Fighting Without End

Werther felt that this was the most perilous situation he had faced since coming to the world of pirates. If things went badly, he might truly be left here today.

His opponent was not some mindlessly arrogant fool. When Werther had fought Gat to the death earlier, the man had not directly stepped in to help Gat. Instead, he had gathered men and surrounded the dock layer by layer.

If speed-type fighters feared anything most, it was probably large-scale attacks and dense human-wave tactics.

Now, aside from the area around Werther, the dock was nearly packed shoulder to shoulder with people.

Werther was made of flesh and blood too. No matter how strong he was, he would bleed if cut, and if his injuries became too severe, he would still die.

So he had to think of something. At the very least, he needed to stall for a while. He did not need to recover completely, but he needed to regain enough strength to fight. He absolutely could not remain as he was now, barely able to stand.

After several years of cellular activation through the Lightning Stimulation Method, Werther's ability to recover from injuries could not compare to the monstrous level of an awakened Zoan Fruit user like Gat, but he recovered his stamina quickly.

He looked at the young noble before him and said in a low voice,

"May I ask who you are? It seems you are determined to kill me today. Is it because I killed Gat on your dock and made you lose face? Pirates die every day. If you send so many people to wipe out everyone who causes trouble at your dock, how have you survived this long without being killed by someone else?"

Werther voiced the doubt in his heart. If the man had been close to Gat and wanted revenge for him, that would have made sense. But from what he had said, he clearly did not like Gat very much.

As for the idea that causing trouble at the dock meant death? What a joke. This was the world of pirates. Even the Sabaody Archipelago could not guarantee that no one would cause trouble, much less an island that produced gunpowder.

"Looks like you are not completely stupid. That's right, quite a few pirates cause trouble at the dock every day. But not every pirate who dies is named Gat. I am merely giving someone an explanation. After all, he is my business partner. If I had not been giving him face, how could a greedy, arrogant fool like Gat have lived until today?" The young noble still wore that hypocritical smile unique to nobles. He answered Werther's doubts casually, as though he had Werther completely under control.

"Oh? So Gat had a powerful backer? Someone who made even a noble like you so wary? That is bad news indeed." Werther continued making idle conversation with the noble before him.

He was not afraid of hearing bad news. Delaying for time and recovering as quickly as possible were what mattered most right now. As for Gat's backer, Werther had never feared powerful enemies. Even if Gat had one of the Four Emperors behind him, Werther would still have killed Gat.

"Stop stalling for time. No matter what you say, you will die today. So, goodbye." With that, the young noble signaled for the large force to close in on Werther.

"Heh heh heh, heh heh heh. Looks like I ran into a smart one. But this is about enough." After saying that, Werther stopped wasting words and activated Lightning Mode as he charged into the encircling crowd.

Having recovered enough to fight, Werther did not slaughter the enemies before him as wildly as he had in the past. Instead, he carved his way in one direction, because his ship was there. As long as he got aboard, the enemy would have little chance of catching him at sea.

A brutal battle began on the dock. Men from every faction rushed at Werther without fear of death, and with so many of them, Werther could not avoid being injured from time to time.

Severed limbs flew around Werther. The blood beneath his feet had nearly made him unable to stand. He had several wounds across his body, the most serious being a gunshot wound that had pierced straight through his abdomen.

And he actually knew the person who had inflicted such a grave injury on him. It was the young gunman from his first mission, the one carrying a large chest made of Adam Wood on his back, with pistols hanging all over his legs, whose arm Werther had severed.

That man had also come to the Grand Line, and they had met here. It seemed he had joined one of Tutu Island's factions. But Werther no longer needed to worry about his revenge, because the gunman had already died beneath his sword. The price Werther had paid was the wound in his abdomen.

The more he killed, the more enemies came, until Werther's advance was forced to stop.

As he continued killing, Werther discovered that the enemies had suddenly stopped charging forward. Instead, they formed a circle and stared at him in horror.

Werther was now standing atop a mountain of corpses. Exhausted to the point of death, he could no longer worry about much else. He sat directly atop the corpse pile, took out a bottle of liquor from the pouch at his lower back, and drank deeply to ease his fatigue. He also poured some over his wounds to disinfect them.

The enemies around him were terrified out of their wits. When had they ever seen such a brutal enemy? They had seen people kill before, but not many who cut people into pieces. And there he was, sitting atop a mountain of corpses and drinking, his face calm and excited. This was no longer mere cruelty. It was madness.

So they became afraid. No matter how desperately the leaders behind them urged them on, they would not move. After all, they only had one life, and no amount of money could buy it back. Who would willingly go to their death?

In the distance, the young noble stood atop a building, his expression equally grim. Originally, he had only intended to deal with that lunatic who was away from the island. The man's brother had died, so the noble had wanted to give him an explanation. Now, however, it seemed this had not been a wise choice, because the man before him felt even more deranged.

The young noble had a headache. He had originally planned to use the trump card he had saved for a fatal blow against Werther, but he had better not use it. If Werther truly survived and escaped, he would never know peace again.

He summoned the bodyguard beside him, gave him some instructions, then headed toward the town, leaving that dock that resembled hell.

After drinking half the bottle, Werther saw that he had frightened the enemies out of their wits and laughed. Originally, if he still could not break out of the encirclement, he had planned to forcibly maximize Lightning Mode and charge toward his ship. But after that, his chances of surviving would have been truly slim. That was why he had begun to kill—kill cruelly—until the enemy no longer dared oppose him. It seemed he had succeeded.

He rose to his feet and slowly headed toward his ship. The crowd that had just been packed so tightly actually opened a path for him. Wherever Werther went, the people there desperately retreated. Until he walked out of the crowd, no enemy pursued him.

Werther first walked slowly for a few steps with great composure, then darted into an alley and ran for his life.

Though Werther had looked like a god of slaughter just now, he had actually nearly reached his limit. Drinking had been nothing more than an act. Now, from excessive blood loss, his head was spinning. The wounds on his body no longer hurt; they only felt numb and swollen.

Just as Werther was about to reach his ship, he suddenly saw someone standing by the sea—a beautiful woman.

She was tall, with long wavy green hair, a red top, black pants, and a pair of high-heeled shoes on her feet.

That outfit did not make her seem alluring. Instead, she felt cold, cold enough to chill one from the depths of the heart.

Werther's first impression was that she was one of his kind. She was most likely an assassin as well. In his current condition, if they fought, he would probably die here.

"Don't be nervous. I did not come to fight you. Someone asked me to give you something." With that, she placed a box on the ground and turned to leave.

Werther frowned after hearing the woman's voice. Though she was beautiful, her voice was extremely unpleasant—hoarse and low, as if her vocal cords had once been damaged. Werther immediately thought of a slit throat.

He picked up the box from the ground and opened it directly. Inside was a Den Den Mushi. After considering it for a moment, he picked it up and returned to his ship.