Chapter 35

"Those are the people on that ship who dared challenge the Jedi Family?"

On the Money's deck, jewel-studded skirts and immaculate suits formed a silent sea.

The Gear and the Lever slid off to either side. Only the battered merchant ship continued forward, its bow cutting through the smooth water as it approached the Money's towering hull at an almost imperceptible speed.

"Ferid is at the helm."

Someone recognized the figure behind the wheel.

The captain raised a hand in signal, and a gangplank was set securely between the two ships.

Several sailors pushed three shackled people onto the gangplank.

Thanks to the difference in height, everyone aboard the Money could easily see the three of them-more precisely, the two particularly short figures among them.

"...Children?"

Low murmurs of disbelief spread among the ladies and gentlemen.

The vicious opponents they had imagined turned out to be two boys who looked barely ten.

The contrast sent a restrained stir across the deck.

"The tall, skinny one beside them looks a bit like Trebol... but how did he get that thin?"

Those familiar with that face from the Four Suits Family frowned.

The face was still vaguely recognizable, but it looked as though all its flesh and blood had been drained away, leaving only a bony frame supporting the skin.

"Where are the others?"

"Perhaps they're already at the bottom of the sea."

Under countless gazes laden with complicated meaning, the three were brought to the center of the spacious deck.

Their shackles were heavy, but their steps showed no panic.

Facing the scrutiny all around them, the two boys even raised their faces. There was no fear in their eyes, only a calm beyond their years.

That calm sent a chill through some of the onlookers.

But the clank of shackles immediately suppressed that unease-however unusual they were, they were still prisoners now.

"Just these two little things?"

At the front of the deck, the man known as "Machine Gun"

Vincenso let out a scoff.

Even at a banquet, he was fully armed, his muscles stretching his formal clothes taut.

His thick arms were folded across his chest, his face full of undisguised contempt.

"That poser Qiao actually fell to them?"

"The world is vast. There are always things beyond reason."

"Flower Bow Tie"

Paul leisurely smoothed the creases in his silk scarf, turning his gaze toward the middle-aged man standing silently between them.

"Mr. Thompson,"

he said with a slight nod, "isn't it time these people who offended the Family's dignity learned some proper manners?"

Thompson said nothing and merely nodded.

Several armed, burly men immediately emerged from the edges of the crowd. Their boots struck the teak deck as they split into two groups and surrounded the three shackled figures in the center.

Blades and gun barrels gleamed cold and hard in the afternoon light.

They stopped a few paces away. Their leader spread his mouth in a grin and rasped:

"Get down and crawl over."

The three stood where they were, shackles hanging from their wrists, like three stone statues.

The leader bellowed, looking somewhat embarrassed.

They were prisoners already, and they still dared act like this?

He raised his long flintlock pistol and smashed the stock toward the knee of the blond-haired boy without sunglasses.

If the boss hadn't ordered them to "crawl over,"

he would have smashed that face first-

Clatter.

Bam!

Before he could finish the thought, a heavy blow struck his cheek.

His whole body flew off the ground, spun two or three times through the air, and crashed through a nearby wooden table.

He kept rolling across the floor, knocking over everything in his path.

When he finally stopped, half his face was a bloody mess. Teeth mixed with blood lay scattered across the deck, and he twitched incessantly where he lay.

"Ah-!"

"Something's happened! Something's happened-!"

The surrounding crowd erupted.

The men and women who had just been chatting merrily over their drinks screamed and stumbled backward, scattering like ants doused in boiling water.

"Sorry, my knees don't bend easily."

After whipping the man who wanted him to kneel into the air with his shackles, the blond-haired boy raised his head, baring two rows of white teeth in a wide grin.

His gaze passed over the panicking crowd, over the thugs hastily drawing their weapons, across half the deck, and settled on the man known as "Big Bucks"

himself.

Pushing off, he flung aside the shackles, drew something from behind his back, and shot forward.

"Move back! Move back!!"

The surrounding crowd scattered in panic. Seen from above, his figure looked like an arrow cleaving the sea.

Amid wild laughter, his gaze reflected in Thompson's pupils, as though saying:

I've come to take your life.

"Four!"

"Exactly twenty-one! Pay up!"

Aboard the enormous Money, beneath the glittering banquet venue on deck, there were also kitchens and gun decks.

Sweat and cheap alcohol mingled into a pungent odor that filled the air.

A group of sloppily dressed people sat on ammunition crates, shouting over cards with flushed faces and bulging necks.

The activities of high society overhead had nothing to do with them. Their creed was to drink while there was wine-no one dared provoke the Jiedi Family anyway.

Boom!!

A deafening blast tore through the air.

The figures gathered in a corner of the deck throwing down cards were hurled up by an invisible force and flung in every direction like rags.

Several of those closest were torn apart on the spot. Crimson slurry mixed with splintered planks and sprayed everywhere.

A brief, deathly silence.

The survivors struggled up from the wreckage, ignoring the metal fragments and wooden splinters embedded in their flesh. Hoarse shouts rose one after another through the spreading gunsmoke.

"What's happening?!"

"Did a powder keg explode?"

"No... look outside!"

A man who looked like a leader staggered to the side of the ship, where a jagged breach had opened.

He looked outside, and all the color instantly drained from his face.

"It's the Gear! It's firing at us! Get ready-"

Before he could finish, a row of orange-red lights flashed along the distant ship's broadside.

Then another dull roar rolled across the sea.

The leader at the breach only had time to see a dazzling streak hurtling toward him. The next second, his body became a cloud of bloody mist that drifted down into the churning waves.

But that dying warning was enough.

The remaining people in the hold snapped fully alert.

"Fuck-"

"Fire! Blast those bastards to the bottom of the sea!"

Despite their injuries, these handpicked thugs still let out savage roars.

They rushed toward the silent bronze cannons in the hold, heaved the heavy killing machines toward the gunports, and lit the fuses.

Why had their allies suddenly turned on them? No one had time to think.

Sinking the other side first was the only truth that mattered now.

Almost at the same time, the instant Rossi charged forward, cannons roared from both sides.

The lavishly decorated ship beneath his feet shuddered violently, clearly struck by cannonballs.

Fortunately, the gunfire targeted the gun emplacements along both sides rather than the upper deck.

Thus, despite the endless screams from the finely dressed men and women, they had not actually suffered any direct harm.

The real threat came from the deck itself.

"Stop him!"

"Get out of the way! Stop bunching up-"

The Jedi Family's thugs tried to form a defensive line, only to be scattered by the crowd fleeing blindly.

Facing death, even the ordinarily frail ladies and gentlemen erupted with astonishing brute strength.

As these guests desperately fled Rossi, they also completely disrupted the formation of those trying to intercept him.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

As the situation spiraled out of control, several bullets mercilessly tore into the crowd.

Expensive suits ripped open, dark red bloomed across splendid skirts, and several guests fell without even having time to scream.

"Everyone-get down!"

Holding a peculiar revolving firearm, "Machine Gun"

Vincenso roared sharply.

The remaining guests dropped flat like wheat swept by a scythe, clutching their heads and curling up tightly.

It had to be admitted that this brutal order produced immediate results.

The deck was covered with people unable to fight. Only the armed members of the Jedi Family and those three figures-Rossi, Doffy, and Trebol-remained standing.

Naturally, Rossi had grounds for daring to do this.

Trebol raised both hands. Viscous liquid surged out of thin air, forming a slick wall that blocked the incoming bullets.

Doffy grinned and spread his arms, and the oppressive force of a king swept across the deck.

Those on the ground instantly fell silent. Even those standing collapsed one after another, their weapons clattering against the deck.

It all happened within a few breaths.

Only a dozen or so people remained standing-either their wills were strong enough, or they were far enough away.

Wesker was still conscious.

A tall figure in a suit and sunglasses stood in front of him.

"So it really is Conqueror's Haki..."

The Clone Soldier code-named "8674"

frowned.

Having fought in the New World, he recognized this power.

Now he was even more certain-it was indeed the impact of a king.

These two brothers... might become pawns for the Kingdom.

"Stop!"

"You're not getting through-"

Those surrounding "Big Bucks"

Thompson were naturally all elite leaders.

Doffy's Haki had failed to knock them unconscious. Brandishing their weapons, they confronted the charging Rossi.

The opportunity would last only an instant.

Once the Jedi Family recovered, their numbers alone would overwhelm them.

So he could hold nothing back.

Rossi drew a deep breath. His body abruptly expanded, as though he had grown from a child into an adolescent.

The first step-

He charged, tilting his head as a blade skimmed past his face.

At the same time, his fist slammed into his opponent's left chest. Bones cracked sharply, and the back of the man's suit suddenly bulged.

The second step-

He grabbed the collapsing body and held it in front of himself. Bullets thudded into flesh.

Without giving his opponent another chance to pull the trigger, Rossi sent the dagger in his hand flying. It became a streak of light and buried itself in the man's throat.

The third step-

Discarding the corpse, he reached back to draw the twin daggers from his back and stepped forward again.

Turning sideways, shifting right, drawing in his chest, tightening his abdomen-two cutlasses skimmed past his chest and back while the daggers in his hands stabbed left and right.

The fourth step-

He seized another person as a shield, a succession of jolts running through his arm.

Blood and minced flesh splattered his head and face. At the same time, something struck his back like a heavy hammer, staggering him forward-proof that a bullet had bitten into his body.

The fifth step-

Plans could never keep pace with change.

By the time Rossi charged over carrying the body, Vincenso's hand had already gone to his waist-he gripped something round and hurled it.

Six paces away.

The thing bounced on the deck, and Rossi's back instantly tensed.

With no time to think, he hurled the body in his hands toward it, then leaped after it, planting one foot on the body.

Boom!

Flesh and blood mixed with black smoke, exploding across the deck in a scarlet spray.

But amid the smoke and fire, a shadow shot forward on the blast wave, covering the last few meters in a blink.

A cold gleam rapidly grew in Thompson's wide eyes.

Shhk.

All seventeen centimeters of the blade sank into the fat man's throat and pierced out through the back of his neck.

Every word he had yet to utter was choked back.

"Thompson-"

Rossi pulled out the **, letting the fat body slowly collapse.

He raised the bloodstained weapon, his voice hoarse:

"He's dead!"

"So this is... the power to overturn everything?"

Wesker adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and murmured behind the bodyguard in sunglasses.

However miraculous money might be, it was ultimately no match for true violence.

Faced with a threat that could take a life, wealth was as fragile as paper.

Was it over?

No, not yet.

The sprint to reach Thompson had drained almost all of Rossi's strength.

Though the target had been eliminated, the remaining members of the Jedi Family would not let it rest.