Wisdom plus Celestial Phenomena plus Jianghu Experience

Ain always felt that Conrad's way of speaking was cryptic, though he did provide explanations of a sort; it was just that she couldn't quite grasp them.

She was always a slow thinker and rarely made decisions on the spot. She would silently commit words to memory, return to her quarters to ponder them alone, and only after she had formulated her own response—and anticipated how to counter the other party's reply—would she choose to engage in conversation.

If she couldn't think of a response, she simply wouldn't reply.

Only a very few things were pre-determined, triggering immediate action if violated; for instance, the duty of the Navy was to capture pirates and protect civilians, and friends should help and support one another.

As for the concept of Justice, that was too grand a proposition. She had never given it much thought, nor did she consider herself someone capable of articulating it clearly; she would simply choose a version of Justice she recognized and follow it.

At this moment, Conrad's laughter ceased abruptly. Leaning on his rifle, he gazed toward the Opera House. His intellect, combined with his knowledge of celestial phenomena and his experience wandering the world, told him one thing.

Something was wrong.

The Royal Guard had blocked their entry, and then the assassin had launched a sudden attack. Clearly, the two were not on the same side; otherwise, it would have been far more advantageous to let them enter the Opera House before ambushing them.

It was as if some vermin were pulling the strings, trying to incite a conflict between the two parties.

If Ms. Valentine was intended to assassinate the Navy once the timing was right, then surely there must be an assassin hidden near the Royal Guard, waiting to spark a confrontation once the Navy backed down.

Or perhaps, this assassin was hiding within the Royal Guard itself!

At this thought, Conrad suddenly raised his hand to issue an order. Even though he was not a commanding officer, he gave the command anyway, his tone sharp and decisive.

"All units, load your weapons! Aim at the Royal Guard soldiers!"

His voice was like an iron hand gripping one's ears, possessing a daunting, lion-like roar that forced the marines to focus their willpower just to keep from faltering.

It was like being overcome with desire but unable to release it.

Yet, the moment Bling Bling took the lead without hesitation, raising his rifle and chambering a round, the others followed suit, instinctively reaching for their weapons and loading them.

Amidst the clatter of metal.

Conrad's gaze swept over the fallen guards, recalling how they had collapsed when he unleashed his roar.

As he began to think carefully, the images in his memory began to flicker.

Although some had fallen forward and others backward, and some had knelt in place, there was one man who had kept his eyes closed for a few seconds before collapsing, and even the blood from his ears had trickled out several seconds later than the others.

It was a wound that only bled after he had pressed his fingers into his ears—a self-inflicted cut!

"Fire!" Conrad pointed at that man, the burly figure lying face-down on the ground, his two-meter frame encased in armor to the left of the Opera House entrance.

The marines' fingers hovered over their triggers, the hesitation on their faces showing they hadn't yet overcome their mental barrier.

Bling Bling looked into Conrad's eyes; he was accustomed to reading people's moods by looking at their eyes.

That gaze was as resolute as ever, so he leveled his rifle to his right eye, aligned the sights, and bang—a bullet erupted from the barrel.

And just as the gunshot rang out, Conrad roared a second time, "Fire!!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!!!

Bullets poured down like rain.

The armored soldier lying on the ground suddenly rolled.

His two-meter-plus, burly frame crouched, his body contracting to minimize the target area, his arms braced in front of his head like an iron block.

Bullets struck his body with a crisp, metallic clatter, sparks flying, yet not a single one could penetrate his skin.

For the man's arms had extended into blades of steel; the cold, gleaming steel edges fit perfectly, as if they had grown directly from his muscles.

In the next second, the soldier propelled himself behind the wall of the Opera House, vanishing from sight.

Ambush, defense, retreat, and concealment—not a single wasted movement, demonstrating the cold, mechanical professionalism of an assassin.

When the volley ended and the Navy reloaded for the next round, the Opera House fell into a brief silence.

All the marines naturally looked toward Conrad, instinctively waiting for the next order. Even though they didn't know how Conrad had figured it out, reality had already proven the accuracy of his judgment.

Conrad's eyes now burned with a predatory intent, like a tiger shark prowling the deep sea, his olfactory radar for the scent of blood fully engaged.

That soldier was Daz Bonez, Mr. 1, possessor of the Dice-Dice Fruit, capable of turning any part of his body into steel blades, including his internal organs.

He was a famous assassin from the West Blue, with a high level of fruit mastery and a repertoire of many skills; later, he would even be scouted and recruited as a subordinate by Crocodile of the Shichibukai.

Had Conrad not heeded the warning of his muscle memory just now and taken a few more steps into the Opera House, the man would have extended a blade from his entire right arm and sliced him in half in an instant.

"Should we still go in?" Ain tucked her gun back into her cloak. "I can lead the way."

She drew two short swords from the sheaths on her legs; with short blades, the range was closer, making it easier to touch the target and utilize her fruit ability.

Conrad was lost in thought. "Your 'Return' ability works on walls, right?"

Ain nodded. She only needed to press her hands against a wall to exert her power, reverting it to its state from twelve years ago, and it could be used repeatedly.

It was precisely because of this that, after a few accidents, she had become hesitant to touch people or things, preferring to think things through before acting...

"Can you just flatten this place?" Conrad pointed at the Opera House.

Ain sized up the structure and shook her head. "The larger the target, the greater the physical burden and stamina consumption..."

"I'll do it!" Kujaku stepped out from the ranks of the marines, the natural flush on her cheeks deepening into a feverish red.

"You stay with the squad." Conrad had promised to look after Kujaku.

Kujaku's face flushed an even deeper crimson, red as a gloomy sunset. "You don't trust me?"

Conrad took the lead, stepping forward. "Then we go together."

His pace was always in perfect sync with his train of thought; once a decision was made, he looked only ahead.

Kujaku trotted to catch up, followed by Ain and Bling Bling. The marines felt as though time itself were skipping a beat, and as if they were the ones being left behind, they too broke into a run, advancing in formation.

Conrad pointed toward a corner of the Opera House's ornate wall. "Ain, melt this vertical section."

Ain reached out to touch it, and a swirl of magenta flames engulfed the corner, instantly reverting the structure into a pile of stone and wood that clattered to the ground.

Once they moved to the other side and both corners were demolished, Conrad looked at Kujaku. "Move this wall."

Kujaku nodded with a beaming smile, stroked the wall, then raised her Combat Whip and lashed out repeatedly, shouting, "Get moving, little cutie!"

Boom!

The wall, dozens of meters long, began to shift, sliding across the ground like a living creature.

"Good girl! Such a good child! Faster, faster!" The muscles in Kujaku's forearms tightened, her whip-cracking speed increased, and her voice grew louder, as if she had entered a state of pure excitement.

Under her command, the towering wall rumbled as it shifted aside, revealing the spacious performance hall and stage within.

Brilliant lights spilled out, illuminating the dark streets and alleys.

The audience, dressed in suits and formal wear, watched Cindry's performance with rapt attention, while Cindry stood on the third-floor staircase of the performance house erected on stage, spinning and dancing endlessly toward the edge of a fall.

Even though she was on the verge of plummeting to her death, the audience continued to applaud with intense fervor, the sound of their clapping deafeningly loud.