Lightning split the sky while thunder rolled and gale winds howled.
Crimson bolts surged upward like a storm given form, making the jungle and snow-laden peaks shudder to their roots. Darren spread his arms, black-red lightning crackling from his fingertips, warping the air around him. His fingers trembled—as if even he could barely bridle the power flooding through him.
A fierce exhilaration flashed in his eyes.
Two Celestial Dragons down, and his Conqueror’s Haki had jumped by 0.2.
On average, one Celestial Dragon was worth 0.1.
And how many World Nobles were loose in Felsek’s hunting grounds?
More than five hundred.
Even if each kill hit a little less hard as the shock wore off, the skulls of the five hundred-plus swine on this island would be more than enough to push his Conqueror’s Haki, stuck at eighty-one...
Up to at least ninety.
Watching the Vice Admiral’s will crash outward, Saint Saturn’s haughty mask finally tightened. That sheer, abyssal pressure made even him draw a slower breath.
Darren moved.
His figure flashed—so fast the air behind him sared into afterimages. In less than a hundredth of a second he was upon a golden-haired Celestial Dragon, panic-blind and running.
"No! Don’t kill ! I’ll give you anything!" the man shrieked, eyes bursting red with fear. He grabbed the black-haired companion beside him and shoved him forward.
"You bastard!" the black-haired noble spat, whipping to face Darren and driving a spear at his throat.
Zzzzt—
tal scread along Darren’s neck, showering sparks. The skin beneath did not so much as mark.
"Monster..."
Darren’s hand fell on the man’s crown.
"No—!"
The scream split the air.
Farther off, the fleeing nobles glanced back despite themselves—and nearly leapt from their skins.
Saint Harkness of the Holy Land—one of their own—stood bowed beneath Darren’s palm. Then—
Boom.
The handso head burst to crimson mist, the body detonating under inhuman force. Blood fanned across the snow. Two bare legs, bone showing through mangled flesh, remained planted in gilded hunting boots drenched to the cuff.
Conqueror’s Haki: 0.06!
Clarity sharpened behind Darren’s eyes. He snatched the silver spear as it fell and, under a hundred horrified stares, strode forward and cast it like a god of war.
Bang!
The spear detonated from its own speed, throwing sparks as it ripped the air, a shooting star aid square at the golden-haired noble.
Thwack!
It punched through his heart and kept going, drilling through a stand of towering trees before vanishing into the white horizon.
"Haha... haha..."
The golden-haired Celestial Dragon sagged to his knees, blood flooding his mouth and nose. Terror fixed his face as his pupils blew wide. Even dying, he could not fathom why the Gorosei had driven this killing machine this far.
Whoosh—
Darren let out a long breath of steam like a dragon’s. Heat surged in his chest, molten and wild, urging a roar to the sky.
Conqueror’s Haki: 0.07!
His numbers had never climbed so quickly—or so easily.
No life-and-death duels.
No fights to the edge of ruin.
No cuts, clubs, poison, virus, frostbite, shock, or fla.
Just culling these World Noble swine long overdue for judgnt—and his will surged without end...
What a miserable path he’d walked until now, gnawing on coarse grain.
And he’d even gone looking for Roger to duel?
This damned Holy Land—Mary Geoise—was the perfect place to level up.
No matter. Not too late.
His Conqueror’s Haki had been mired around eighty for an age. Throwing himself against Kaido, Roger, or Whitebeard—taking wounds that should have ended him—had barely moved the needle.
That could only an one thing:
Fighting Roger, Whitebeard, and Kaido no longer spurred true growth. He had adapted to their crushing pressure, neared their plane.
But the World Governnt was different.
The colossus that had ruled for eight centuries lood over all like Mary Geoise itself—an untouchable mountain of authority that smothered even a Marine’s breath.
On one point, Saturn had not lied.
At its core, the Marines were the World Governnt’s ard hand—a disciplined military machine. A machine with enough firepower needed no arrogant will or unruly spirit—only obedience.
That deference had been hamred in for centuries.
And when an outlier appeared, the Governnt forced him back into line—made him betray his nature with tasks that rotted the soul.
Guarding Celestial Dragons. Carrying out dehumanizing operations.
Tests of obedience.
Psychological shackles.
Break the will of the strong. Numb them. Forge the perfect weapon.
But now—
Darren had dropped the mask.
He had shown his intent.
He had ripped off the Governnt’s painted face—and torn free the shadow that had choked his own heart.
From this breath onward, the sky was clear and the horizon open.
His mind was steady. His aim, fixed.
His gaze on the terrified nobles changed. Hatred cooled into sothing hungrier, more primal. Like a caged beast at last off its chain, he showed his fangs to the hunters who had tornted him.
"The Native Hunting Competition... Yes, that’s exactly right," he snarled—and vanished.
"This Felsek Island... is now my hunting ground!"
And his rabbit? The Celestial Dragons—the self-proclaid "Gods" who ruled supre over this great sea!
To be continued...
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