Chapter 30

Gripping the strange "rope" stretching from the opposite mast,

he traced a huge arc over the sea.

The rope kept extending, carrying him toward the warship at astonishing speed.

...What?

"Hee hee hee-"

As Rossi neared the warship, Trebol clenched his teeth atop the Pinta's mast.

He clung tightly to the mast with one hand, his other arm maintaining the slime rope's connection, a tearing pain coursing through his muscles.

Summoning every ounce of strength, he gave a violent swing.

"Go!!"

Everyone's fate rests on you now, Rossi.

The sticky strand snapped in midair.

The figure stretched out with the momentum of the throw, swooping toward the ship below like a hunting raptor.

Before the sailors on deck could react, a succession of sharp reports exploded overhead.

Four gunshots tore through the air.

Cries of pain mingled with warnings.

Before the figure even landed, the weapons in both his hands had emptied every round.

No one could aim calmly amid the chaos. There were only the dull sounds of metal striking flesh and cries of agony.

Two empty guns were tossed carelessly behind him, and the falling figure suddenly kicked out-

His boot slammed into the face of a sailor raising his gun.

The crisp crack of breaking bones was swallowed by the impact. The man fell backward, becoming a cushion.

Curling up and rolling to bleed off the impact, the figure came to a half crouch on deck.

Two inconspicuous metal cylinders tumbled free as he rolled.

"Surround him!"

The mustached commander pointed his sword at the intruder, but took a step backward himself.

Anyone who dared leap onto an enemy ship alone was either a madman or a monster.

His judgment was immediately proven correct.

The instant the metal cylinders burst, visible ripples expanded across the deck.

There were no flames, only a shriek that tore at their eardrums.

Sound waves swept across the entire warship at terrifying speed. Even those aboard the other ship in the distance instinctively covered their ears.

Thud, thud.

The sailors charging at the front toppled outright.

Those slightly farther away swayed like drunkards before collapsing with their hands over their heads.

Only the intruder stood at the center of the sonic waves, his blond hair rising and falling in the blast, as though an invisible shield surrounded him.

He sprang to his feet, his left hand already drawing the blade at his waist.

Those who could still stand now were his real opponents.

A burning pain suddenly struck his left shoulder.

The air displaced by the passing bullet still hissed beside his ear.

He pivoted sharply, his gaze locking onto the shooter-

The man was nothing like the ordinary sailors: a dark red domed cap, a high-collared uniform, and a rifle with intricate gear patterns engraved on its chamber.

He was an officer.

The intruder lowered his body and shot forward like an arrow skimming the ground.

The blade in his hand sliced through the air, thrusting straight at his opponent's throat.

His opponent knocked Rossi's thrust downward with his rifle butt, the sharp clang of metal exploding across the deck.

The man, blood seeping from both ears, gritted his teeth, his facial muscles taut as rock, and used the force of the parry to spring backward.

He completed a sequence of movements in midair-the magazine dropped free, a fresh one slid in, the bolt returned to position, and his sights were already on target as he raised his rifle.

But the lingering effects of the stun grenade still buzzed inside him, introducing an almost imperceptible hesitation into movements that should have flowed seamlessly.

That mere millisecond decided the outcome.

Amid the dull sound of a blade sinking into flesh, the two close-set figures abruptly separated, and one crumpled limply to the ground.

Rossi did not pause. His gaze shifted to the figure staggering toward the cabin-the lavishly embroidered coat and gold-trimmed tricorn all proclaimed his identity.

"Stop him! Hurry, stop him-!"

The mustached captain's scream turned shrill.

Though his pursuer was only a boy, he scrambled as though a demon were coming to claim his life. Not even stopping to retrieve his fallen hat, he crashed through the cabin door and plunged inside.

Rossi charged in right behind him. The displaced air slammed the door shut with a dull wooden thud.

About the time it took to draw two deep breaths.

Boom!

The entire cabin door burst outward, shattered wood showering across the deck like a downpour.

Rossi flew backward, flipping twice in midair before barely managing to land.

A clear fist mark stood out on his left cheek, and his weapon was nowhere to be seen.

"Cough..."

He spat out blood mixed with broken teeth and narrowed his eyes at the dark cabin entrance, open once more.

First, a speck of orange light glowed in the depths. As it swayed, a figure with a crookedly draped coat strolled out.

A pipe creaked between his teeth, its rising smoke obscuring a face covered in wrinkles like knife cuts.

The man stood over two meters tall. Standing there, he resembled a fortress wall cast from steel.

Another troublesome opponent.

Rossi could not help clicking his tongue inwardly.

Was I born to attract surprises? Why else would something outside the plan turn up on every operation?

"It's Lieutenant Colonel Anderson!"

"We're sure to win!"

As the man in the draped coat appeared, the dispirited sailors suddenly erupted in fervent cheers.

Many were still swaying, unable to stand steadily, yet they struggled to raise their weapons, gun barrels and sword tips all pointing at the lone boy.

Just then, a slender shadow landed lightly beside Rossi.

A thin blade over two meters long sliced through the air with a shriek like tearing silk.

Where its gleam passed, countless white scars instantly burst across the deck. The sailors trying to surround him scattered like straw swept by a gale.

"I can't let you have all the fun."

An amused voice rang out amid the blade's whistle.

The instant Rossi landed on the warship's deck, everyone's attention had been drawn to him.

Meanwhile, the Pinta

was adjusting course, rapidly closing on the warship as the distance between them shrank.

The first "reinforcement" Trebol had thrown

was already flying through the air.

It was a figure over three meters tall, wrapped in bandages and holding an unusually long rapier.

Despite his injuries, the overwhelming pressure he exuded and his peculiar bearing were nothing an ordinary sailor could possess.

"Good, Diamante. I'll leave the rest to you!"

Having to face that field officer while also guarding against possible shots from all around was simply too much for Rossi at the moment.

"No, no, no, I couldn't handle this many on my own-"

What?

"Quit joking. You're Diamante!"

A man who would become one of that Family's core officers-even if he later lost to a one-legged warrior-could not possibly be helpless against a shipful of sailors.

"Oh, stop that. You make me sound like someone incredible-"

Incredible? Rossi paused.

Thinking it over, perhaps he really did qualify.

Diamante's height of over three meters and mature looks made it easy to overlook that he was "only"

thirteen years old.

Having developed considerable swordsmanship as an orphan, calling him exceptionally gifted was hardly an exaggeration.

"I told you, stop saying that... A genius? Come on-"

Rossi fell silent for a moment.

"...Whatever makes you happy."

He felt drained.

Just as Diamante's repeated modest refusals nearly had Rossi's breath churning, his tone abruptly changed.

"Since you insist, I'll admit it!"

"I am a genius! Leave all these small fry to me!!"

Rossi was momentarily speechless.

He had almost forgotten this fellow's quirk-the more praise he received, the more he protested, while withdrawing that praise only inflated his ego.

Though it had infuriated him, this interruption somehow dispersed some of the crushing pressure brought on by the pipe-smoking field officer.

"Then-"

Rossi drew a deep breath.

Facing the powerful enemy before him, his entire body visibly "swelled"

a size larger.

Without the slightest hesitation, he unleashed the only technique he currently knew.

As his body expanded, his back straightened inch by inch.

His spine's movement drew his entire skeleton into alignment, his muscles contracting and stretching. Power sprang from his calves, passed through his thighs, waist, and abdomen in successive layers, and finally converged in his right shoulder.

"Feilian-"

He stepped forward, his fist tearing through the air!

He seemed to become a master archer, his spine the bow and his fist the arrow, all his strength surging freely into this single strike.

"Break!"

Aboard Spandamruze's Gear,

the battle raged.

With his astonishing height and reach, plus the slender rapier over two meters long in his hand, Diamante's swings enveloped half the deck in a chilling gleam, forcing the sailors to dodge and parry desperately.

At the other end of the deck, Rossi wrung every last bit of strength from his body.

Yet the burly figure with the pipe met him with unnatural agility. One large fist and one small fist collided without flourish.

A sharp crack of shifting joints rang out, and the two figures abruptly separated.

The disadvantage of his weight sent the boy flying backward, his soles plowing two deep grooves through the wooden deck. Only when his heels struck the railing did he barely stop.

On the other side, though the burly officer had not retreated half a step, the spiderweb cracks suddenly spreading beneath his feet made his gaze sharpen.

"Keep going-"

His right arm completely numb, Rossi charged again, his left hand drawing another short blade from his waist and slashing upward.

The cold gleam aimed straight for his opponent's waist and abdomen.

At the same time, his toes tapped the deck, his figure drifting like down.

The instant the officer swept a leg toward him, he had already slipped diagonally aside, circling behind his opponent with tightly interweaving steps.

Interesting.

The boy was certainly nimble, and his technique showed clear structure.

But to the officer in the draped coat, he was still too green.

More importantly-the air about those punches and kicks was all too familiar.

After all, this burly officer was not from the Kingdom of Rafal, but belonged to the naval forces under the World Government.

Facing Rossi circling behind him, the officer did not turn. He merely stamped one foot hard behind him.

Crack!

The deck burst apart.

Driven by tremendous force, an upturned plank stabbed behind him like a sharp sword.

Back-

Almost instinctively, Rossi retreated sharply.

That reaction played right into the officer's hands.

A shadow abruptly filled his vision. It was no fortress wall, but the towering body that had spun around and closed in while he dodged.

The officer was now planted in a horse stance, his fist drawn back beside his waist, ready to strike.

No, that stance?!

Before the thought could fully form, the officer's trouser legs burst apart.

Power climbed from his calves in successive stages, coursed through his waist and abdomen into his arm, and drove that clearly knuckled fist thundering through the air!

Bang-

As though struck head-on by a solid cannonball, Rossi flew backward, the blood he sprayed in midair leaving a glaring trail across the deck.

His back slammed into the mainmast, making the entire timber shudder.

The agony nearly robbed him of consciousness.

"Look familiar?"

The pipe turned half a circle between his teeth, and ** strode over, drawing back his fist.

"This is a technique only Navy Lieutenants are qualified to learn.

Kid, give me your name and where you come from."

Rossi coughed up a mouthful of bloody foam, barely steadying himself with his back against the mast.

He stared at the burly figure ahead, the pain churning in his chest reminding him of the force of that last blow-the way that power had been unleashed, the trajectory that tore through the air, was exactly like the technique Gion had once demonstrated.

For some, it might have been no more than a technique they could use at will; but for the vast majority of people in these waters, it was a killing move far beyond their reach.

"The North Blue... really is different."

He muttered to himself, savagely wiping the back of his hand across the corner of his mouth.

Blood left dark red streaks on his knuckles, but he grinned, baring bloodstained teeth.

Footsteps drew closer.

The man named Anderson was like a moving fortress, the deck giving off dull thuds beneath his feet.

Rossi did not retreat; instead, he lifted his chin.

"But,"