't naive. He'd suspected the truth the moment he saw the old man—the so-called "Divine Envoy." But he'd never dared to ask.
Yang Ning, watching the boy seethe below, finally understood why Arthur had kept his eyes closed all this time.
But he didn't reveal everything at once. Instead, he offered a condition.
"I can tell you what happened to your sister. I can even take you to see her. But you have to join my crew—as my ship's doctor."
"I can't leave here."
Arthur's face twisted with inner conflict before he gritted out the words.
Yang Ning frowned. "Why?"
The boy was honest. "The village chief can contact the Pantheon. If I leave… my sister dies."
What an innocent child.
Yang Ning's chest tightened. The leverage he'd planned to use—threats, bargains—caught in his throat, useless against such raw, helpless devotion.
But truth had to be spoken.
"What if… your sister is already dead? And died a horrible death?"
He wasn't lying. He'd torn through that massive ship from bow to stern. Every soul aboard—officers, waiters, crew—was a World Government agent. The only non-combatants were the skinned corpses hanging in the hold like butchered livestock.
Yang Ning spoke the truth. Arthur couldn't bear it.
Bloodshot veins spiderwebbed across his pale eyes. His body erupted in green light—a raging inferno of grief and denial.
"You're lying!"
He roared—and lunged.
Enveloped in green aura, Arthur appeared before Yang Ning in an instant, fist blazing toward his face.
The punch was fast—but weak. Yang Ning almost didn't move, planning to tank it like he had Hei Lu's blows.
But his Observation Haki screamed.
This strike carries death.
Yang Ning's eyes twitched. No hesitation. He drew Kotetsu and blocked with the flat of the blade.
Arthur's strength was pitiful. Even without active skills, Yang Ning's base attack—amplified by Starfire Blade's passive damage—easily deflected the blow.
The boy gritted his teeth through the pain—and launched an uppercut at Yang Ning's ribs.
This time, Yang Ning didn't even use the blade. He caught the fist mid-air with the pommel of the hilt.
Arthur kept coming—punches, kicks, a flurry of desperate, structured strikes.
Yang Ning stood his ground. Blade hilt, flat edge—he deflected every hit without stepping back.
At Level 8, the gap was staggering. With Observation Haki sharpening his reflexes, beating Arthur was like Tyson dismantling a rookie under full boxing rules.
When Arthur's attacks faltered from exhaustion, Yang Ning ended it—a heavy strike with the sword's pommel sent the boy crashing into the railing.
"Had enough?" Yang Ning asked coldly. "If you still won't face reality, I'll take you to see your sister's corpse."
Arthur slumped against the wood. The rage had burned out. Only hollow resignation remained.
He looked up, voice desolate:
"Who… killed her?"
Yang Ning met his gaze, tone grave—but eyes sharp with contempt.
"Your so-called gods."
Arthur laughed.
Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. A broken, howling laugh—more painful than tears, even as they streamed down his face.
Yang Ning said nothing. He just stood there, sword in hand, watching.
After the laughter faded, Arthur wiped his face and asked, voice laced with bitter irony:
"Gods? Are they really gods? Is the Pantheon truly a divine kingdom on land?"
Yang Ning shook his head and sat cross-legged before him.
"No. They're just maggots—world-eating parasites who claim divine blood. Filthy insects sucking the life out of everything. Ordinary humans, nothing more."
"The 'Pantheon'? That's just Mary Geoise—their nest."
"And your 'Divine Messengers'? They're low-ranking World Government officials—CP dogs."
Arthur's head lifted. His blank eyes burned with a quiet, terrifying flame.
"I want to see my sister. Even if it's just… a corpse."
Yang Ning didn't hesitate. "Okay."
He'd already scoured that ship. If her body was there, he'd find it again. If not… the ocean was vast, but he'd search.
Then Arthur spoke—calm, final, world-shattering:
"I want to slaughter all those descendants of gods."
The words hung in the air—blasphemous, suicidal, legendary.
In the pirate world, such a declaration would terrify emperors. Even the Four Emperors wouldn't dare speak it aloud.
But Yang Ning? He came from a world where no one was born divine. Where class wasn't chains, but fiction.
He threw his head back and laughed—a true, roaring laugh of kinship.
"Hahahaha! Good lad! You've got guts!"
"To be honest—if I hadn't come here to save my brother, that Celestial Dragon who butchered your sister would already be minced meat!"
"I admire your fire. So—join my crew. Only on my ship will you ever get close enough to kill a Celestial Dragon."
This time, it wasn't a demand. Not a bargain.
It was an invitation.
Arthur looked at him—silent, resolute—and extended his hand.
Their hands clasped.
Sheila Arthur—Windbreaker Pirates' ship's doctor—onboard.
Yang Ning's heart leapt. He'd fought, bled, and schemed for this.
"Sheila Arthur, right?"
The boy nodded, face numb with grief.
Yang Ning pushed himself up, walked to the railing, and looked down.
Hei Lu was gone—vanished from the courtyard.
Outside the mansion, the crowd had grown. Torches glowed red. Silhouettes pressed closer.
"These people…" Yang Ning said casually, as if asking about dinner, "are beyond saving. Killing them won't stop you from joining, will it?"
Arthur didn't look up.
"I only cared about my sister. Now that she's gone… I don't care who lives or dies. Kill them if you want."
"Fine."
Yang Ning leapt over the railing—landing with a thunderous boom in the courtyard. Knees bent, he channeled Soul Drain Strike into his legs.
The ground shattered beneath him—spiderweb cracks racing outward.
He launched himself into the sky.
> "One-Sword Style – Ultimate – Heavenly Fall of the Moon!"
A searing white light ignited in the night.
As Yang Ning's voice echoed, the light swelled—becoming a fallen moon, crashing down from the heavens.
Above, the real moon shone full.
Below, its twin descended—bright, cold, apocalyptic.
The villagers froze, staring skyward in primal terror.
They didn't understand what it was.
But their instincts screamed one word:
Run!
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