Steel rang against muscle.
Captain Reinhardt Voss had stopped thinking about politics.
He had stopped thinking about Prince Wapol. He had stopped thinking about strategy.
All he could think about was the man in front of him.
Ragetti stood there with blood running down his arm, a slash across his ribs, and a grin that looked far too wide for a human face.
Voss struck again.
The blade moved with disciplined precision—years of training and battles.
The edge bit deep into Ragetti's shoulder.
There was resistance.
Too much resistance.
Voss's eyes widened.
The sword… stopped.
It didn't slide through muscle the way it should have. It lodged there—halfway in—as if it was stuck. The damn flesh was too thick!
Ragetti tilted his head slowly, staring down at the embedded blade.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then he began to laugh.
It wasn't normal laughter.
It was loud, raw, almost hysterical—like something between joy and madness.
Voss felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine.
"You—" Voss tried to pull the sword free.
It wouldn't budge.
Ragetti's free hand clenched into a fist.
"Hurts," he admitted cheerfully. "But you hit softer than the big bloke from Arabasta."
Voss didn't know what that meant.
He didn't get the chance to ask.
Ragetti drew his arm back.
The movement was slow, exaggerated—almost theatrical.
Then he punched.
The impact sounded like a cannon blast.
Voss's body lifted clean off the ground and shot backward, smashing through the palace wall.
Stone exploded outward. Dust filled the air.
When it settled, there was a perfect human-shaped hole in the wall.
Silence followed.
Ragetti blinked.
"Did he go through?"
He looked down at the sword still stuck in his shoulder.
"Oh."
—
Inside the chamber beyond the shattered wall, Jack and Augur stepped through the hole as if it were a door.
On the floor lay Captain Voss.
His chest had caved inward.
He wasn't dead.
But he was very, very done.
Jack glanced at him and gave a quiet nod.
"Well done, Ragetti," he muttered.
Augur adjusted his glasses.
"And me?"
Jack looked at him thoughtfully.
"You shot some guards."
"They were not 'some,' Captain. They were—"
Jack waved a hand dismissively.
"Yes, yes, very menacing men with pointy sticks. Admirable effort."
Augur exhaled slowly through his nose.
Inside the chamber stood a cluster of terrified figures.
Guards who hadn't been knocked out yet.
Doctors in white coats.
And at the center—
A young man in expensive royal attire.
Ugly in the way entitlement distorts the face.
Prince Wapol.
His legs were shaking.
Behind him, Dalton stood rigid.
Jack's gaze lingered on Dalton for a second.
Then shifted back to the prince.
—
Outside the broken wall, Crocodile reached Ragetti just as he tried to yank the sword out himself.
"What are you doing?" she snapped.
"Taking it out!"
"Don't—"
He pulled.
And everything hit him at once.
The delayed pain.
The blood loss.
The realization that there was a blade in his shoulder.
He screamed.
A full-bodied, unrestrained scream.
"AAARGH— IT HURTS!"
Crocodile stared.
"You weren't screaming a second ago."
"I DIDN'T NOTICE!"
She grabbed his arm before he could make it worse.
"Stop moving."
Hiriluk finally stumbled out from behind a column.
He took one look at the unconscious guards.
Then at the smoking bullet wounds.
Then at Ragetti's shoulder.
He swallowed.
If the sniper and the brawler cook were this dangerous…
What was their captain?
Crocodile turned sharply toward him.
"Heal him."
Hiriluk flinched.
"I—I don't have my equipment! Proper sterilization! Anesthetic! Perhaps some experimental mushroom extract—"
She stared at him flatly.
"I am asking politely."
He squeaked.
She blinked.
Was she that intimidating? But she was polite now.
Before she could press further—
The air shifted.
A pressure.
Heavy. Oppressive.
Crocodile stiffened.
She knew that feeling.
She had felt it in the New World.
Conqueror's Haki.
Weak.
Hiriluk dropped instantly.
Ragetti collapsed mid-groan.
Inside the chamber, doctors and guards crumpled to the floor.
Dalton swayed—but remained upright.
Wapol trembled violently.
Crocodile narrowed her eyes.
Inside the room, Jack exhaled slowly.
"Hmm," he muttered. "Needs refinement. Need to control the targets. Maybe I can use it with Wado. I wonder how strong would the attacks be then?"
Augur blinked.
"You—"
"Yes."
Augur decided not to ask further.
Jack surveyed the room.
Only two still stood.
Dalton.
And the prince.
Wapol's trousers darkened noticeably.
But he stayed upright.
Barely.
He pointed a shaking finger.
"D-Don't come closer! The Marines—!"
Jack stepped forward casually.
"Are you Cipher Pol?"
Wapol blinked.
"What?"
"Cipher Pol. The tyrant prince?"
"I am Wapol!" he shrieked. "Prince of Drum! And I am not a tyrant! At least not yet."
Jack waved a hand.
"Same difference."
"They are completely different things!" Wapol cried.
Augur nodded faintly.
"They are."
Jack turned to him.
"Are they?"
"Yes."
Jack nodded thoughtfully.
"You learn something new every day."
He looked back at Wapol.
"So what exactly are you?"
"I just told you!"
Jack leaned closer.
"And you plan to drive out doctors. Raise fees. Consolidate power. Lovely."
Wapol sputtered.
"That is governance!"
"Is it?"
Jack tilted his head.
"I have a friend. She dislikes your policy."
Wapol stared.
"You invaded my palace for a friend?"
Jack smiled.
"Also to free the people from your future tyranny."
Dalton watched silently.
Wapol tried again.
"I can give you gold. Titles. Medicines."
Jack's eyes flickered at "gold."
Then steadied.
"Tempting. But no."
Wapol's voice cracked.
"Then what do you want?!"
Jack drew his sword.
"I want a revolution."
Wapol actually choked.
"A what?!"
Dalton had the same question.
Jack stepped closer.
"One-man. Efficient. Minimal paperwork."
Wapol backed into a wall.
"You're insane!"
Jack shrugged.
"Been said that frequently."
Wapol's voice turned desperate.
"You can't kill me! I'm a prince! The Marines—"
"There is no Marine in Paradise who can defeat me," Jack said lightly.
Arrogant. Calm. Terrifying.
Wapol's breathing quickened.
Jack raised his blade.
"Wayward Tide Cut."
The slash was clean.
Wapol's scream cut short.
Silence fell over the chamber.
Dalton stood frozen.
Jack wiped the blade slowly.
He looked at Dalton.
"You'll want to choose wisely what you do next."
Dalton said nothing.
Jack sheathed his sword.
"Revolution," he muttered thoughtfully. "Highly efficient."