Duple stepped forward in full armor, steel gauntlet gleaming across his fist.
"Be careful."
After that short warning, the pirate launched himself into the arena. As a first-echelon fighter with a bounty of twenty million, he was easily one of the stronger members of the crew. But matching up against Laffitte was another matter entirely.
His barrage came fast. Fists hammered forward with violent force, chained together with elbows and sharp kicks. Duple's savage style was well known throughout the Nightfall Pirates. Few ever held their ground once he started swinging.
Laffitte only smiled. He tipped the brim of his hat with two fingers and drifted backward, his toes barely brushing the ground. The wind of Duple's punch grazed his cheek with a whisper.
Laffitte's movements were feather-light, almost theatrical. He flowed around each strike, posture bending like a dancer carried by the breeze. No matter how wild the assault, he slipped through openings with playful precision, a steady smile tugging at his lips.
When he finally paused, the light in his eyes shifted. The smile sharpened into something colder and darker. Beneath the gentlemanly exterior was a man built for violence. He had always craved the cries of the dying. Becoming sheriff had only given him a legal excuse.
Now, as a pirate, he no longer needed excuses.
A vast world awaited him. He no longer wished to hear the wails of the weak. He wanted the roars of monsters, the fall of giants, the death struggles of the strong. That was where he felt alive.
A cruel spark flashed behind his gaze. He tightened his grip on his cane-sword.
Laffitte bounced lightly on his heels. "Next, I counterattack," he said, voice cheerful and polite.
The moment the words fell, his blade was already lunging forward. The thrust streaked toward Duple's throat so fast no one had time to react.
Instinct saved the man. He raised his armored forearm, and the rapier scraped across it, carving a deep gouge through the metal.
He swung back in retaliation, but Laffitte vanished from his line of sight. Illusory afterimages flickered with every motion of the cane-sword, too quick to track.
Thin lines of blood began to bloom across Duple's body. Once Laffitte started, the battle became his showcase.
His footwork was ghostly. He slipped past most attacks, and whenever a blow found its mark, his cane-sword diverted it with effortless efficiency.
"His reactions are unbelievable," Gar muttered, narrowing his eyes. Laffitte did not use a school of swordsmanship. He used the blade simply as a method of killing.
What made it terrifying was how effective it was. It held none of the refinement Teach possessed, yet its sharpness was undeniable. Skill born purely from experience, slaughter, and talent.
Clemence and Daz Bonez, both aspiring to reach executive rank someday, leaned forward in complete focus. They knew their own limitations well enough. Both possessed strong abilities, but their bodies lagged behind. Their growth depended on building a foundation of durability and strength, and that would take time.
Nelson watched with a simmering mixture of awe and aspiration. As an assassin-type fighter, he operated with precision and stealth rather than brute force. Yet seeing Laffitte made something in him stir. His swordsmanship had only recently begun to develop a personal flavor. Watching Laffitte inspired new ideas. He wanted to rely less on his ability and more on himself, using his powers as an enhancer rather than a crutch.
Across the battlefield, the difference between the two fighters became painfully clear. Laffitte controlled the rhythm from beginning to end. Duple was fighting for survival, not victory.
Even then, Laffitte spared him. The cuts scattered across Duple's body were evidence of restraint. If Laffitte wanted him dead, he would already be lying on the floor.
While maintaining his impossible speed, Laffitte also blurred his presence, slipping in and out of perception so subtly that even trained eyes almost lost track of him. Teach caught the nuances immediately. This was hypnotic technique woven seamlessly into combat. Laffitte's mind was a weapon every bit as sharp as his blade.
He was stealth incarnate, a master of diplomacy, a strategist, and a top-tier navigator. A perfect fit for the Nightfall Pirates. His overall versatility surpassed most crewmembers.
Finally, after enduring the relentless pressure, Duple broke.
"I surrender!"
The words burst out in a gasp. He could not take another second of being toyed with. Laffitte's fighting persona was terrifying. Every motion promised death, yet every strike was measured. Madness simmered behind his smile, but he wielded it with surgical precision.
Duple had seen countless battles as part of the Nightfall Pirates. He had confronted life and death more than once. Even so, Laffitte's cold, gloomy stare chipped away at him piece by piece. It felt as though a single slip would mean instant death.
When Duple surrendered, Laffitte halted immediately. He slid the blade back into the cane with smooth elegance and leaned forward in a polite bow, smiling like a gentleman entertaining guests.
But the shadow in Duple's eyes lingered. That eerie figure was burned into his memory.
Laffitte walked back with calm, light steps and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. From somewhere within his coat, he produced a colorful lollipop, popped it into his mouth, and relaxed as though nothing had happened.
No one underestimated him anymore. His peculiar personality paired with that bizarre speed and lethal swordsmanship cemented his place as an executive.
Status within the crew revolved around strength, except for unique cases like Baccarat, user of the Lucky-Lucky Fruit. As the Nightfall Pirates' goddess of fortune, her ability made their fleet almost untouchable during bombardments. She was one of the rare women aboard the ship and enjoyed special standing.
Laffitte's victory surprised no one, yet few wished to face someone who fought like a phantom with the smile of a man enjoying his favorite hobby.
Night fell over the Kingdom of Nonook, but tonight its atmosphere was split in two.
One half of the city was brightly lit, filled with music and cheers from the Nightfall Pirates' banquet. The other half lay dim and sparse, residents hiding indoors with curtains drawn. Only a few dared walk the streets, and even they kept their heads low, hoping to avoid the pirates entirely.
To ordinary civilians, pirates were embodiments of danger. Even without direct encounters, stories printed in newspapers had carved terror deep into the public consciousness. Reports of raids, massacres, and burning towns left people numb but cautious.
Biographical novels painted pirates as devils. Marines were portrayed as justice incarnate. Pirates were evil. Civilians suffered most in the clash. That was simply how the world worked.
Now, chaos across the seas was rising.
The New World had already erupted into open conflict between pirates and Marines. High-ranking Marine officers had been withdrawn from the Four Seas and the Grand Line. Even Vice Admiral Tsuru, once stationed in West Blue, was reassigned to the New World.
Vice Admiral Brom, who had chased the Nightfall Pirates relentlessly, was also forced back to Marine Headquarters to join the core war effort.
With elite forces leaving, Marine presence across the Four Seas and Grand Line weakened sharply. Pirates multiplied. Roger's final words still echoed through the world, ushering in wave after wave of ambitious outlaws.
The war in the New World consumed all attention. Its conclusion would determine the future of the entire sea. For generations, the Marines had been unquestioned overlords. Even in the New World, they could move freely except in territories belonging to the strongest pirates. Their bases were everywhere.
But now, they were being pushed back. Marine branches fell one by one. Pirate forces grew bolder and stronger. The Marines were fighting at their limit.
If they lost, they would abandon the New World entirely.
In a few short years, the region would fall fully under pirate rule. The World Government would lose its influence, and some of its allied nations would inevitably become puppets of pirate crews.
Even vital resources would be obtained only through backdoor negotiations with New World pirates or governments they controlled.
Once defeated, Marine strategy would shift to fortifying the Four Seas and the first half of the Grand Line. It was a reluctant retreat. The New World mattered far more, but they had no choice. Their forces were spread thin. Their enemies too numerous.
Officials comforted themselves with the idea that weakening the flow of new pirates into the New World might stabilize the region. Let the great powers fight among themselves and wear each other down.
But the truth was harsh. It only produced stronger, more ruthless pirates. Every year, new Supernovas emerged, each more dangerous than the last.
In the chaos, a new title began to circulate across the seas.
Sea Emperor.
No one knew who spoke it first, but the entire New World had begun chasing it.
Yet before any pirate could become a ruler, the greatest threat had to be repelled.
The Marines.
Their war with the New World's pirate kings was the spark that would shape the next era. Victory would maintain their grasp on the seas.
Defeat would usher in a world ruled by pirates.
And on this night, the world stood at the edge of that shift.
The Age of Chaos was drawing its next breath.