In the distance, amid shattered masonry and drifting smoke, Capone Bege stood with a cigar clenched between his teeth.
He directed his remaining men as they withdrew the wounded, but his sharp eyes never left the battlefield.
His unease deepened.
A Vice Admiral… can't suppress Ghost Hand Rowan?
The Marines of West Blue had arrived in force, led personally by Vice Admiral Bastille. Two warships were positioned offshore. Dozens of officers Captains, Commanders, and Colonels had formed a tightening perimeter.
And yet the tide of battle was not turning in their favor.
It was collapsing.
Gunfire erupted.
Bang! Bang!
Marine snipers hidden among the ruins fired in coordinated succession, their bullets aimed precisely at Rowan's vital points.
But the instant the rounds entered the invisible field surrounding him
They twisted.
Not ricocheted. Not deflected.
Twisted.
The air itself seemed to distort around Rowan's body. The bullets curved unnaturally and spiraled away from him.
The West Blue branch could not afford Seastone ammunition in bulk; such resources were rare even in the Grand Line. These were standard-issue rounds.
And against Rowan, they were meaningless.
"Agh--!"
"Damn it!"
The warped bullets tore into two advancing Marine Lieutenant Commanders instead, punching through flesh and dropping them to the ground in sprays of blood.
"Cease fire!" Bastille roared. "Bullets are ineffective against him!"
His voice carried across the battlefield, iron mask gleaming amid the chaos.
But Rowan had already moved.
Surrounded by more than ten officers of Commander rank and above, he did not hesitate. He did not retreat.
He advanced.
A single punch collided with three regulation Marine sabers.
Crack.
The steel twisted inward as though crushed by invisible hands, collapsing into a compact, mangled sphere. Before the shattered fragments hit the ground, two Lieutenant Commanders were sent flying, their bodies folding unnaturally as they crashed through broken stone walls.
Rowan blurred across the battlefield.
Though several officers employed Soru, their speed was vastly inferior. They could follow his afterimage barely but they could not intercept him.
Majors and Lieutenant Commanders fell one after another, bones snapping under the force of distorted impact. Weapons became useless scrap the instant they touched him.
A Colonel lunged with a Haki-coated blade immature, poorly trained Busoshoku.
Rowan's hand brushed the edge.
The blade twisted.
The Colonel's forearm spiraled grotesquely before he collapsed with a strangled cry.
"Damn it!" Bastille cursed.
Had he not continued pressing Rowan with the remaining length of his ruined Shark-Slayer sword, the encirclement would have disintegrated entirely.
Numbers meant nothing here.
Rowan's Devil Fruit an advanced Paramecia capable of distorting whatever his body directly touched was a nightmare in close quarters. It had no long-range projection, no environmental devastation like the Tremor-Tremor Fruit, but within arm's reach it was lethally absolute.
Without Seastone weaponry or Armament Haki of sufficient strength to resist deformation, contact meant mutilation.
A firm strike meant death.
Blood and fractured bone stained the battlefield.
And through it all, Rowan's expression never shifted.
Calm.
Unmoved.
Untroubled by gore.
The Colonels felt it then not merely fear of death, but fear of the man before them.
A roaring madman could be countered.
A screaming brute could be anticipated.
But a silent predator who killed without emotional fluctuation
That was something else entirely.
Not far away, Bege's instincts screamed.
"This has gone too far…" he muttered.
He had allied himself temporarily with chaos but not with annihilation.
"Withdraw," he ordered quietly. "Now."
His remaining men began pulling back through side streets.
On the main battlefield
Crack!
After several more exchanges, Rowan finally seized the battered Shark-Slayer sword with both hands.
The remaining steel twisted violently, compacting into warped scrap.
Vice Admiral Bastille was disarmed.
In that instant, the balance shattered.
Rowan stepped forward.
The remaining Colonels lunged desperately.
They died within seconds.
The courtyard fell silent except for labored breathing and the crackle of distant fires.
"Open fire!" someone screamed in panic.
Another volley of bullets filled the air.
Every round curved away from Rowan as though repelled by unseen gravity.
He closed the distance in a single burst of Soru.
His right fist drove forward.
"Tekkai!"
Bastille hardened his body using the Rokushiki Iron Body technique. Muscles tightened like forged steel.
The impact landed.
For a fraction of a second, the two forces clashed raw physical fortitude against distortion.
Then
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Bastille's reinforced frame warped under the invasive force. Even through Tekkai, bones twisted out of alignment.
The Vice Admiral staggered.
Rowan stepped forward and drove him to the ground.
Boot against chest.
Pinned.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Behind iron bars of the ox-mask, Bastille's breathing grew ragged.
"I wonder," Rowan said quietly, "how Marine Headquarters will respond."
No malice.
No anger.
Only statement.
His foot pressed down.
There was no theatrical explosion no exaggeration.
Just the brutal, irreversible sound of a body giving way.
Silence followed.
Across the ruined courtyard, Marines froze.
Some dropped their weapons.
Some stood paralyzed.
The sight of a Vice Admiral an officer of such rank defeated so decisively shattered something fundamental within them.
Rowan lifted his foot.
Not a single drop of blood had touched him.
His clothing was torn, but unstained distortion had redirected even the spray.
He turned.
His gaze shifted toward the direction Bege had fled.
"This isn't finished."
Soru.
He vanished.
Within minutes, after crossing multiple streets and rooftops, Rowan landed lightly before the retreating mafia convoy.
Bege's face paled.
Cigar trembling between his teeth.
Rowan regarded him calmly.
"Game over."
Two Days Later
The newspapers of West Blue exploded with headlines.
"Ghost Hand Rowan Slaughters Vice Admiral Bastille in Smanel Kingdom!""Marine Branch T4 Decimated Senior Officers Killed in Action!""Marine Headquarters to Dispatch Reinforcements from the Grand Line!"
The World Economy News spread like wildfire across ports and taverns.
The underworld whispered.
Civilians panicked.
The Marines mobilized.
Rowan's bounty was raised to 64,000,000 Berries, surpassing every active pirate operating in West Blue.
For the first time in recent history, a pirate from this sea had slain a Vice Admiral in open combat.
Across West Blue
Fear spread.
And in Marine Headquarters, within the Grand Line, preparations began.
Ghost Hand Rowan was no longer a regional threat.
He had declared himself an enemy of the World Government.
And the sea would answer.