"So you're the one, huh?
I don't know how you did it, but you're the bastard who killed my boys, yeah?"
Despite being ambushed alone, Bartolomeo showed no fear.
He casually twisted his neck left and right, arrogance overflowing as he warmed up—
as if the enemy standing before him wasn't worth acknowledging.
Davy's eyes sharpened.
His soul-servants' disguises were flawless.
Bartolomeo had not once touched them; he had no way to notice anything unusual.
Yet he still sensed the attack.
Instinct?
Or…
Haki?
Haki—power born from will itself.
Every human in this world possesses its seed: fighting spirit, killing intent, intuition refined to an invisible blade.
Haki is divided into:
Observation Haki (Kenbunshoku)
Armament Haki (Busoshoku)
Conqueror's Haki (Haoshoku)
Only Conqueror's and the highest forms of Observation are completely innate.
The rest can be trained—
and only pushed further through life-and-death combat.
Bartolomeo's earlier reaction, that subtle premonition of danger…
It absolutely resembled Observation Haki.
This was one of the reasons Davy chose to reveal himself.
Absorbing souls made his body stronger, yes.
But he'd already begun to feel the bottleneck.
Training alone could no longer push him forward.
What he needed—
was a fight.
A real one.
Sure, he could infiltrate the Barto Club with the Silent-Silent Fruit, poison their drinks or slit throats in the dark…
But what about the next battle?
And the next?
Not every enemy could be caught unaware.
Not every ability was one he understood.
If he wanted to survive the Grand Line, he had to make himself strong.
"Then let's start with you."
Davy murmured, lifting a hand.
A sphere of emerald flame rose—Alvida's soul—and he pressed it to his chest.
At once his skin became unnaturally smooth, impossibly clean, almost glossy—
like a pampered noble untouched by sun or sweat.
"Heh—hahahaha!
Pretty boy, you'd be real popular workin' as my club's gigolo, yeah?"
Bartolomeo cackled without restraint.
To him, Davy was just another soft-skinned weakling—
the kind who seduces women with a pretty face but dies the moment fists fly.
"Barrier!"
Bartolomeo crossed his index and middle fingers, and a translucent wall materialized before him.
He had already eaten the Barrier-Barrier Fruit.
Of course.
Davy had anticipated this—
but seeing it confirmed made his pulse quicken.
The manga never clarified when Bartolomeo first acquired his fruit.
What was known was that the previous user served the shogun of Wano—Kurouma Semimaru—
whose barrier even the mighty Kozuki Oden couldn't break.
The fruit's power was simple yet absurd:
Absolute defense.
An unbreakable barrier.
Invincible as long as it existed.
Its flaws:
limited total area…
and the crossed-finger gesture required to activate it.
"Hehahahaha! I'm a Barrier-Barrier Fruit user!
Your attacks can't scratch me, yeah?"
Bartolomeo taunted proudly.
Davy's expression grew strange.
The last person who bragged like that was now serving as his mobile cleaning agent.
"Come on! Try me! If you think you can break through, go ahead!"
Davy didn't move.
Bartolomeo kept shouting…
then shouting less…
then finally stopped, sweating slightly as their silent stare-down continued.
Eventually, he broke first.
"Don't think I can only defend!
Impact Barrier!"
Bartolomeo thrust his fist forward.
His barrier twisted violently, then launched like a spear straight toward Davy.
Fast—
shockingly fast.
Most men would be crushed instantly—if not killed—by the sheer force.
Unfortunately…
Davy was not "most men."
He didn't even dodge.
The barrier struck him—
—and slid off harmlessly.
Before it could deal a single point of damage, the Smooth-Smooth Fruit coating on his skin redirected the entire impact.
"BOOOOM!"
Behind him, stone shattered.
Cracks spidered out in every direction.
Even the ground beneath Davy's feet dipped slightly.
"You—you're still standing?!"
Bartolomeo gawked.
Only then did it register.
"You're a Devil Fruit user too?!"
Now.
Davy's eyes lit up.
He sprinted—
no hesitation, no mercy.
The barrier had slipped past him and was still forming behind Bartolomeo.
This moment—
this instant—
was the perfect opening.
"Shing!"
Davy drew his blade.
The steel hummed with anticipation.
Bartolomeo finally realized the danger.
He rolled away in pure panic as the blade swept past his cheek—
close enough to feel the cold kiss of steel on his skin.
Had he reacted even a fraction slower,
his head would have flown.
Slash after slash rained down—
relentless, merciless, like a reaper swinging his scythe.
Bartolomeo couldn't stand.
Couldn't counter.
Could only roll, crawl, and scramble backward for his life.
He'd only meant to test Davy—
yet somehow ended up staring death in the eyes.
The ferocity of the assault perfectly embodied:
Kick him while he's down, kill him while he's weak.
"Barrier!"
"CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!"
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