The Marine ensign at the head of the patrol snapped his heels together with a sharp clack.
Blue veins bulged on his forehead beneath his navy cap as he glared at the figure lurking in the shadows.
"State your identity! Why have you appeared in Marine Headquarters, Marineford?!"
Behind him, rows of Marines raised their rifles as one.
A disciplined forest of steel barrels locked onto Patrick Redfield, the air tightening like a drawn bowstring.
Redfield slowly lifted his head.
He gave no answer—only a sliver of cold, murderous intent flickered across his eyes.
"In that case… you'll do nicely to vent my irritation."
Before the ensign could blink, three slashes the color of fresh blood ripped out of Redfield's bat-winged parasol blade.
The crimson arcs curved through the air like serpents, threading precisely through the gaps between shields.
Screams and the crunch of breaking bones erupted together.
More than a dozen Marines fell before they even understood what had hit them.
"A–Aaah!" "H-help!"
Several rookies in the back froze at the sight of their comrades collapsing in pieces.
Their rifles clattered to the ground as they turned and bolted toward the edge of the plaza, scrambling over each other in panic.
Reinforcements poured in from both the east and west sides of the square, shields raised, rifles trained, trying to encircle him.
Redfield only sneered.
With a single elegant rotation of his body, he swung the parasol again.
A storm of sword aura swept outward, tearing through the approaching patrols before they even realized they were dead.
He glanced down at the bodies littering the plaza and frowned slightly.
This was Marine Headquarters.
If he lingered, reinforcements would only multiply.
Fighting endlessly here was pointless.
Using the chaos as cover, Redfield slipped through the plaza's structures like a specter.
He soon found a secluded corner—a rusted and abandoned storage room, perfect for concealing a presence.
He pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside, leaning against the cold wall.
Closing his eyes, he began regulating his breathing.
He would recover his stamina first—then find a chance to escape this nest of enemies.
But the massacre he caused had been far too severe.
Dozens of Marines killed in the heart of Marineford could not go unnoticed.
Before long, a shrill alarm screamed across the entire base.
Waves of Marines armed with rifles and bayonets began sweeping the grounds in a full-scale search.
Shouts and heavy boots thundered from every direction, drawing steadily closer.
Fortunately for Redfield, his monstrous Observation Haki bloomed to full effect.
He felt every soldier's position.
He glimpsed their fears, their intentions, their thoughts.
Whenever a squad was about to search his hiding place, he slipped away beforehand, moving silently to another blind spot.
Again and again, he evaded them with ghostlike precision.
For a full hour, Marines tore apart nearby buildings—prying open crates, smashing doors, upending furniture—yet not a single clue appeared.
Meanwhile, Redfield perched inside the loft of a clocktower, feeling his stamina finally stabilizing.
As he prepared to slip out the window and take flight—
A thunderous voice crashed upward from below.
"Patrick Redfield! You dare run wild in MY Marine Headquarters?!"
Redfield lowered his gaze.
At the top of a long flight of fifty stone steps stood a man draped in a pure-white Justice coat, the garment snapping fiercely in the sea wind.
Despite nearing seventy, his physique looked carved from granite—solid, immense, untouched by time.
His carefully groomed silver hair rose into angular spikes, and though deep wrinkles lined his face, the eyes beneath were sharp, blazing with unyielding authority.
The man was none other than the Marshal of the Marines—Steel Bone Kong.
By sheer coincidence, this was the very day when nearly all the Marine top brass—admirals and elite vice admirals alike—had departed on various missions.
Marineford was left with only the Marshal himself to guard the heart of the organization.
No one could've predicted that during this brief "open window"… Patrick Redfield would suddenly appear here.
"So it's you, Steel Bone Kong."
Redfield ran his tongue slowly along his lip, the smear of blood against his pale face forming a striking contrast.
"Old man… are you planning to stop me from leaving?"
"You butchered fifty-six of my Marines."
Kong unfastened the clasp of his white coat.
He tossed it to the aide behind him, revealing a black combat suit stretched across densely packed muscle.
His fists tightened.
A deep black sheen of Armament Haki coated his knuckles like obsidian armor.
"And you expect to walk away unharmed?
Do you take Marine Headquarters for decoration?!"
Before his words finished echoing, he vanished.
"Soru."
The step shattered the ground beneath him as he accelerated.
He streaked across the plaza like a bolt of white lightning, iron-hard fist carrying tidal force as it drove straight toward Redfield's face.
The wind of the punch tore Redfield's cloak with a violent snap.
But with his strength nearly fully recovered, Redfield had already foreseen the strike.
He felt the tremor of Kong's power through his Observation Haki.
His body twisted sharply, sliding three meters to the side with inhuman agility.
Kong's fist grazed the tip of his nose and slammed into the clocktower wall behind him.
BOOOOM!
Stone exploded outward, a massive crater blooming across the tower's surface.
Even with the Six Powers mastered to perfection, even with every strike precise and lethal, Kong's blows still struggled to land.
Redfield leapt, swayed, and weaved—sometimes soaring high, sometimes gliding mere inches above the ground.
Each time, he evaded by the narrowest margin, occasionally countering with a flash of his parasol blade.
The two clashed across the plaza, neither yielding, neither relenting.
Two hours later, the once immaculate courtyard had been reduced to ruin.
Broken rifles littered the ground like fallen twigs.
Crushed tiles and shattered masonry blanketed the area.
The stone floor was pitted with craters, scars of a battle between monsters.
Steel Bone Kong's breathing grew ragged.
His massive chest heaved, sweat gathering at his temples and sliding down his bloodstained jaw.
Age—inevitable and merciless—was beginning to show.
His punches slowed.
The sharp precision of his blows dulled.
The relentless force behind each strike faded by degrees.
Redfield's eyes narrowed.
He saw the opening.
His parasol spun in his hand, the handle sliding open as the blade shot out with a metallic hiss.
The silver edge twisted with spiraling air pressure as it lunged straight toward Kong's right shoulder—
A killing thrust.
T/N: If you would like to read up to 20 chapters ahead for all my works, check out my P@treon: patreon.com/GhidorahWriter
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