On the ground, Old Man Bronson's corpse twitched. Then, as if shedding an outer shell, the body split in half, and a white-haired figure crawled out from within.
The skin-like husk covering his hands peeled away as he stood up. Old Man Bronson gripped his thin sword, regarding Wilder with detached calm.
"If you think becoming a Warlord means you can rampage across the seas as you please, then you're still far too young, Wilder," the old man's voice, though aged, resonated with a sense of power. His tone was like that of a senior educating a junior—which, in truth, Wilder certainly was.
Wilder's eyes shifted slightly, glancing at the crumpled husk on the ground before returning his impassive gaze to the Old Man Bronson standing before him.
"I ate the Shed-Shed Fruit. I'm a Shedding Human," Old Man Bronson stated, his voice raspy yet chillingly indifferent. "Countless people have tried to kill me. They're all dead now, yet I'm still standing. You'll be no different, Wilder." He pushed the thin sword embedded in Wilder deeper, his expression unchanging.
Fires raged across the docks. Ashin was locked in combat with the four individuals who had followed Old Man Bronson, and for the moment, he seemed to be on the defensive.
Among the four opponents, the two middle-aged men had transformed into half-human, half-beast forms—one resembling a cat, the other a dog. Of the two younger men, one, bearing a prominent scar across his forehead, wielded two short blades that seemed to shift in shape and size at will. The other youth spat a mouthful of liquid that sizzled upon hitting the ground, emitting white smoke.
Beneath his sun hat, Ashin's eyes were cold and menacing. With an agile leap, he broke free from their encirclement, landing lightly before turning to face them, his gaze growing heavier.
"Boss," Ashin's grim, muffled voice came from behind his mask, "all four are Devil Fruit users, just as the intel suggested."
Hearing this, Wilder let out a grin. He lowered his head, fixing his gaze on Old Man Bronson as boundless killing intent surged from his body!
"What!?"
A prickling sense of danger crawled up Old Man Bronson's spine. His eyes widened. He yanked his sword free and retreated rapidly. His gaze flickered towards the viscous liquid oozing from Wilder's wound—Logia!—and his heart tightened!
"Ashin, fall back," Wilder commanded, his voice utterly flat.
Ashin nodded and, without hesitation, moved back to stand behind Wilder.
The four subordinates regrouped beside Old Man Bronson, both sides now locked in a tense stare-down.
A gradual quiet fell over the docks, broken only by the insistent crackling of flames consuming the corpses scattered around.
Behind Wilder stood Ashin and over a hundred crew members. Opposite them stood the Bronson contingent, led by the old patriarch, with his four Devil Fruit users and their own hundred-plus guards. Old Man Bronson and his four main subordinates wore grave expressions.
No one bothered asking why Wilder had come, what his goal was, or why he was killing them. Such questions were meaningless. Everyone understood instinctively: slaughter rarely needed reasons beyond profit or hatred. Clearly, this newly minted Warlord was driven by the former. And wasn't that only natural? How could a rising Warlord ignore the allure of potential gain?
"Wilder," Old Man Bronson finally broke the silence, his eyes never leaving Wilder's form. "If you leave now, the Bronson family can pretend today's events never occurred. How about it?"
It was an offer born of necessity, but it was the best way to preserve his family's power. The four behind him understood this as well. Going to war with a Warlord, even if they ultimately won, would inevitably result in devastating losses, potentially crippling the family's influence permanently.
"I think you've misunderstood something…" Wilder's calm voice cut through the tension. He took a deliberate step forward. "The right to speak never belongs to the weak. This isn't about whether I leave or not. It's about…"
Wilder slowly lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over them with domineering arrogance. His lips moved, uttering ice-cold words:
"...whether I'm willing to spare your lives."
The chilling statement caused the faces of the Bronson group to pale drastically. Before they could retort, Wilder stopped, looked up, and cast an indifferent, sideways glance across them all, delivering another shocking declaration:
"Come at me together. I want to test just how deep the waters of the East Blue truly run!"
As the words fell, a whirlwind erupted where he stood! His body became a black blur, leaping high into the sky. Looking down upon those below, his detached voice rang out: "Thousand Swamp Serpent Kill!"
Countless globules of swamp rained down from the sky like a dense barrage of cannonballs. As they plummeted, they began to solidify, hardening rapidly!
Only then could the onlookers see clearly: they were countless small, snake-like tendrils of swamp! Or perhaps sharp, spear-like weapons!
"Damn it! Everyone, scatter!" Old Man Bronson yelled, his face grim. He had made his decision. If battle was inevitable, then so be it!
"Today, let the Bronson family be the ones to end your life, Wilder!" Old Man Bronson snarled, tightening his grip on his thin sword, glaring up at Wilder in the sky.
The swamp projectiles rained down, piercing the ground like swords, kicking up clouds of dust and debris. The pier quickly became a pockmarked wasteland. Guards screamed as they were impaled, blood spraying from their bodies. Old Man Bronson, eyes wide with fury, desperately deflected the swamp spears targeting him.
The four subordinates who had been behind him scattered as well, each employing their own abilities to fend off the deadly barrage from above.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
The dust began to settle as the rain of swamp projectiles ceased.
Wilder landed softly, striding into the lingering dust cloud. Splatters of fresh blood bloomed within the haze.
"Die, Wilder!" Old Man Bronson charged forward, brandishing his thin sword. Despite his age, his sturdy frame clearly indicated his formidable combat prowess remained.
Schlick! A massive spear made of swamp suddenly extended from Wilder's back, tracing a wide arc before instantly piercing straight through Old Man Bronson's body.
Wilder remained expressionless as the swamp spear liquefied and retracted back into him from the old man's torso.
He continued walking forward.
One of the four subordinates, the Cat-Cat Fruit user, lunged from the side with blinding speed, razor-sharp claws aimed directly at Wilder's head.
Without even turning, a bulge erupted on Wilder's back. A black anaconda construct shot out! It met the claws head-on. A slight difference from before was now visible: the anaconda's head was now encased in a layer of hardened swamp armor. The claws struck, were deflected, and bounced off. The Cat-Cat Fruit user's eyes filled with stunned disbelief as he landed, immediately leaping away.
Crack! The anaconda's armored head slammed into the ground, fracturing the hard-packed earth.
Thump! Another dull impact sound. Incredibly, Old Man Bronson appeared once again behind Wilder, completely unharmed, his thin sword piercing Wilder's body yet again.
Simultaneously, the four dark shapes burst from the dust cloud—claws, shifting daggers, a longsword—all striking Wilder's body at the same time.
"I told you," Old Man Bronson stated dispassionately, "countless people have tried to kill me. You are merely one more among them, Wilder." Having landed their attacks, the five Bronsons swiftly withdrew their weapons and leaped away, making a break for the ship still docked at the pier.
Wilder's figure remained motionless within the swirling dust.
As the five Bronsons were about to board their escape vessel, a low voice echoed from the dust cloud:
"Great Swamp Heaven!"
The faces of the five fleeing figures instantly contorted in panic!
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