Three days later, on the King's Plateau in Dressrosa.
After three straight days of travel, Werther had returned to Dressrosa.
Bright sunlight bathed the courtyard atop the King's Plateau.
The clear swimming pool sparkled in the sun, and a gentle breeze sent ripples across its surface.
A lounge chair stood beside the pool. Werther lay on it with his upper body bare, looking utterly relaxed. Intent Blood rested against the armrest, within easy reach.
Bandages covered his bare torso, and one arm hung weakly at his side. It was the arm he had injured.
A Doctor from the Donquixote Family had suggested securing the injured arm in a sling around his neck.
But Werther hated looking like a patient, and with his Constitution, he had no need for it.
He picked up the glass of wine beside him, took a sip, and let out a long breath.
Reclining in the chair, Werther found himself thinking back to his battle with Blackbeard.
They had plenty of bad blood between them, but Werther had nothing against Blackbeard personally. Without their grudge, they might even have become friends.
Blackbeard was a dreamer who embraced darkness. He had ambitions without being naive, and he would use any means to achieve them. For the sake of building his own empire, he had endured years of hardship in silence.
What stayed with Werther most was what Blackbeard had shouted before he died.
"Thunder Swordsman, kill me now! I, Marshall D. Teach, will never let a Devil Fruit control me!"
The moment Blackbeard said it, Werther had cut off his head without hesitation.
I, Marshall D. Teach, will never let a Devil Fruit control me. Such simple words. Yet how many people could have made that choice?
Blackbeard had not completely lost control of his body. He