The sky had grown dark.
After leaving the bar, Sherlock did not immediately regroup with Luffy and the others. Instead, he wandered aimlessly through the streets of Mock Town alone. The fading, lackluster sunlight cast a long, slender shadow behind him against the now much quieter streets.
Walking slowly without a destination, Sherlock's expression was as calm as still water, but his mind was racing, replaying the conversation from earlier.
While he had openly scoffed at Doflamingo's proposal, the weight behind the "Heavenly Yaksha's" words forced Sherlock to remain cautious. Given the Sorcerer's understanding of the man, Doflamingo's decision to seek him out for a private chat certainly wasn't born of simple motives.
(What kind of "business" does he want to discuss with me? What exactly is this "capital" he claims I possess? Furthermore, why does he want me to become one of the Seven Warlords? What does he stand to gain from it?)
Sherlock still knew far too little about the Heavenly Yaksha's intelligence network. Even with his sharp wit, he didn't dare to make blind assumptions without sufficient information. However, his intuition told him one thing clearly: cooperating with a ruthless, mentally unstable man like Doflamingo was never a wise move.
(Still, becoming a member of the Seven Warlords of the Sea...)
Truth be told, while many pirates in the Grand Line feared the Warlords, they also despised them as "government dogs." However, coming from a merchant background, Sherlock placed a high value on the various conveniences and immunities that the title provided.
(If I hadn't accepted Luffy's invitation back at the Twin Cape, perhaps becoming a Warlord would have been my ultimate destination. Heh, looking at it from that perspective, Doflamingo and I really are the same type of person...)
Shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile, Sherlock adjusted his glasses. He looked up at the darkening sky, and a question that had troubled him for a long time resurfaced.
(Why did I agree to join Luffy's crew in the first place?)
Was it that world-shaking roar on the execution platform in Loguetown? Or was it the way he desperately drove that mast into the top of Laboon's head? That "Straw Hat Idiot" seemed hopelessly unreliable, yet he possessed a mysterious, powerful charisma—an ability to make people believe in the miracles he constantly created.
Perhaps the Sorcerer, who had nowhere else to go at the time, had suffered a momentary lapse in judgment and agreed simply because he had been swept up in his captain's infectious energy.
Everything felt as though it were being nudged along by an invisible hand. Perhaps, this was what they called Fate.
Just as Sherlock was lost in thought, the situation changed in an instant!
Whoosh! A violent wind howled as a massive house came hurtling from the distance, smashing down toward the defenseless Sorcerer!
Sherlock's gaze sharpened. Although his Observation Haki had signaled a warning, the suddenness of the assault left him no room to dodge. He had no choice but to meet it head-on.
—Mirror Image Manifestation: Sword!
—Magic Mirror: Great Change!
Sherlock had long since mastered the projection abilities of the Mirror-Mirror Fruit. In a flash, an exaggeratedly large knightly claymore appeared out of thin air. He swung it upward against the falling house, cleaving the structure in two with effortless precision!
Boom! Boom! The wreckage of the house slammed into the ground on either side of Sherlock, the thunderous impact sending nearby pedestrians fleeing in terror.
"Hey now, that's a bit of an extreme way to say hello."
As the dust settled, a completely unharmed Sherlock looked toward a burly man dressed like a wrestler standing a short distance away. The gaze behind his lenses turned cold.
"Weehahaha! I've finally found you! Sherlock the Sorcerer!"
Jesus Burgess laughed boisterously while flexing his massive biceps. His eyes, visible through his mask, burned with a fierce lust for battle as he roared:
"Fight me! I want to see who the real Champion is!"
Without waiting for a response, the combat-obsessed "Champion" charged forward like a rampaging beast.
"How utterly stupid..."
Sherlock cursed under his breath. Though he didn't understand the source of the man's hostility, he didn't dare underestimate a brute who could throw houses like toys.
With a flick of his mind, the giant claymore floating in the air swung down toward the charging Burgess. Simultaneously, a series of flintlock pistols with a cold metallic sheen materialized around Sherlock, locked and loaded.
—Infinite Gun Works!
But he wasn't finished. With a flash of dark light, a suit of pitch-black heavy knight armor instantly materialized over Sherlock's body, wrapping him securely from head to toe.
"I might as well test out my new gear on you." The corners of Sherlock's mouth curled into a slight smirk as he activated his fruit power once more.
—Five-Fold Image Fusion: Basarkal!
As if possessed by a demon, the surface of the menacing armor was suddenly shrouded in plumes of black mist. His aura spiked violently, and the eye-slits of the helmet erupted with two streaks of crimson light, radiating bloodlust and tyranny.
The towering black armor stomped its foot, causing the hard ground to shatter like a spiderweb. The massive force propelled him forward like a bolt of black lightning, intercepting the stunned Burgess head-on.
Inside a restaurant in Mock Town.
"Strange? Why is it so noisy outside?"
Rovick drained the last of his rum, wiped his mouth, and looked around. He was surprised to find that the previously packed restaurant had become completely empty at some point.
Just as the blue-haired traveler—whose reaction time was a bit slow—was beginning to wonder what was happening, several panicked cries drifted in from outside:
"Get away from this street! Those two monsters are fighting their way over here!"
"Is this the power of 'The Sorcerer'? And who is that guy holding his own against him?"
(The Sorcerer? Isn't that the Chairman's title?)
Rovick's expression shifted, and his right hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his blade, Zhexie.
Although he was still a bit resentful about the way Sherlock had exploited his labor earlier, he still considered the man a friend.
And standing idly by while a friend was in a fight had never been his style...
On a rooftop somewhere in Mock Town.
Blackbeard sat on the edge of the roof, watching the flames rising in the distance. He calmly ate a cherry pie, laughing heartily. "Zehahahaha! Impressive! How many streets have those two destroyed now?"
"That makes six, Captain."
Van Augur observed the battle through the scope of his sniper rifle, his voice flat and indifferent. "If they keep this up, they'll likely tear the whole town apart. That Sorcerer's destructive power is truly startling. Heh... I suppose that is simply the fate of this town."
"No, it won't go on much longer. Burgess is about to lose."
Blackbeard looked profoundly composed, seemingly not worried about his comrade's safety in the slightest. He swallowed the last bite of his cherry pie and stood up.
"Let's go meet this Sorcerer. I'm very interested in that Devil Fruit power of his... one that isn't even recorded in the Devil Fruit Encyclopedia. Zehahahahaha!"
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