The sea reeked of blood.
Behind Jin Akasa, it felt as though an ocean of crimson had come alive, roiling and endless, carrying fragments of bone that bobbed in its waves. The vision was no illusion—it was the shadow cast by his Haki, a storm of killing will that twisted into the shape of a blood-soaked hell.
The Sea Kings felt it. Their massive eyes rolled white, their titanic bodies recoiling as his aura clashed with theirs. Creatures born of the ocean, they carried a natural resistance to Conqueror's Haki. It was instinct, the ocean's protection etched into their bloodline. But that same sensitivity made them far more vulnerable to its corruption.
And Jin's Haki was not the calm, kingly spirit most spoke of. His was sharpened into something darker—Blood Hell's Conqueror. Violent. Corrosive. A predator's will that didn't just crush resistance, but invaded the mind, hollowing out defenses until nothing remained but silence.
The collision lasted only an instant. But in that instant, more than half the swarm faltered. Over a dozen Sea Kings, monstrous heads swaying, gave strangled hisses before their bodies slackened, eyes rolling white as they crashed into the depths. The sea foamed red where they fell, vanishing beneath waves.
Only seven remained—the largest, the strongest. Their jaws gnashed, eyes burning with fury.
Jin smiled. The scarlet drained from his eyes, returning to their usual violet glow. He had tested what he needed to test. Even at half-mastery, this Haki can cripple the weak. That's enough for now.
He didn't wait for them to recover. The mercenary king always struck the moment an opening appeared. His blade hummed as he spun, every muscle coiling, channeling the turn into raw speed.
"Flash."
The words left his lips like a whisper, but the sea answered with violence.
A single arc of light tore across the night. It was silent, sharp, stretching a hundred meters in a heartbeat. To the naked eye it was little more than a shimmer, a flicker at the edge of vision. But the Sea Kings felt it—too late.
Seven colossal bodies split at the waist, neatly severed. Blood geysered skyward, raining down in thick sheets as the monsters thrashed. Their halves crashed into the water, sending waves crashing against the hull of the Eternal Life.
The deck shuddered. The crew clung to the rigging as the ocean rose and fell, the night echoing with the death cries of giants.
Jin lowered his blade, breath even. To anyone watching, it seemed effortless. But he knew the truth—Flash was not yet perfect. It demanded a full-body rotation, a precise harmony of blade and breath. Instant release still eluded him.
"Even dead things can crush ships this size," he muttered, watching the swells. "That's the Sea Kings' strength. Not hide. Not teeth. Just sheer size."
But more shadows stirred ahead.
He raised his weapon again. "Then I cut them all."
The sea broke once more. New titans surged forward, eel-bodied and serpent-like, their forms blotting out moonlight.
Jin's grip tightened. He raised his blade overhead. "Heaven Splitter."
The strike came down like judgment.
Wind roared as a blade of energy taller than any mast screamed into the ocean. Waves split apart, water curling into walls on either side. The Sea Kings directly ahead never even reached him—their bodies shredded under the storm of blades, scales, and bone turned to drifting gore.
The Eternal Life shot forward on the wake of destruction.
For twenty relentless minutes, Jin carved a path. Each strike was heavy, draining, but he didn't allow a single beast to linger. If one lived long enough to thrash, the ship would break. He gave them no chance. Every swing was a death sentence.
By the time the sea finally calmed, his chest heaved with ragged breaths. His hands ached where sword met bone. Moonlight caught on his sweat-damp hair, his body streaked with crimson spray. He closed his eyes, forcing his breath steady, channeling inner force through aching muscles. Slowly, the tremor in his arms stilled.
He exhaled. "No wonder the navy avoids them. Sea Kings in the deep? If they had wit equal to their size, this world would already belong to them."
His gaze darkened. He knew the truth, though few admitted it aloud. Some already do.
He stretched his senses outward, Observation Haki flowing across thousands of meters. What returned was silence. Only smaller beasts lingered now, circling the corpses of their fallen. The titans were gone.
And yet, unease pressed against his chest. The sea here wasn't just dangerous. It was wrong.
Why do they all avoid this stretch? he thought, scanning the horizon. Unless… there's something even stronger here.
He grimaced. Even he couldn't gamble with that.
The bear lumbered forward from the stern, wiping blood from his claws. "Boss. A few big ones came at the back. I smacked them away."
"I felt it." Jin's gaze sharpened. "Tell Tina to push the turbines to full. We're not lingering here. Maximum speed until we're clear."
"On it." Kuma thudded off, obedient as ever.
Jin turned back to the sea. His long hair whipped across his face in the night wind, his sword resting against his shoulder. For all his victories, unease gnawed at him. Eight hours at full speed. That's what it would take. And even then, Serpent Island was not a promise—only a hope.
Footsteps came from behind, soft and hesitant.
"You finished training?" he asked without looking back.
"Mm." Kuina's voice was quiet. She stepped into view, clad in a simple white training robe, her sword at her hip. Her eyes were sharp, but shadowed. "I couldn't help you. Not against those things."
She didn't need to say more. He could see it in the way her hands curled, the frustration biting at her calm mask. Her strikes were deadly—but against beasts the size of ships, she couldn't kill in one blow. And anything less was useless.
Jin studied her for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he sheathed his sword.
He stepped closer, reached out, and brushed his fingers against her cheek. The gesture caught her off guard, her eyes widening as his touch lingered.
"You don't need to keep up with me," he said quietly. "Not yet. You'll reach your blade's truth in time. Until then…" His lips quirked, faintly. "…just stay alive."
Her breath caught, color rising to her cheeks. For an instant, the tension broke, replaced by something softer—something she quickly tried to bury beneath steel.
She turned away, muttering, "Idiot." But the word lacked venom.
Jin chuckled low, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. He didn't press further. The moment was enough—for now.
He turned back to the sea, eyes narrowing at the dark horizon. "Eight hours," he murmured. "Let's see if we make it."
The waters stretched on, quiet but heavy, as though holding its breath. And in that silence, the promise of Serpent Island loomed, shrouded in dread.
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T/N :
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