"Kill!"
A furious roar erupted as over five thousand soldiers of the slave army, led by their commanders, charged toward the lawless zone of Sabaody Archipelago. Their eyes burned red, filled with desperation and madness, as they surged forward like a dark tide.
"Hahaha! Those slaves have gone completely insane," a mercenary on a distant ship sneered. "But that's fine—let them scout the way for us."
"Exactly! There's no better way to test the enemy's defenses," another mercenary replied with a cruel grin.
"Still, be careful," someone warned. "We're up against the Grey Nation this time. Word is, they're pretty powerful."
"Don't buy into that nonsense," another scoffed. "All that talk about them matching Sengoku or flattening Marine Headquarters—it's pure fantasy. Their so-called 'Dragon King,' Rosinante, is just a rookie pirate who hasn't even entered the Grand Line yet. They're just full of hot air!"
"Yeah, but you'd be surprised," another added. "A lot of people have gone to join them lately—fans of Rosinante, they say. The Grey Nation's got a branch in each of the Four Seas now."
"Hmph. Well, this time their little kingdom's going to crumble. Don't forget, we've gathered nearly a hundred thousand troops here—plus the pirates lurking on the outskirts, we've got at least one hundred fifty thousand men in total. No matter how strong they are, they're doomed."
"Kill!"
Driven by the promise of freedom from their master, Lord Fosfite, the slave army went berserk. Their eyes were bloodshot, their minds clouded by frenzy. They knew their fates were shackled—each wore a slave collar that would explode if they disobeyed. The only way out was victory.
Freedom was the sweetest illusion—and the cruelest bait.
To earn it, they would slaughter gods if they could.
As they stormed into the lawless zone, expecting fierce resistance, they found… nothing. No gunfire. No ambushes. No defenders.
"What's going on?!" one shouted. "Where are they? Did they run away?"
"Where's the enemy?! Come out and fight!"
Their confusion spread like wildfire. The slaves surged deeper into the silent streets, shouting, their voices echoing through the empty ruins.
"Something's not right…" one of the slave commanders muttered uneasily. "Could it be that the Grey Nation fled?"
"Impossible," another commander said, shaking his head. "Rosinante—the so-called Dragon King—wouldn't just run away. And the spies have confirmed he's still here in the lawless zone."
"Then let's hope he hasn't fled," the first muttered darkly. "If we disappoint Lord Fosfit, we'll all pay the price."
"Fuffuffuffu… Rosinante, how will you respond, I wonder?" Doflamingo's laughter drifted down from the clouds above, where he sat upon his throne of threads, watching like a vulture waiting for carnage.
And then—
Bang!
A single gunshot shattered the eerie stillness.
The sound echoed sharply, and one slave dropped dead on the spot. A neat bullet hole bloomed in his skull.
"What—what just happened?!"
"Where did that shot come from?!"
"Who fired that?!"
The soldiers froze, panic flaring in their eyes as they looked around wildly.
Then—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The world exploded into gunfire.
From every direction, countless bullets poured in like a rainstorm of death. No one could see where they were coming from. No flash, no muzzle, no shooter—just death appearing out of thin air.
The bullets tore through the slave army mercilessly. Men dropped one after another, lifeless before they even hit the ground.
"It's begun," Tsuru said softly as she watched from afar.
"These aren't the same sniper rifles they used against Kuzan," Garp muttered, his eyes narrowing.
Tsuru nodded. "The Grey Nation's firearms are divided into three main types. First, the Wind Shell Rifles—standard-issue weapons, slightly stronger than Marine rifles, now widely equipped among their divisions. Second, the Impact Shell Machine Guns—faster, deadlier, used in small numbers by elite squads across the seas. Lastly, the Clap Shell Sniper Rifles—their true strategic weapons. Even a Vice Admiral could be taken down by one of those, especially when paired with Bins' precision wormhole targeting. Even Kuzan himself nearly got caught last time. But those are rare. Only Rosinante's personal BloodSworn Guard is said to possess them. Judging from the sound, what we're hearing now… are the Impact Shell Machine Guns."
"Those slaves are just fodder," Garp said grimly. "No need to waste a Clap Shell Rifle on them."
Meanwhile, Enel was overseeing the entire battle from the sky island. His Observation 4Haki enveloped Sabaody, tracking every life form and every movement in real time.
The data flowed through his lightning, transmitted to Laki, who analyzed it instantly. She processed and sorted the information before passing it on to Bins.
Then, based on Laki's analysis, Bins opened a network of wormholes scattered throughout the lawless zone—each one locked precisely onto enemy positions.
As soon as the wormholes opened, seventy strike teams were ready. Ten members per team. Two hundred Impact Shell Machine Guns aimed through the rifts of space.
Bins gave the command.
The air screamed.
Each gun fired thirty rounds per second—bullets rained down like a monsoon. Within moments, the battlefield was nothing but carnage.
Five minutes.
That was all it took.
Five minutes—and not a single member of the five-thousand-strong slave army was left standing.
The ground was soaked in blood. The silence that followed was deafening.
Kizaru let out a low whistle. "Wow~ That's terrifying… a one-sided massacre if I've ever seen one."
Tsuru folded her arms, her face solemn. "Between Bins' wormholes optimizing every shot and those Impact Shell Machine Guns' sheer fire rate… it's horrifyingly efficient."
"Rosinante…" Sakazuki growled, his fist clenching tight until it glowed molten red with magma.
Tsuru turned to the others. "We should open talks with the World Government—and see if we can purchase some of these weapons. Even the Wind Shell Rifles would significantly boost our soldiers' combat effectiveness."
Garp grunted. "Why not go for those Clap Shell Sniper Rifles instead?"
"Those are strategic weapons," Tsuru explained. "They can threaten Vice Admiral-level combatants. Do you really think the Grey Nation would sell them? Even their four divisions don't have any. And if they did sell one, the price would be astronomical—not worth it."
Her words silenced the group. One by one, they nodded.
Up above, Doflamingo's smile twisted into a grimace. His fingers flexed, the threads tightening.
"Fuffuffu… this… this is truly beyond my expectations," he muttered darkly, eyes glinting with both awe and unease.
Below him, in five minutes of thunder and steel—
five thousand lives had vanished without a trace.