Shanks's Psychological Trauma

The tavern fell deathly silent, everyone's gaze still fixed firmly on the doorway.

That bolt of lightning from a clear sky had been like a judgment casually delivered by a god.

The scene replayed over and over in everyone's minds.

Someone's throat went dry.

Their tongue seemed glued to the roof of their mouth, making even swallowing difficult.

Someone's hand was still trembling slightly, their wine cup pressed against their palm, yet they did not dare raise it again.

Some even quietly took half a step back, instinctively moving away from the door.

As if the next second—

That lightning would strike their heads.

A faint scorched smell still lingered in the air, sending chills down their spines.

And amid that deathly silence.

Ace clenched his fists tightly, his eyes locked on the street outside, which had already returned to calm.

Only one sentence kept echoing in his mind.

"Evil... must not be spared."

His breathing gradually grew heavier, and his gaze slowly changed.

It was no longer just anger, but contemplation.

Just then—

"Tap."

At the faint sound of footsteps, Rock slowly turned his head.

His gaze shifted from Ace and settled on Shanks in the distance.

The next second, he suddenly broke into a grin.

The smile looked natural, yet carried a hint of teasing.

"Long time no see, Shanks~"

His tone was light, as though he were greeting an old friend he had not seen in years.

—However.

The instant those words fell, Shanks reacted in the complete opposite way.

"Whoosh!"

He leaped back at once!

His body tensed on instinct, and his eyes became incomparably grave in an instant!

That was not ordinary vigilance, but an instinctive reaction to absolute danger!

Beckman, seated nearby, noticed something was wrong immediately.

"What is it?"

He lowered his voice,