A Gentleman Uses His Mouth, Not His Hands

There was no time to shout a warning, let alone offer a critique.

Conrad moved like lightning breaking through storm clouds, his actions outpacing the processing speed of everyone in the opera house, tearing through established social protocols like scrap paper in an instant.

The Royal Guard could not react to the suddenness of it, instinctively pulling their triggers.

The moment the bullets sprayed out, the lively, civilized society of lights transformed into a savage wasteland, leaving only violence behind.

The noblewomen who had been composed and chatting away a second ago were now screaming and fleeing in terror.

The bullets missed their mark, for Conrad had already used Geppo to leap into the air, his back against the pitch-black, cloud-strewn night, facing the neon lights.

He needed a coat of justice, or perhaps a trench coat.

His eyes captured nearly every face that had fired upon him in that single instant.

And so, he was enraged—furious.

"Audacious! How dare you attack This Seat! You forced my hand! You criminals forced me to do this!!"

As soon as his feet touched the air, he propelled himself down to the ground.

Within 0.36 seconds, stepping eighteen times, Conrad unleashed the Six Powers technique: "Soru."

Leaving only a blue-and-white afterimage behind, Conrad's figure suddenly appeared at the far right of the line of musketeers, his bright, reflective black eyes wide open.

He drew his long spear back, poised for a thrust.

"Stop! Conrad!" Shuzo shouted, "You will damage the prestige of the World Government and trigger a diplomatic..."

The musketeers turned their heads in a panic, trying to shift their aim.

But what they saw was a killer whale—a black-and-white orca swimming through the night air of the island.

By the time the spear pierced through their skulls, stringing them together like candied hailstones, the final image in their vision was Conrad's dark face, the fury of a powerhouse who had cast aside all mercy.

Oga once said that people often fear great white sharks because they are vicious man-eaters, yet they lack sufficient respect for the strongest of them all: the orca, which feeds on great white sharks.

There is only one reason for this: humans are not on their menu.

So, if one is to act, one must act like a killer whale! Thus, his nickname was the Killer Whale.

Conrad pulled out his spear, toppling a row of corpses that bowed in death, their bodies run through.

Red and white fluids flowed in great torrents, the murky liquids of death mingling and sinking into the earth as organic matter.

The screaming had become unimaginably shrill, the wide street turning into a forest for fleeing beasts, yet the singing and dancing continued inside the opera house.

The captain of the guard was a man who had seen blood before, so his legs did not give way; he raised his sword and retreated, kicking a musketeer who had been stunned into a daze by the spear tip hovering near his temple.

"Retreat! Retreat! Once the news spreads tomorrow, I'll see how you..."

"It won't spread!" Conrad planted his spear into the ground with a crisp thud and inhaled, filling his chest.

Haki steamed off his skin, his black hair fluttering as he opened his mouth, unleashing a soul-shaking roar from his chest and throat—the Overlord Lion Roar.

"YEAH~!!"

Crimson Haki surged and expanded like a halo along with the sound waves, catching up to the fleeing audience, the noblewomen and gentlemen, stripping them of their consciousness until they collapsed in rows with a series of thuds.

The Lion Roar was the martial art Conrad practiced most and was most familiar with, aside from his Whale-Slaying Tyrant Fist.

After all, later generations emphasized that a gentleman should use his words rather than his fists, meaning if one couldn't fight, one had to roar; and roaring required volume and presence.

The Lion Roar deservedly topped the list; if practiced to the depths, one could even spit out blades of wind and turn sound waves into physical force, turning them into a great slaughter.

Conrad ceased his roar; the guard captain's eyes rolled back, blood trickled from his ears, and he collapsed, limp and powerless.

This roar had consumed quite a bit of Haki; Conrad turned back to look at the marines clutching their ears and shouldered his spear, "Arrange some men to guard both ends of the street."

No one moved; they were still clutching their ears tightly, their hearing clearly not yet recovered.

Conrad waited a moment, adjusting his breath, and turned toward the opera house, discovering that the singing and dancing were still going on as if nothing had happened, completely undisturbed.

The stage of the opera house was a deep red, the auditorium lights dimmed, layered in shadows.

In the light where dust motes danced on stage, a graceful beauty with short blonde hair sang a sorrowful yet powerful song as she moved and danced.

In the first-row box, three people sat.

In the center was a middle-aged man in luxurious clothing, his beard and hair connected and neatly trimmed; he was the King of Ilusia—Shunda Lucas.

The King held a cigar in his hand and looked at the young man in the black suit beside him, "You want the woman your father played with?"

"Haha~ Father plays, then the son plays; that's the rule of our Marlon Family." The young man laughed, very relaxed; a bit of off-color humor was good for easing the atmosphere.

He was Tony, the son of the Marlon Family boss. Not long ago, after Cindry's performance ended, he had tried to take her away, only to be blocked by Colonel Jess, who had come to pick her up from work.

"I prefer virgins; they're clean." The King laughed along, his mouth splitting open, cigar smoke lingering in his beard, unable to dissipate, "More importantly, royal blood is noble and must not flow out."

Tony nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on the beauty performing on stage, "I was already craving her two years ago when my father was still seeing her. I waited for so long, but I didn't pay attention for a few months, and suddenly she had a fiancé and was intercepted by that Marine Colonel."

"I heard her fiancé died?" The King looked at Tony, "It couldn't be..."

"No, it has nothing to do with me, and I have no idea which pirate did such a good deed."

Tony leaned forward, peering past the King to look at the man on the far right of the front row, and said with a smile, "Our Demon Sheriff Laffitte, do you happen to know?"

Laffitte was still wearing his police uniform, but he had removed his hat; he had even applied bright red lipstick, perhaps to add a touch of color to his pale face.

He smiled faintly. "I don't know, but to offend the young master of the Marlon Family in the West Blue—he deserved to die."

Tony laughed happily. His father had originally warned him never to clash with the Navy over a woman, but since the man had died so suddenly, it was a stroke of luck.

Gazing at the dazzling starlet on stage, he could hardly wait to start thinking about dinner after the performance.

The King suddenly took out his cigar and said, "Sigh, the palace garden is still too small. It was full after planting only a few trees. You know, Tony, I am a man who truly loves raising plants and animals."

Tony understood the implication perfectly; he removed his hat and bowed. "Leave it to our Marlon Family, Your Majesty. The earnings from the Ilusia Casino this quarter have been quite good, and we are very grateful for your support."

The King nodded in satisfaction.

Tony added, "Also, the sixteen-year-old new consort, selected according to your standards, has already been sent to the palace, awaiting your favor."

The King laughed heartily and patted Tony firmly on the shoulder.

Laffitte watched the two of them and smiled as well—a smile that was exceptionally eerie. He stood up, his height of 3.4 meters so conspicuous in the opera house, yet the people around him acted as if they hadn't seen him at all.

Even the people behind him, whose views were blocked, continued to stare forward as if they were still watching the performance.

"Excuse me, I need to visit the restroom."

The King nodded; the man was the Demon Sheriff, his primary instrument of violence for suppressing the commoners.

Laffitte walked into the side passage of the stage and stopped at the stairwell.

From the shadows stepped a man in a black-and-white striped suit, his round, stout figure resembling a penguin, his mouth covered in stubble.

Laffitte bared his teeth in a wide, sinister grin. "Bege, my hypnosis is finished. It is time for your assassin's work."

"Heh heh~ Mm."

The man was none other than the head of the Capone Family, the newly risen power among the Five Families who had ascended to the top by murdering his predecessor—Capone Bege!