A broken blade stood in the snow, only its tip showing. It must have been left behind by the war.
Just as Werther was about to land on the blade's tip, he coated his head in Armament Haki.
With a sharp clang, the poor-quality blade shattered, and Werther fell to the ground.
Blood poured from the wound that had split open across his chest, staining a broad patch of white snow red.
North Yak Island had not been left in ruins by the war.
In just two days, those traces of battle had already been covered by the heavy snow falling from Kong.
It had hidden the signs of war, the corpses, and the gold.
Pica's mouth fell open when he saw Werther collapse. He could hardly believe it.
It was hard to fathom. With Werther's strength, how could he fall like that? And it looked as though his old wound had reopened.
"Lord Werther, are you all right?" Pica immediately ran toward him.
"Don't come any closer!" Werther pushed himself up and stopped Pica with a shout.
"Stay away from me. You could die if you come near. No one can help me right now. I'd say my luck has finally run out."
Werther stood and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.
What his Observation Haki sensed now could only be called terrifying.
Malice came at him from every direction.
Even the snowflakes falling through the air began drifting toward him unnaturally, as though they meant to bury him.
This was the power of the world. This was the Power of Fate!
There was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.
Those three days of good luck had indeed defied all reason. Even Blackbeard's and Big Mom's defeats had something to do with it.
But the backlash afterward