A few strands of blond hair drifted silently down before his forehead, their severed ends frighteningly clean.
His lowered hand slowly clenched, veins rising on its back.
"Don't fight here."
Rossi's scabbard pressed against the side of the Black Blade, slowly and steadily pushing that chill aside.
His gaze swept the edge of the square-several white capes flickered in and out of sight among the milling heads.
The murky air carried sweat, rust, and a certain taut silence.
The breathing of hundreds of thousands weighed over the harbor, making those ** figures stand out all the more.
Most of the witnesses had already begun withdrawing like an ebbing tide.
Footsteps, the creak of winches raising sails, and hushed conversations overlapped.
"If you want to fight, go to the island."
The click of a blade returning to its sheath was soft.
As Rossi turned, his coat stirred a breeze, dispersing some of the bloody smell.
"Dare to follow?"
The young man carrying the Black Blade did not answer.
His yellow eyes turned toward a spot on the sea beyond the harbor. As he stepped forward, his boot heel ground across a half-dried bloodstain, leaving a clear print.
Several veins bulged at Doffy's temple.
Had Rossi's hand not been on his arm, those fine threads would already have ripped through the air-whether they caught bystanders or alerted an Admiral, he would tear apart that indifferent face first.
"Let's go."
Rossi pulled him around, silence washing over their surroundings like a tide.
"Dracule Mihawk, the 'Marine Hunter.'"
Rossi kept his voice low, like a blade scraping the edge of a sheath.
"More than one Vice Admiral from Marine Headquarters has fallen to his sword... he's one of the foremost swordsmen on these seas."
Doffy blew a scorching breath through his nose.
He had