"Daz Bones, you two take a team and seize the other battleship. I'm going to check out the enemy's main ship," Rosen said, watching as the resistance from the battleship weakened. He now understood why the earlier bombardment hadn't been more intense.
There weren't many Marines aboard—only four to five hundred. That number might be substantial for an escort, but for a massive warship, it was clearly under-equipped.
Although there were a few capable individuals, none of them caught Rosen's eye. This was a good opportunity for Mr. 5 and Valentine to get some real combat experience. Of course, if they were unlucky and ended up dead, so be it.
Rosen used to look out for his people, but if someone's strength was on par with their opponents, they'd have to win on their own. Hiding forever under protection would eventually lead to trouble.
"Crocodile, do you even know what you're doing? That's a Celestial Dragon's escort ship! Have you lost your mind?!" the Marine Rear Admiral shouted, furious and terrified as the Marines around him fell one after another.
Being a Celestial Dragon's escort meant they held immense privilege, on par with even Vice Admirals. Yet now, they were being attacked by pirates—Shichibukai, no less. It was a humiliating disgrace.
"A Celestial Dragon?" Rosen glanced at the shouting Rear Admiral, surprised. His brow furrowed—was there really a Celestial Dragon on the main ship?
Rosen never hesitated to kill Marines or World Government agents. But strictly speaking, those were merely lackeys of the Celestial Dragons.
If he killed one of those pawns, the higher-ups might be displeased but wouldn't be truly enraged. But if he killed someone of equal standing—a master rather than a dog—the meaning changed entirely.
If a Celestial Dragon died, the World Government would be furious, and they'd stop at nothing to hunt Rosen down. Killing one would be seen as a direct challenge to their authority—something they valued above all else.
But that's only if the Celestial Dragon dies. If they survive, Rosen might still be pursued by an Admiral, but it wouldn't be as extreme. The incident at Sabaody Archipelago was proof of that.
Killing a Celestial Dragon right now was out of the question. Without the power to rival the world's top forces, doing so would be suicide.
But if used properly, a living Celestial Dragon could become a powerful bargaining chip. With one in hand, even an Admiral wouldn't dare act recklessly.
"Sending me a battleship wasn't enough, now you've gifted me a life-saving trump card too? How generous," Rosen suddenly laughed. Smoke from his burning cigar drifted across his face, swirling around the sides of his slicked-back hair, giving him an enigmatic aura.
The Rear Admiral's heart skipped a beat. From Crocodile's words, was he actually planning to act against the Celestial Dragon?
No way! He really was insane. Pirates were all lunatics—damned madmen. Did they even understand what a Celestial Dragon represented?
They were the rulers—the overlords of the world.
"Useless, useless! How could you let pirates get close enough to board the ship?! Fire the cannons! Sink the ship with the pirates on it!" Saint Desmiere, the Celestial Dragon, snapped irritably. Because of his personal tastes, his Rosamara had been fitted with many cannons.
"Yes, sir," the attendant responded without hesitation.
"Something's not right," Worland frowned. While the battleship wasn't fully manned, it should've been more than enough to repel ordinary pirates.
Even pirates with bounties over a hundred million shouldn't have been able to ignore the crossfire of two warships so easily.
"Guards!" Worland looked toward the battleship just as a figure came flying at incredible speed through the air. In an instant, he sensed the overwhelming power of the intruder and immediately called for guards to shield Saint Desmiere.
Whoosh. Rosen landed on the deck before the guards even had time to react or raise their guns. His eyes immediately found the man in luxurious attire wearing a bubble-shaped helmet. Celestial Dragons were easy to recognize.
"Insolent, low-born filth! Don't you know to kneel before the descendants of the gods? Such disrespectful scum must be punished—by me personally!" Saint Desmiere roared in fury at Rosen, who stood firm just a few steps away.
Filthy commoners, he thought. No sense of etiquette at all. As he spoke, he pulled out an ornate pistol and aimed it at Rosen.
"Just as stupid as I remembered. No point wasting time," Rosen muttered as he lunged straight at Saint Desmiere.
"Stop!" Worland appeared in front of Saint Desmiere in a flash, his fist cloaked in Haki as he struck. Rosen responded with a punch of his own.
Boom! The two fists collided, releasing a shockwave that blasted the nearby guards away. If not for two capable guards shielding Saint Desmiere, the force might have sent him flying too.
Sweat broke out on Worland's forehead instantly. He wasn't weak by any means, but even after just one second of exchanging blows, he couldn't hold out.
Crack. His arm joint dislocated from the impact, and he was launched straight into the ship's wall, crashing all the way through to the stern. Only by grabbing the railing with his uninjured hand did he avoid being flung out of the ship altogether.
"What?!" The guards, who had been blown back by the shockwave, were stunned. Even Saint Desmiere, who had been ready to fire his gun, stood frozen in disbelief.
Worland was the strongest of Saint Desmiere's guards. And given the Celestial Dragon's status, he technically didn't need any elite guards at all.
After all, hardly anyone would dare lay a hand on a Celestial Dragon—especially in the first half of the Grand Line, where the World Government's grip remained firm.
But Worland was a top fighter handpicked from Marine Headquarters. Yet now, he couldn't even take a single punch? Impossible!
"Sandstorm Blades." Rosen raised his hand, and countless sharp grains of sand shot out, piercing through every guard with any bit of strength. They collapsed in pools of blood.
"D-don't come any closer! I'm a Celestial Dragon—you can't…" Saint Desmiere stammered, panicked. He fired a few trembling shots, but the bullets passed harmlessly through Rosen's sandy body.
Soru! Just as Rosen closed in, Worland reappeared in front of him. His right arm hung limp, the joint still dislocated. He gritted his teeth, yanked, and reset the bone—but frowned as pain lingered in his hand.
He realized the pain might be more than just a dislocation—his finger bones were probably fractured too.
The strength of a Shichibukai… this strong?! Even Worland found it hard to believe.
"Black Prison Bullets." Rosen raised his hand and fired eleven powerful shots. Sensing the danger, Worland prepared to dodge—until Rosen's voice froze him in place.
"If you move, your master dies."
Rosen's calm voice stopped Worland cold. He didn't dare dodge.
"Iron Body: Steel." Worland activated full-body defense and Armament Haki. Bang bang bang—eleven shots struck him squarely, sending blood spraying. He couldn't block them all.
"A loyal dog, no doubt. Pity you chose the wrong master." Rosen raised a leg and kicked Worland, sending him flying.
With a thunderous crash, Worland slammed into the mast, embedding into it. Blood trickled from his mouth as he lay paralyzed. He was still strong—had he not taken Rosen's attacks head-on, he could have dragged the fight out.
But Rosen was going for a swift and decisive win. One simple threat forced Worland to take the full brunt.
(End of Chapter)