In the oasis city Rainbase, Charles and Stella reached Crocodile's lair on Zhongming in just half a day.
With no probing and no strategy, Charles chose the most direct way to let Crocodile know he'd come looking for trouble: he tore the roof off the Rain Dinners casino.
"Crocodile, the bill collector's here!"
Charles hovered in midair, flaming wings spread behind him, casting a devil-like shadow.
The casino's patrons screamed and fled. In a blink, the lavish floor was empty.
No—one person remained. A woman in a white fur-trimmed long coat with black hair and coffee-colored skin lazily swirled the wine in her glass, as if the imminent fight meant nothing to her.
Charles glanced at her. So it was Nico Robin. But he had no time for her now, because a presence was already surging closer.
Before him, a tornado of sand rose from the floor and condensed into human form.
Formal suit, a fur-collared cloak draped over it, a pirate's golden hook for a hand, a long scar slashed across his face—it was Crocodile himself.
Crocodile took in the peeled-back roof and twitched a brow. "Who are you? You dare come make trouble for me? Don't you know this is the turf of yours truly… Sir Crocodile of the Seven Warlords of the Sea?"
Charles let out a cold laugh. "Looks like I underestimated how far you've fallen. You really think, like the small fry, that being the World Government's lapdog scares anyone?
If Whitebeard knew you'd end up like this, I wonder if he'd regret letting you off back then."
The words hit Crocodile where it hurt. His face froze, then he snapped in a voice tinged with humiliated rage, "Damn brat, I'll make you regret provoking me!"
As the Desert King flew into a fury, a sandstorm sprang from nowhere over the oasis of Rainbase.
Crocodile sent vast grains of sand sweeping toward Charles.
Charles might not think much of today's Crocodile, but he was still a government-recognized great pirate; in fruit development he was leagues beyond Smoker.
Devil Fruits hold a potential that defies neat explanation—an "if you ask me" kind of power.
A user can push the physical properties of their ability to the extreme; for example, Luffy developed rubber's insulating trait into absolute counter to lightning, ignoring even the heat generated by electricity.
Crocodile had developed sand's dryness—anything those sands wrapped would be drained of moisture. It was a terrifying power.
Especially in this desert environment, the scale of Crocodile's techniques was even greater.
As the sandstorm rolled in, violent flames surged over Charles's body and blasted the sand apart.
Before Crocodile could react, Charles had already slipped through the storm and appeared before him.
Seeing the flames billow off Charles, Crocodile instinctively pegged him as some lucky rookie who'd eaten a flame-related Devil Fruit.
Think you can eat a fruit and challenge a long-famed great pirate like me? You can't even use Armament Haki and you want to fight a Logia?
Crocodile didn't even bother to dodge, intending to teach him that the Grand Line wasn't so simple.
The next instant, Charles's fist crashed into Crocodile's face. Before the surprise could fade, Crocodile's whole body was sent flying.
Boom!
He slammed hard into the street and vanished in a cloud of dust.
Flexing his fingers, Charles hadn't expected Crocodile to be arrogant enough to take that punch head-on.
So on top of Armament, his Observation Haki had regressed too. Even Ace had tensed up when I suppressed my aura; Crocodile still dared to look down on me mid-fight? Asking for it.
With the blessing of World Magic, Charles's magic-laced blows were no different from Armament infusion.
When the dust cleared, Charles saw Crocodile crouched on the ground, sand spreading from his feet and swallowing the street.
Charles dispelled his Fire Dragon's Wings and dropped straight down toward Crocodile in freefall.
"Desert Spada!"
Crocodile tilted his head up at Charles, but plunged his arm into the sand. A mound surged beside him and a massive blade of sand shot up at Charles.
That punch had woken Crocodile up; he no longer dared to underestimate him.
Desert Spada was fast; it was about to skewer the plummeting Charles.
Firelight flashed in Charles's eyes. A blade of sand might look impressive, but compared to a steel-hard fist it fell far short.
"Fire Dragon's Iron Fist!"
He drove a fist into it, smashing the blade back into a slumping flow and revealing Crocodile's grim face.
"Guess bullying small-fry pirates in Paradise for too long made you forget how to fight. Did you think a move like that would do anything?"
Crocodile's expression grew even uglier. "You've got a big mouth. Then I'll show you my real strength!"
He swung his arm; the limb fanned out into dispersing sand and swept an arcing sand blade at Charles.
"Crescent Sand Dune!"
The blade was about to connect—just a second's touch and Crocodile could mummify him.
Crocodile watched as Charles's figure flickered; his sand-blade arm met nothing.
An instant later, Charles appeared in front of him—and pain lanced through Crocodile's jaw as his whole body was booted skyward.
With a high kick, Charles sent him flying far.
Hurtling through the air, Crocodile found Charles's earlier words rising to mind.
He asked himself: once, he too had been a hero of the seas. Now his reactions were so dulled he couldn't even track an opponent's movements.
Maybe, just as Charles said, he'd forgotten what a real fight was.
But steadfast conviction is a trait of the strong—and Crocodile had it. He clung to the belief that his path was right.
A monster like Whitebeard—how could you beat him by normal means? Only by seizing an Ancient Weapon could one surpass a monster like that and realize ambition.
Had Charles known, he'd have understood how Crocodile ended up like this.
His spirit had been broken by Whitebeard; without a strong man's bearing, no wonder he couldn't even draw out his Haki.
Swallowing the agony of a fractured jaw, Crocodile flipped and landed.
That included this guy too—once Pluton was his, Charles would be no match.
With that thought, Crocodile acted accordingly.
Charles's expression shifted; he lunged and punched Crocodile to pieces.
As Crocodile's body crumbled into fine sand, Charles curled his lip. "So you chose to run? Even more disappointing."
He was right: he'd only smashed a sand double. The real Crocodile had already slipped into the sands and fled.
Charles truly hadn't expected him to bolt without hesitation after just two exchanges. Hard to say whether that was utter decline—or wisdom.
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