The dust gradually settled.
Pirates and slave traders lay sprawled across the street, paralyzed by electric shocks. The air reeked of burning and blood.
Boer held Carina, gently patted her back, then set her down.
Carina steadied herself and took several deep breaths, the nausea gradually fading. She looked up at the silver-haired old man emerging from the shadows.
Flip-flops. A loose shirt. Casually rolled-up trouser legs.
And those unfathomable eyes.
Dark King-Silvers Rayleigh.
The legendary right-hand man of the Pirate King, vice-captain of the Roger Pirates, a living legend. In every pirate story, that name represented an insurmountable peak.
Carina's breath caught slightly.
But Boer merely raised an eyebrow, folded his arms across his chest, and regarded the uninvited old man with interest.
"Then again-" His voice was lazy, with a hint of amusement. "Old man, you're pushing eighty, and you're still out here sticking your nose into other people's business?"
He paused, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Aren't you afraid of getting your hands broken?"
Hands in his pockets, Rayleigh ambled closer in his flip-flops. Those eyes, which had weathered countless storms, studied the silver-haired young man before him with interest.
"Brats of the new era-" His voice was aged and steady, with a trace of laughter. "You really are arrogant."
One step.
One footprint.
Black-and-red Conqueror's Haki surged from him like a sleeping beast awakening. Vast and heavy, bearing the pressure accumulated over more than half a century, it swept outward like an invisible tsunami.
"Tap."
Another step.
Even the surrounding air seemed to freeze. The pirates sprawled on the ground began twitching involuntarily despite being unconscious.
Carina felt her chest tighten, as though an invisible hand had seized her heart.
But a second later,
"Arrogance means not knowing your limits." Boer raised his eyes.