Chapter 702

"You bastard—!" The pirate captain never finished the curse. A silver flash cut through the storm-dark air. For a single heartbeat, silence swallowed the battlefield. Then, a thin crimson line appeared across the captain’s throat. His eyes widened.

Blood erupted from his neck in a violent spray as his severed head spun through the air, the expression of rage still frozen upon his face before it crashed wetly against the deck. The world seemed to pause. Even the roaring sea beneath the fleet fell deathly quiet.

Standing at the bow of the shattered warship was a lone swordsman. Tall. Golden-blonde-haired. A single blade rested loosely in his hand, its edge gleaming beneath flashes of lightning splitting the heavens overhead. His expression remained utterly calm. As though slaughtering an entire pirate fleet was no more troublesome than cutting grass.

Then the screaming began.

"Kill him!"

"FIRE!"

"DON’T LET HIM BOARD—! "

Cannons roared across the sea. Explosions erupted around the lone swordsman as iron shells tore through the storm, setting entire sections of ships ablaze. And yet he vanished.

BOOM!

The deck beneath a pirate gunner exploded apart as the swordsman appeared in their midst like a phantom. His blade moved once. Only once. A crescent slash tore across the deck. Bodies split apart instantly. Men, rifles, steel, and timber were severed together in a single horrifying line before the ship itself groaned violently down the middle.

The pirate vessel split clean in half. Seawater rushed upward as both sides of the ship collapsed into the abyss. The swordsman stepped across falling debris effortlessly, his boots touching broken planks for only moments before launching himself again.

Like a hawk descending upon prey. Another ship. Another flash. Another massacre. Pirates died before their minds even comprehended what was happening. Some lost limbs. Others collapsed in half. A few simply exploded into clouds of blood as invisible sword pressure ripped through armor, flesh, and bone alike.

"H-he’s a monster!"

"WHERE IS HE?!"

A massive pirate wielding a greataxe imbued with armament haki roared and swung wildly. SHING! The axe slid apart. Then his torso followed. The upper half of the giant who stood close to five meters tall slowly slid from his waist before crashing against the deck in a torrent of steaming blood. The swordsman never even looked at him.

Lightning illuminated the battlefield again. Entire ships were burning now. One vessel suddenly rose from the sea itself—then collapsed. A diagonal slash had carved through its hull from bottom to mast. Hundreds of pirates plunged screaming into the black ocean as the ship folded inward like paper. The surviving crews panicked.

"RETREAT!"

"RETREAT—!"

But it was too late. The swordsman finally raised his blade properly for the first time. The air changed. The sea trembled. Even the storm clouds above seemed to split apart from the sheer pressure radiating from him. Every pirate froze instinctively. Fear. Pure primal fear.

As though standing before something no longer human. The swordsman exhaled slowly. Then swung. The ocean screamed. A colossal blade of compressed force erupted across the sea, tearing the waters apart. Waves split in half as the attack surged forward like divine judgment.

One ship. Three ships. Seven ships. An entire line of pirate vessels vanished instantly. Masts exploded skyward. Hulls disintegrated. Men were erased before they could even scream. For miles across the ocean, the sea itself remained divided, exposing the abyss beneath before the waters finally crashed back together with catastrophic force.

Silence followed. Burning wreckage floated across crimson waters. Bodies drifted lifelessly between the shattered remains of what moments ago had been a mighty pirate fleet.

As the shattered remains of the fleet burned across the sea, only a single ship still floated upon the crimson-stained waters. Even that survival was an illusion. The mast of the enormous galleon had been severed clean through, the upper half collapsing into the ocean with a thunderous crash, dragging torn sails and screaming men beneath the waves.

Fire crawled greedily across the deck while the ship drifted helplessly amidst the graveyard of its fallen companions. Rosinante descended silently from the smoke-filled sky. His boots touched the blood-slick deck without a sound. For a moment, nobody moved.

The survivors simply stared. Some had dropped their weapons long ago. Others sat against shattered railings with hollow eyes, minds broken beyond repair. A few still trembled uncontrollably, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed. An entire pirate fleet... Destroyed by one man.

"He is a demon..." one pirate muttered from beside the collapsed mast, his body trembling violently. "He’s a demon...!"

The man clutched a cross-shaped pendant so tightly his fingers bled. Tears streamed down his soot-covered face as his lips repeated the same words over and over like a prayer. Fear had stripped him bare.

Only an hour ago these men had laughed while speaking of the riches awaiting them in the New World. They had swaggered across their decks boasting about the bounties they would claim and the islands they would conquer. Now they looked like children abandoned in hell.

"Curse you...!" another pirate suddenly screamed. The man staggered toward the corpse of his captain lying split in half near the helm. Rage and terror twisted his face as he kicked the body repeatedly.

"CURSE YOU, YOU LYING BASTARD...!" he roared hysterically. "You said we were ready for the New World! LOOK AROUND YOU!"

His voice cracked. "Look at them... look at all of them..." Beyond the burning railings floated corpses by the hundreds. Ships that had once inspired fear across Paradise now burned like funeral pyres beneath the darkening sky. The ocean itself seemed dyed red.

Back on the first half of the Grand Line, they had laughed at the stories. Monsters that could split the sea. Men capable of destroying fleets alone. Swordsmen whose haki could crush armies before blades even crossed. They thought those were exaggerated tales made to frighten rookies.

Now reality stood before them. Rosinante slowly walked across the ruined deck. Each step echoed like the toll of a funeral bell. His long black coat fluttered amidst embers drifting through the air. The sword in his hand still dripped blood into the grooves of the wood beneath him.

No triumph rested on his face. No arrogance. Only cold indifference. That terrified them more than anything. One pirate suddenly snapped.

"Aaaaghhh!" With a crazed scream, he lunged forward, swinging a jagged axe toward Rosinante’s neck. The blade never reached him. A black flash split the air. For a single moment the pirate remained standing. Then his body slid apart diagonally. Blood exploded across the deck.

Rosinante didn’t even pause. The pirate behind him collapsed into two halves with a wet thud. The remaining survivors recoiled in horror. Some vomited. Others crawled backward desperately, palms slipping in blood.

"He didn’t even draw properly..." one whispered in disbelief. Another sailor stared blankly at the ocean.

"So this... this is the New World..." Rosinante finally stopped near the edge of the deck, gazing toward the burning horizon where wreckage continued to sink beneath the waves.

Behind him, the pirates looked less like enemies and more like survivors of a natural disaster. One man gathered enough courage to speak.

"W-Why...?" he croaked weakly. "Why kill all of us...?"

Rosinante turned slightly. His icy gaze alone made several men freeze. "You crossed into waters," he said quietly, "where weakness is a sin."

"More importantly..." Rosinante’s voice cut through the crackling flames and distant screams of drowning men, calm and terrifyingly composed, "I’m curious why a pack of rookies with no connection whatsoever to the Bloodsteel Pirates are sailing beneath their jolly roger."

The survivors stiffened. Rosinante slowly turned toward the pirate who had dared question him earlier. The man nearly choked on his own breath the instant those cold eyes settled upon him. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to run. But there was nowhere left to run. Behind him was a burning ship.

Ahead of him stood death itself. Rosinante stepped forward once. The pirate instinctively stumbled backward, slipping on blood and collapsing onto the deck with a terrified gasp. Around them, the wreckage of the destroyed fleet continued sinking beneath the dark waters, the fires illuminating Rosinante’s silhouette like some demon born from the abyss itself.

"You sailed into waters that belong to monsters," Rosinante continued quietly, his blade resting loosely at his side. "Yet instead of lowering your heads and surviving quietly, you chose to raise another emperor’s banner."

His gaze shifted toward the torn black flag still fluttering weakly from the ruined mast. The emblem of the Bloodsteel Pirates. Even half-burned, the sight of that flag carried an oppressive weight.

"You knew exactly whose territory this was," Rosinante said. "Which means either you are fools... or someone convinced you that provoking a conflict between monsters would benefit you."

The pirate’s face paled further. Rosinante noticed immediately. And that alone was answer enough. A faint smile touched Rosinante’s lips. Not amusement. Something colder.

"So that was the plan..." The air itself seemed to grow heavier. "A coalition of insignificant crews hoping to spark a war between powers beyond their comprehension." His voice carried neither anger nor mockery anymore. That terrified them most. "You thought if two emperors clashed, you could sweep in afterward like scavengers and pick apart the remains."

The pirate swallowed hard. His trembling hands gripped the deck beneath him desperately. "We... we..." He couldn’t even form a lie. Because those eyes in front of him felt as though they could see through flesh itself and peer directly into his thoughts.

Rosinante crouched slowly before him. The movement alone caused several pirates nearby to flinch violently. "Tell me," Rosinante asked softly, "which genius fed you this idea?"

The pirate opened his mouth—but no words came. Fear had crushed his throat shut. Rosinante sighed faintly and stood back up.

"Pathetic." The single word struck harder than any blade. "You rookies truly believe the New World operates on schemes and ambitions alone." He looked toward the burning horizon where the remains of the fleet sank, one by one. "Out here, schemes mean nothing before overwhelming strength."

A massive wave crashed against the dying galleon, making the entire ship groan violently. The survivors trembled. Rosinante’s coat fluttered amidst the storm of sparks drifting through the air as he continued speaking.

"You wanted to create a rift between the two sides..." he murmured. "And then what? Did you think monsters would weaken each other for your convenience?"

His haki leaked out subtly. Not enough to knock them unconscious. Just enough. The surviving pirates immediately felt their chests tighten as though invisible hands had wrapped around their throats. Some collapsed to their knees instantly. Others gasped for air. One man began crying outright. Rosinante looked down at them like a disappointed predator observing insects.

"You should have stayed in Paradise," he said. "At least there your delusions might have kept you alive a little longer." The pirate before him finally broke completely.

"We were desperate!" he screamed suddenly. "You monsters control everything in the New World! Territories! Trade routes! Ports! There’s nothing left for crews like us unless we gamble everything!"

Rosinante listened silently. Then—"Sigh...even now you don’t want to admit the truth now, do you...?" The pirate froze. Rosinante’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"You’re not really a pirate at all... are you?" The words cut through the crackling inferno surrounding the dying galleon. Rosinante stood motionless near the edge of the deck, the burning sea reflecting in his cold eyes while smoke drifted around him like dark phantoms. Behind him, the surviving pirates stiffened in confusion, but the man kneeling before him froze completely.

For the first time since the slaughter began...true fear appeared on his face. Rosinante slowly turned. Maybe the others aboard this fleet had truly been fools drunk on ambition and greed, but this one was different. The moment Rosinante’s kenbunshoku haki brushed against the man’s emotions earlier, the truth had become painfully obvious.

Discipline. Training. Suppressed fear. Calculated thoughts hidden beneath panic. This was no ordinary pirate. Rosinante could practically hear the gears turning inside the man’s mind. A government dog pretending to be a wolf.

"Maybe the others are pirates," Rosinante continued quietly, each word making the disguised agent’s breathing grow heavier, "but you..." A faint smile touched his lips. "You’re simply using these fools to carry out your mission." The surrounding pirates stared at the kneeling man in disbelief.

"What...?"

"H-He’s a world government agent?!"

"No... no, that’s impossible..."

But the accused man remained silent. Because denial was meaningless. Not before someone whose observation haki could peer straight through intent itself. Rosinante stepped closer. The deck creaked beneath his boots.

"The World Government truly has grown desperate," he murmured. "Sending Cipher Pol agents into the New World to provoke wars between emperors..." The agent’s pupils contracted sharply. That reaction alone confirmed everything.

Rosinante chuckled softly. "Heh..." The sound carried no amusement. Only disappointment. "So the government has finally realized brute force alone cannot reclaim the New World anymore." His gaze drifted toward the burning remains of the fleet surrounding them. "You stir conflict from the shadows, weaken pirate forces against one another, then sweep in afterward pretending to restore order."

The surviving pirates looked at the disguised agent with growing horror and rage. Many of them had lost brothers and crewmates following this mission. Some had abandoned everything chasing promises of riches and influence. And all of it... Had merely been part of a government scheme.

"You bastard...!" one pirate snarled through bloodied teeth. "You used us?!"

The agent laughed, ignoring the other pirates around him. Not nervously. Not desperately. But with the fanatical certainty of a man who had long ago surrendered his mind to something greater than himself.

"Ha... ha... hahahaha...!" Blood dripped from his lips as he knelt amidst the burning wreckage, his body trembling beneath the oppressive weight of Rosinante’s haki, yet still he laughed. The surviving pirates stared at him as though he had finally gone insane.

Perhaps he had. Or perhaps this was what years of indoctrination by Cipher Pol truly created. Men who believed absolutely in the inevitability of the World Government’s victory.

"You..." the agent wheezed through laughter, "Rosinante... do you really think stopping me changes anything?" Rosinante walked toward him slowly. The burning remains of the fleet illuminated his silhouette in crimson light while waves crashed violently against the dying galleon beneath them.

"You think killing one agent changes what’s coming...?" the Cipher Pol operative continued, his grin widening despite the blood pouring from his mouth. "The New World is already rotting from within..." Rosinante stopped before him. Silent. Watching. The agent’s breathing grew ragged, but his eyes gleamed with twisted conviction.

"So what if I failed this time?" he muttered. "Eventually one of us will succeed..." His laugh turned uglier. "All we need... is a spark." Rosinante’s eyes narrowed faintly. The agent leaned forward slightly despite the danger.

"As long as one among you takes the first swing at another..." he whispered almost reverently, "the inevitable will follow." He coughed violently, blood splattering across the deck. "The balance is already breaking... your precious New World peace is a lie..." A cold wind swept across the burning ship. The agent grinned wider.

"Sooner or later those monsters will tear each other apart—" Rosinante moved.

CRACK.

His hand shot forward so fast the survivors barely saw it. Fingers like iron clamped around the agent’s jaw. The laughter stopped instantly. The Cipher Pol operative’s eyes widened in shock as Rosinante lifted him slightly off the deck with one hand. Then pressure descended. Bone groaned.

The agent’s muffled scream echoed wetly through Rosinante’s grip as his jaw began collapsing inward beneath monstrous strength.

CRUNCH.

Teeth shattered. Blood exploded from the corners of the man’s mouth. Rosinante’s expression never changed. Because the worst part—the part that truly disgusted him—was that the agent wasn’t entirely wrong. The emperors of the New World did not avoid one another because of fear.

The world misunderstood that completely. Men like Whitebeard. Kaido. Scarlett. None of them feared war. No—the reason the balance had survived this long was because every emperor understood one brutal truth: the moment they exhausted themselves fighting each other... The World Government would descend like vultures.

For years that understanding alone had restrained total chaos. But now? Now the World Government’s influence in the New World was nearly nonexistent. Their fleets no longer prowled these waters freely. Their authority no longer inspired fear. And monsters... Monsters only tolerated one another while necessary. Rosinante’s grip tightened further.

CRACK.

The agent convulsed violently. Because men like Kaido would never stop chasing absolute domination. And Scarlett—Rosinante’s eyes darkened slightly. Scarlett was even worse. A woman whose ambition burned hot enough to swallow the world itself. Eventually those titans would collide. Not because Cipher Pol manipulated them. Not because of schemes.

But because the New World itself only had room for one true sovereign. The agent gagged helplessly, blood pouring down Rosinante’s wrist now. Still, even dying, madness remained in his eyes. As though he believed his words had already planted themselves into fate.

Rosinante stared at him coldly. "You people still don’t understand," he said quietly. The agent twitched weakly. Rosinante’s voice turned colder than the sea itself.

"The ones who will destroy this era..." A wave crashed violently against the dying ship. "...are not hiding in shadows."

Then—CRUNCH. Rosinante’s fingers closed completely. The agent’s skull caved inward with a sickening sound as bone fragments and blood burst between Rosinante’s fingers. The body spasmed once before going limp entirely. Silence followed. Only the crackling fires remained. Rosinante released the corpse carelessly, letting it collapse onto the ruined deck like discarded garbage.

The surviving pirates recoiled in horror. Not merely because of the brutality. But because they had realized something terrifying. The Cipher Pol agent had spoken of monsters. Yet the man standing before them now—calmly wiping blood from his hand while surrounded by the ruins of an entire fleet—was undoubtedly one of them.

"Piri... piri... piri..." The sharp ringing of the transponder snail echoed across the ruined battlefield just as the final pirate corpse collapsed onto the shattered deck with a dull, wet thud.

Silence followed. The sea around the destroyed fleet burned like a floating graveyard, flames reflecting across the dark waters while wreckage drifted endlessly beneath the night sky. Bodies floated between shattered planks and torn sails, staining the ocean crimson.

Rosinante stood alone amidst the carnage. Blood slowly dripped from Shusui’s blackened edge.

With a calm motion, he flicked the blood from the blade before sliding it back into its scabbard. Click. The sound was soft.

Yet amidst the devastation around him, it felt deafening. Only then did Rosinante reach into his coat and retrieve the ringing transponder snail. The tiny creature mimicked his cold expression strangely as the line connected.

"Young Master..." Se?or’s voice echoed from the other side, steady as always despite the gravity beneath his tone. "That should be the last of the intruders within our territory."

Rosinante gazed silently across the burning horizon. The New World had grown restless lately. Too restless. And men did not suddenly become bold enough to trespass emperor waters without reason. A brief silence lingered over the line. Rosinante immediately understood.

"There’s more," he said quietly.

"Yes." Se?or’s tone hardened faintly. "Your suspicions were correct." The crackling of flames filled the silence between them. "It wasn’t just us," Se?or continued. "Several rookie fleets have infiltrated the territories of the other Yonko as well... all flying stolen jolly rogers belonging to rival emperors."

Rosinante’s eyes narrowed. Exactly as he thought. Someone was deliberately trying to ignite chaos across the New World. A dangerous game. And one that could drown entire seas in blood if even a single emperor lost patience. "It seems," Se?or said grimly, "we should prepare for a clash sooner rather than later."

Rosinante remained silent for several moments. Far above him thunder rumbled faintly across the heavens while the ruined galleon beneath his feet groaned as fire continued devouring its remains. The balance was beginning to crack. And once the first blow was struck... The New World would erupt.

Then Se?or spoke again. "And Young Master... Master Doffy asked me to relay another message."

Rosinante finally shifted his gaze away from the sea. "Speak."

"King Neptune is currently on his way to Dressrosa."

Rosinante frowned faintly. "I’m sure Doffy can handle King Neptune himself," he replied calmly. "I’m still searching for traces of Zunesha." For more than a month now, Rosinante had personally combed through isolated routes and forgotten waters, chasing even the faintest rumors regarding the ancient elephant. The creature’s disappearance concerned him far more than most realized.

But before he could dismiss the summons entirely, Se?or added quietly, "Whitebeard himself is escorting King Neptune." The atmosphere changed instantly. Even the sea breeze seemed to be still. Rosinante’s expression turned slightly surprised.

Whitebeard. Not merely one of the Four Emperors. But the man acknowledged by the world as the strongest pirate alive. A man whose mere movement across the seas forced governments and emperors alike to pay attention. If Edward Newgate personally escorted Neptune to Dressrosa...then this was no ordinary visit.

Rosinante exhaled slowly. "...I see." No further explanation was needed. If Whitebeard was stepping directly into Dressrosa’s waters personally, then Rosinante’s absence would itself send the wrong message to every power watching from the shadows. The New World was already unstable enough.

"Alright," Rosinante finally said. His voice remained calm, but the surviving pirates nearby felt their spines freeze hearing it. "Inform Doffy I’ll return immediately."

"Understood, Young Master." The line disconnected. Rosinante slowly lowered the transponder snail. For a brief moment he simply stood there amidst the burning remains of the fleet, coat swaying lightly in the night wind while embers drifted around him like falling stars.

Then—BOOOOM.

The dying galleon beneath him finally gave out as flames reached the lower powder reserves. The entire ship erupted violently. Fire swallowed the deck whole. But before the explosion could consume him, Rosinante vanished from sight entirely, launching into the dark sky above the burning sea, while behind him, the last remnants of the intruding fleet disappeared beneath the abyss.