Fifty officers from various ranks of Marine Headquarters, all clad in Justice cloaks and soaring through the air with Moonwalk, scattered at blinding speed like streaks of white light.
In an instant, the entire city of Shabak erupted into chaos—gunfire rang out in all directions, blades clashed, and disorder reigned.
As they deployed across the city of Shabak, some Marine officers did notice something unusual: certain Slave Guards wearing green collars displayed strength beyond the ordinary—some of them even comparable to Headquarters sergeants or corporals.
Squads of Slave Guards poured out of the underground tunnels, only to be swiftly slain by flashes of white light—reduced to corpses lying in pools of blood.
Several Marine officers had already begun launching counteroffensives into the tunnels themselves.
One particularly burly major surged forward with astonishing speed.
Seeing this, a group of marines quickly went into action, following the path cleared by the major. But only seconds later, a heavy impact echoed ahead, and the bandaged officer was knocked flying backward—though he recovered swiftly, appearing mostly unharmed.
"What just happened?"
"What's going on?"
Before they could answer, a barrage of figures erupted from the darkness, giving the bandaged major no time to respond.
Without another word, the Marines engaged the new enemies, launching a high-speed battle in the narrow tunnel. However, as the fight wore on, the Headquarters elites found themselves being forced back.
With no better option, the Major and the others withdrew from the tunnel, creating distance and regrouping with nearby comrades.
At last, in the full glare of sunlight, they could clearly see their opponents.
"What the hell are these things?"
Over a hundred figures had emerged from the underground passage. Each one wore a tight-fitting black breastplate and white robes, wielding twin long-handled iron axes.
Naturally, the green collars around their necks were standard issue.
But what truly shocked the eye was their physical appearance—their muscles were so grotesquely swollen that they seemed on the verge of bursting. Their skin was marked with shallow, dark patterns, and their eyeballs were nearly pure white, with only a faint circular outline where the pupils should have been.
These strange figures had barely emerged when they immediately split into groups, charging at various Marine officers. Their brute strength was so overwhelming that just a single step would crush the rocky ground beneath them. With bursts of force, they launched themselves into the air, accompanied by loud whooshing sounds.
[Clang!]
A sharp metallic crash rang out as a Marine major's longblade collided with a sweeping iron axe. In that instant, terrifying force exploded outward, splitting the ground beneath their feet with spiderweb-like cracks.
"Such monstrous strength!"
The Headquarters major was forced to retreat after just a few seconds of deadlock, shifting his weight to relieve the pressure. Feeling the faint numbness in his palms, he was stunned.
He had never been known for his physical strength, but even so, being overpowered like this by someone from the South Blue? And the enemy wasn't even a Zoan-type Devil Fruit user.
Elsewhere, the other Marine officers were also beginning to feel the strain. It wasn't that the battle had become overwhelmingly difficult—but it was no longer as one-sided as before.
Those Marines who preferred direct combat and brute force were now starting to suffer injuries, simply from being outmatched in strength and outnumbered.
High above, standing atop the mast of a warship, Dragon watched the scene unfold with a somber gaze.
...
"Hahahahaha!"
Inside the underground golden pyramid palace, King Taklama—his face hidden behind a golden mask—burst into raucous laughter as he watched the footage, his voice echoing through the vast throne hall.
"The mightiest of my Royal Guards… one hundred percent of their physical strength, combined with the effects of the Hero Water—what splendid results! A shame they're all one-time weapons. And our supply of Hero Water is too limited."
A closer look revealed that the hundred or so warriors who had previously stood guard inside the hall were now gone. As his words made clear, they had all been sent out as disposable sacrifices to hold off the fifty Marine officers brought by Dragon.
Normally, those guards would be no match for elite Marines. But the Slave King had gone into his stockpile and brought out the Hero Water for them to consume.
The elixir's effect lasted only five minutes—and afterward, the user would die without exception. But in those five minutes, their power would be amplified many times over.
What the King now regretted most… was not preparing more Hero Water in advance. Dragon's earlier 'smoke bomb' tactic had been too effective at deceiving him—and truth be told, he never expected to be discovered at all.
"So, this Garp's son is a Devil Fruit user… and he even came up with a concentrated airborne assault using all his elites? Heh… I'll give him some credit for that."
King Taklama spoke while slowly rising to his feet, using a golden scepter for support.
At his feet lay a white-robed official, collapsed in utter terror. His hands were still wrapped around his own neck, suggesting he had strangled himself.
This was the same man who had previously claimed Dragon wasn't a Devil Fruit user.
"Still… let me teach you something."
"In this world where strength reigns supreme, your so-called tactics and strategies are utterly meaningless before absolute power!"
Suddenly, the hand gripping his scepter began to emit a sinister green light. In the next moment, gales of wind and sand surged from all directions, flooding the throne hall.
When the whirlwind finally died down, the golden throne stood empty—King Taklama had vanished without a trace.
...
[Pfft—]
A bright slash of a blade tore diagonally through the air. Blood sprayed wildly from three white-robed warriors wearing green collars in front of Colonel Harros. A deep gash stretched from their shoulders to their abdomens. The searing pain struck so suddenly that they collapsed to the ground, wailing in agony—only to fall silent as their blood soaked into the red sand, their lives fading fast.
The commander of the 194th Naval Division stationed on Watermelon Island surveyed the battlefield grimly.
At some point, the artillery barrage on both sides had ceased. As waves of Marines pushed through gunfire and rainstorms of bullets to storm the Slaveholder Legion's trenches, the nature of the fight had shifted—from hot lead exchanges to brutal, close-quarters combat with cold steel.
Clashing blades and axes sent up sparks, savage faces twisted in fury, blood-soaked sands littered with corpses, and wild howls pierced the air. The entire stretch of coastal desert was now cloaked in the brutality of a primeval battlefield.
At the outset, the Navy held the upper hand.
But the Slaveholders' forces seemed endless. Every moment, more strong, able-bodied fighters emerged from underground tunnels, wielding axes and blades.
They were as physically powerful as soldiers from Navy Headquarters. They felt no fear of pain, no fear of death, and fought with terrifying ferocity. As long as their limbs could still move, they fought like fanatical death-seekers—biting, clawing, driven by madness, refusing to fall until their last breath.
Even the well-trained Marines began to struggle against such opponents.
In the end, even the high-ranking officers who had remained aboard the warships had no choice but to join the battle. Not only had Colonel Harros entered the fray, but even Rear Admiral Ivan could be seen in the distance, killing enemies with chilling efficiency.
Thanks to their presence, the Navy managed to stabilize the situation. But the Slaveholder Legion's reinforcements just kept coming.
It far exceeded the estimated total strength of 30,000 reported in the intelligence!
And that number had supposedly accounted for the fact that the Kingdom of Thutmose was engaged on multiple fronts and needed to leave troops behind to defend the capital. By that logic, each battlefield should only have around 6,000 troops.
The Navy had deployed approximately 3,000 soldiers here. On paper, the difference wasn't that large. But now, looking out over the desert sea, it seemed as though the enemy numbered in the tens of thousands.
"Damn it! Those CP2 bastards—this intel is total garbage!"
Cursing furiously, Colonel Harros slashed down enemy after enemy. He charged across the battlefield like a storm, nearly invincible in close combat.
Though he hadn't mastered Rokushiki, his swordsmanship was undeniably refined. Years of training had honed his speed, reflexes, and strength, making him more than worthy of the justice coat he wore.
Moreover, although Dragon had taken away all the officers from Navy Headquarters except for Rear Admiral Ivan, he hadn't taken the commissioned officers below that rank.
Some of them were even stronger than Colonel Harros.
Even with their overwhelming numbers, the Slaveholder Legion couldn't possibly defeat so many elite Marines in a short time—especially not with someone like Rear Admiral Ivan commanding from the front lines.
"These guys aren't soldiers!"
Just then, a somewhat dull-witted Marine from the South Blue thought he'd uncovered a shocking secret.
He noticed that the so-called 'warriors' of the Slaveholder Legion no longer wore clean, uniform breastplates and white robes. Instead, they now sported tattered, foul-smelling clothing, and wielded all sorts of mismatched weapons.
The only thing they had in common was their immense strength—and their complete disregard for death.
"Shut up!"
A nearby major from the 194th Division snapped at him.
The truth was, others had already noticed the same thing. And with the clues pointing to the infamous Slave King of the criminal underworld, it wasn't hard to guess that these people were most likely the very slaves they'd come to rescue.
But so what?
In a battlefield this bloody and brutal, where life and death were decided in an instant, it didn't matter why these slaves were fighting so madly for the Thutmose royal court. If they raised a blade against the Navy, they were enemies. The only option was to cut them down first—and ask questions later.