The wind howled through the forest, uprooting towering oaks, yanking leaves from branches, and violently tearing apart the fog in a single, powerful rush.
Redfield had to stop in his tracks, raising his arm to shield himself from the fierce onslaught of air, his crimson coat flailing wildly in the storm.
A heavy THUD resonated through the clearing.
Right between Redfield and the two frail old men stood a tall figure. A dark, heavy cloak whipped around him in the unnatural wind.
Gradually, the man lifted his head. Crimson tattoos traced the left side of his stern, rugged face, while his golden eyes glowed with the quiet, overwhelming force of a storm god.
Monkey D. Dragon fixed his gaze on the Red Count.
"You've done enough," Dragon declared, his voice deep enough to rattle the ground beneath them.
For the first time since arriving on the island, Patrick Redfield's smile returned, broader and sharper than ever.
"Well, well," Redfield purred, his eyes glinting with dark pleasure. "Another grand interruption."
The Dragon descended silently between Redfield and the two fallen men, a towering specter emerging from the storm.
For what felt like an eternity, he remained still. His dark cloak billowed violently behind him, whipped by winds that bent the thick oak branches until they creaked and cracked under the strain.
The mist retreated from the clearing in sweeping white ribbons, banished by the overwhelming force radiating from his presence.
His golden eyes first settled on Red.
The old artist lay crumpled on his side, fingers weakly pressed against the jagged gash in his flank. Blood had soaked through his linen tunic, pooling in the dry leaves beneath him. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps.
Too shallow.
Dragon's gaze shifted leftward. Gibbs was in even worse shape.
The old sea dog's right leg was bent at an unnatural angle beneath his hip. His shoulder had been reduced to a bloody mess, his white beard matted with crimson. Each labored breath was a visible struggle against his own failing body.
Dragon's jaw clenched. They are both slipping away.
At last, his eyes found Patrick Redfield.
The Red Count stood a mere dozen paces away, his crimson umbrella resting casually against his hip. Despite the chaos he had left in his wake—having cut through Ivankov, Augur, Pintel, and Ragetti—Redfield appeared remarkably composed. Only the hem of his long coat bore signs of the battle.
Redfield regarded Dragon with a measured gaze. Slowly, a flicker of recognition sparked in his blood-red eyes.
"…Dragon."
Dragon remained silent, his expression as unyielding as stone.
Redfield's thin lips curled into a subtle, aristocratic smile. "I was curious when our paths would finally intersect."
"You know who I am," Dragon replied, his voice deep and resonant like the rumble of distant thunder.
"I knew your father." Redfield tilted his umbrella, resting it against his shoulder with practiced grace. "Monkey D. Garp." There was a hint of nostalgia in his tone. "The loudest, most unbearable Marine I ever had the misfortune to encounter on the high seas. But he was strong, very strong…"
Dragon's eyes narrowed into fierce slits.
"You've got his eyes," Redfield said softly, his voice dripping with disdain. "That same stubborn, infuriating glare. But you're missing his uniform." A cruel smile spread across his face. "I heard the stories long ago. The legendary Marine's golden son. A prodigy in the ranks. Disciplined. Powerful. Destined for the highest admiral's chair."
His crimson gaze sliced through the swirling fog. "And then…. You turned your back on the Marines. Abandoned the world order that raised you. Became a fugitive. A rebel."
The wind around Dragon roared, howling like a beast in chains. "I didn't betray the people I vowed to protect," Dragon growled. "I turned against the parasites who exploit them."
"A distinction the World Government seldom acknowledges," Redfield mused.
"I couldn't care less what the Government thinks."
Redfield let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "No… you really are Garp's blood."
Dragon lowered his center of gravity, the air around his boots crackling with unseen energy. "I have my issues with the Navy. But when it comes to monsters like you…" His fists tightened, knuckles turning white. "…I make exceptions."
Redfield's smile vanished. "Am I truly vile?"
Dragon's gaze flicked to the bleeding bodies of Gibbs and Red. "A man who slaughters the defenseless? Absolutely."
Redfield lowered his umbrella, aiming the steel tip straight at Dragon's chest. "Then come, son of Garp."
BOOM!
The ground beneath Dragon erupted. He disappeared from view.
Redfield's umbrella shot up to block—and Dragon's Haki-infused fist crashed into the steel ribbing!
A shockwave of raw power surged outward, flattening the surrounding brush and obliterating the remaining mist. For a brief moment, the two men stood frozen, locked in a battle of sheer strength.
Redfield's eyes widened just a bit as jet-black Armament Haki spread across Dragon's knuckles, sending black lightning crackling from the point of impact.
With a grunt, Redfield pushed forward, the force of his attack driving Dragon backward. Dragon's boots carved two deep, smoking trenches into the earth. But before Redfield could make his next move, Dragon spread his fingers wide and swept his arm in a fierce arc.
"Gale Palm!"
The forest howled in response. Compressed, violent spirals of wind erupted from Dragon's palm, crashing directly into Redfield's chest.
Redfield crossed his umbrella in a defensive stance, but the sheer force sent him hurtling backward, crashing through three massive ancient oaks and splintering their trunks into pieces!
Dragon showed no mercy. Moving in sync with the gale he had unleashed, he appeared directly above the falling trees, his heel descending in a devastating axe-kick!
Redfield twisted gracefully in midair. Dragon's heel struck the ground where Redfield had just been, causing the entire clearing to implode and send dirt and shattered stone flying into the air.
From the rising dust, Redfield swept his umbrella in a horizontal arc. A compressed blade of red wind shot toward Dragon's throat.
Dragon crossed his forearms, instantly summoning a swirling vortex of wind around him. The red slash collided with the rotating current, splitting into two and slicing down a dozen trees on either side of the clearing.
Redfield landed lightly on a mossy boulder, his crimson coat billowing around him. "So the rumors were true. You command the weather itself."
Dragon didn't respond. Instead, he lunged again, bringing the full fury of the storm along with him.
Fist met umbrella. Heel met steel. Black lightning rained down on the clearing as they exchanged blows at a blinding speed.
BANG! BANG! CRACK!
Gibbs, barely hanging on to consciousness, felt the crushing weight of their Haki pressing down on his shattered chest. He weakly reached out toward Red, but his body refused to respond.
Dragon unleashed a fierce left hook, but Redfield was quick to parry it. Without missing a beat, Dragon spun around, aiming a powerful heel kick at Redfield's ribs—but Redfield caught the kick right in his bare palm!
Dragon's eyes narrowed, and with a sudden burst, he expelled a violent gust of wind that forced Redfield to let go. In that fleeting moment of freedom, Dragon twisted midair and slammed a heavy elbow down onto Redfield's shoulder, driving the old pirate's boots deep into the dirt.
For the first time, a flicker of genuine interest crossed Redfield's usually cold expression. "You've got some strength, boy."
Dragon retaliated with another punch, but Redfield caught it with his free hand, effectively trapping him.
"But…" Redfield's red eyes turned icy. "…you're not your father."
Before Dragon could respond, the blunt pommel of Redfield's umbrella slammed into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him in a bloody gasp. Redfield followed up with a brutal shoulder check, sending Dragon flying backward through the air.
Dragon flipped mid-flight, using a surge of pressurized wind to slow his descent, landing against a sturdy tree trunk. But before he could even plant his feet on the bark—Redfield was already there.
Observation Haki!
Dragon's instincts screamed at him. He jerked his head back just in time, feeling the sharp tip of the umbrella graze his cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood. In retaliation, Dragon seized Redfield's wrist and launched a Haki-infused punch toward his face. Redfield raised his forearm, absorbing the blow with a dull THUD.
They both pushed off each other, creating some space between them.
Blood trickled down Dragon's jawline.
Redfield looked almost let down. "Garp would've taken that hit just to land one back."
Dragon wiped the blood from his hand. "I'm not Garp."
"No," Redfield replied, his voice dropping an octave as a menacing aura began to seep from his skin. "You're not."