BOOOOMMMMM…

  A violent hurricane ripped through the battlefield, swirling across a radius of dozens of meters. Pirates and Marines alike were swept into the air, helplessly caught in the vortex. The sea surged violently beneath them, and the warships rocked like toys in a storm. In the center of it all, a massive cylindrical shockwave cannon extended forward like an unstoppable pilr—tearing through everything in its path with terrifying force. Nothing could stand in its way.

  “I–I’m gonna get blown away!”

  “Oh no! M–Monster!”

  “Dammit! The ship’s gonna break apart!”

  “Heaven help us! What is that thing?!”

  “N–No! S–Save me!”

  Eyes bulged in disbelief. Horror spread like wildfire.

  Whatever this was—it wasn’t human.

  In the blink of an eye, two upper decks of the warship were pierced clean through, top to bottom. The bst shot straight into the ocean beyond, carving a long gouge into the deck that split it open. The whole vessel quaked violently, creaking like it was on the verge of shattering.

  As for Captain Mori, who’d taken the full brunt of the impact cannon—he never even stood a chance. His Rokushiki technique—Tekkai was shattered the moment the cannon struck him. That overwhelming force crashed into every inch of his flesh, every bone in his body. The pain shot deep into his marrow—unbearable and unstoppable.

  His body flew like a ragdoll, unched clean off the battleship, spinning helplessly through the air before crashing into the sea far below.

  Fwoosh… Fwoosh…

  Chaotic winds spiraled into a massive air current—then whipped into a monstrous cyclone.

  “H–Hey, Captain! You trying to kill us all?!”

  On the bow of the second ship, Gilbert Arn clung desperately to the railing, both hands locked in a white-knuckled grip. His blue suit jacket fpped wildly in the storm winds, his body practically glued to the railing to avoid being swept away. He shouted angrily over the roar.

  “Haha~ My bad, my bad.”

  Turning around, Chris T. Aeridar gave a toothy grin, clearly unapologetic despite his words. His expression showed nothing but smug satisfaction with the chaos he’d unleashed.

  “What a damn attitude…”

  Arn clicked his tongue and tilted his head—just in time to dodge a flying pnk of wood that whooshed past his ear.

  Out on the open sea, the Chris, a triple-mast wolf-head warship belonging to the Chris Pirates, had pulled up alongside the Marines’ lead vessel. Hundreds of Aeridar’s pirates let out wild howls as they stormed the enemy ship.

  The Chris towered nearly ten meters taller than the Marine battleship, and they'd set up long wooden pnks to bridge the height. Pirates skidded down the makeshift ramps like invaders storming a castle.

  Standing at the forefront was Oliver. With a fsh of steel, he drew the katana from his waist and leapt from the Chris, nding first on the Marines’ main deck.

  He was alone.

  The others hadn’t caught up yet.

  In the next instant, dozens of Marines swarmed him from all sides.

  “Marines… Let your blood inspire my path as a swordsman.”

  With a crazed grin, Oliver licked his lips. His dual katanas fshed as he crisscrossed them before him—bdes gleaming with murderous intent. No Marine could block even one strike. In a matter of seconds, dozens y sin at his feet.

  “So annoying. Guess I’ll give you a proper sendoff.

  Two-Sword Style—Skybreaker Ssh!”

  Impatient, he sheathed his twin bdes at his waist, then suddenly exploded forward—channeling his full strength into both arms.

  SHING!

  Two streaks of blue-white sshes burst from his swords, slicing across the deck with terrifying force. Spears shattered, swords snapped, and everything in their path—be it man or matter—was split clean in two. The sshes ripped into the lower deck with devastating precision.

  “Aaaagh—my hand!!”

  One Marine clutched his bleeding elbow in agony, his severed forearm lying at his feet.

  “My leg! My arm—aaagh!!”

  Another thrashed on the floor, his left limbs hacked clean off. Blood poured freely from gaping wounds.

  The deck was littered with severed limbs, blood, and broken bodies.

  “He—He converted sword sshes into shockwaves?!

  “How strong do your arms have to be?!”

  A stunned Marine Lieutenant Commander, also a swordsman, stared in disbelief. He knew firsthand how difficult it was to unleash a sword wave ssh—something he himself had never achieved. It was a level he’d only dreamed of.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

  SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

  Reinforcements arrived.

  The Chris Pirates had stormed the deck, brandishing bdes and firearms. They ughed maniacally as they cut down any Marine in their way with gleeful bloodlust.

  “Haha! Captain, we’re here!”

  “Captain, you’re too damn fast!”

  “You’re a savage, Captain!”

  “Let’s take this ship before the boss even gets here—haha!”

  A burly, scarred man rampaged through the chaos like a beast among sheep. His arms were loaded with thick iron rings, and each punch or kick sent enemies flying. No one could withstand a single blow.

  “Oliver… seriously? Can’t you keep things a little cleaner?”

  The brute—Gorbo—frowned at the scene of dismembered corpses and spilled entrails. The deck looked like a sughterhouse.

  “My bdes are just too sharp,”

  Oliver chuckled darkly, swinging his katanas through the air. Even as he spoke, he sliced down another five or six Marines with ease.

  “That sword in his right hand... That’s one of the Fifty Skillful Grade Swords—Nagamitsu!!”

  From the bow, a Lieutenant spotted the gleaming blue-white katana in Oliver’s right hand. The straight, icy bde shimmered with deadly beauty.

  “Marines… Die!

  “One-Sword Style—Radiant Light Ssh!”

  Sensing the officer’s gaze, Oliver turned with a snarl—as if his sword had been insulted. He raised Nagamitsu and sshed toward the ship’s bow.

  In that instant, a blinding beam of sword light fshed across the deck.

  SPLASH!

  The Lieutenant saw only that dazzling arc of light—then felt a sharp pain.

  Darkness consumed him.

  He had been cleaved into four perfect pieces.

  “Tch. That guy…”

  Gorbo clicked his tongue at the mutited body, scowling in disgust. Then, without hesitation, he smashed his fist into another Marine’s neck, snapping it instantly.

  As a Head Chef, Gorbo had mastered the art of killing ingredients in one blow—never torturing what he pnned to serve. That same principle applied to enemies:

  One strike. No second chances.

  JuanFiction