The cold wind blew through Werther's snow-white hair, which was flecked with blood. The droplets soon slid from its tips.
"What a tough bastard. He was already at death's door, yet he still managed to fight like that. You really can't underestimate a Marine Admiral."
A slash wound marked Werther's collarbone. Kizaru had given it to him.
Not a drop of blood flowed from the wound. Kizaru's blade of light could not only cut with tremendous force, but also cauterize a wound instantly.
That kept his enemies from losing much blood, but it caused searing pain and made the wound difficult to heal.
"Kizaru, any last words? Never mind. You probably can't speak anyway."
Werther had good reason to say that. A gruesome wound across Kizaru's throat had sliced halfway through it.
"Don't... go after... my family."
Even with such a terrible injury, Kizaru struggled to get the words out.
"Oh, that? I only said it because you pissed me off. What do your actions have to do with your family? Making children pay for their parents' debts is utterly stupid.
"But it was the Antonio Family that sent you to assassinate me, wasn't it?"
Kizaru gave no answer. As a Marine Admiral, and because of a promise he had made to someone, he would never betray that Family—even though he knew they would not care whether he lived or died.
As his blood drained away, the thing called life quietly left Kizaru's body.
Marine Admiral Borsalino, known as Kizaru, died in battle on North Yak Island at the age of fifty-seven.
Even at the end, Kizaru had not betrayed the Antonio Family.
Werther flicked Intent Blood, sending the lifeless blood from its blade splattering onto the ground in a semicircle. The sight was cruel, yet held a brutal beauty.