Just minutes after the Phantom Troupe withdrew, a tall man with long hair appeared at the scene.
"Hmm?" His gaze swept across the ruined ground. "Already gone? Looks like we're too late."
Beside him stood a strikingly beautiful woman. The man tilted his head toward her. "Miss Bakkin, was it the Phantom Troupe that destroyed the little darlings I created?"
The na sent chills through the air. Miss Bakkin. Yet the woman before him bore no resemblance to the shriveled old crone the world knew. How could this beauty be the sa notorious hag?
"Carl, those who passed through just now were from the Dragon Hunter Pirates' Second Division," Bakkin replied sharply. "Their captain was leading them. Why didn't you pursue them?"
For years she had paraded the dim-witted Weevil as "Whitebeard Jr." while wandering the seas, her disguise that of an old woman. But that was only a façade. The truth: Miss Bakkin was once the chief scientist of the Rocks Pirates. The "old crone" was rely a manufactured clone, a cover for her true self. Through her research, she had preserved her youth and beauty.
Bakkin's eyes burned with greed. To her, the Dragon Hunter Pirates were walking treasures of genetic and scientific potential. If she could capture them for research, she was certain she could unlock unimaginable breakthroughs.
But Carl only sighed. "Chase after them? You felt that aura just now. Tell , Bakkin—are we two scientists really going to risk our necks against the Dragon Hunter Pirates?" His tone was almost mocking.
Despite their territory being close, both knew the truth: if the Dragon Hunters turned their full might on them, they would stand no chance.
Bakkin scowled but said nothing more. She knew he was right. The Dragon Hunters had risen in less than a year to beco a feared crew, a monstrous force that grew stronger by the day. Who could know how terrifying they had beco by now?
"Enough. I'll leave this ss to you," Bakkin said lightly. "Those stones are lost, but they'll resurface soon enough. By the way… can you move the Mother Stone? If only—"
The words died in her throat as a crushing killing intent slamd down on her.
"If you dare touch the Mother Stone," Carl warned, his voice like ice, "I don't care who you are—I will kill you. Don't stray down the wrong path, Bakkin. This is my last warning. Next ti you even ntion it, I won't hesitate."
The aura was so suffocating it left Bakkin trembling. Only when Carl turned away and disappeared with a smile did she finally exhale, drenched in cold sweat. His murderous intent had been too real to doubt.
Monts later, Bakkin herself slipped away, following the Phantom Troupe's trail.
"Captain, soone's tailing us," Nobunaga muttered, his Observation Haki flaring. His "circle" technique, enhanced by the crew's recent strength boosts, allowed him to detect pursuit long before it closed in.
Chrollo's eyes narrowed. "Seems our exit ruffled a few feathers. Get ready. If they're bold enough to chase us, then as Dragon Hunters, we'll welco them properly."
The Bandit's Secret Book materialized in his hands, its pages whispering with stolen power. Behind him, spectral fish—manifestations of devoured abilities—swam into being, their size and nace enough to warp the air.
"Finally!" Uvogin cracked his knuckles, grinning like a war god. His aura burst outward, blasting the air away in shockwaves. Just by standing there, he hollowed out the space around him.
Then the pursuers arrived.
A dozen figures appeared, each identical.
"Weevil!?" Chrollo's brow furrowed. These were exact replicas of the so-called Whitebeard Jr.—the very Warlord they had once clashed with.
And now there were many.
"Dragon Hunter Pirates, Second Division Captain Chrollo," a voice rang out. Miss Bakkin herself stepped forward, eyes glinting with hunger. "Will you fight to the end, or surrender? Don't worry—I won't kill you if you submit."
Uvogin's grin widened. His answer was a fist.
Boom!
The ground quaked under the impact. No words, only violence.
Nobunaga and Machi flanked Chrollo, blades and threads ready. Their sole duty was his protection—this enemy was too strange to underestimate.
Weevil clones sward forward, but one by one they were crushed beneath Uvogin's blows. His fists tore through them as though they were made of paper. Any who tried to slip past were sliced down by Nobunaga or bound by Machi's strings.
Miss Bakkin's smile faltered as her creations were obliterated.
"I warned you not to antagonize the Dragon Hunter Pirates," ca a dark, low voice. "But you never listen. Now look at the ss—you're forcing to intervene."
The words slithered across the battlefield like a curse. Carl stepped from the shadows. Behind him marched a host of figures—each disturbingly familiar.
At their head was Saturn, one of the Five Elders slain by Roy. His form was twisted, chanical, yet unmistakable.
There wasn't just one.
Over a dozen Five Elder–level cyborgs advanced, their tallic forms gleaming with nace. The sight alone was enough to make the ground feel colder.
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