It was a moonless, wind-swept night — the perfect night for killing.
The flagship, helmed by a Vice Admiral, had sustained relatively fewer casualties. But the two standard naval vessels were soaked in blood. Corpses littered the decks, stacked in silent testimony to a massacre.
These two ships had been filled with promising young recruits, all on their way to join the Navy.
Some of them had tried to resist, others dropped to their knees begging for mercy. Some howled in fear, some broke down in blind panic.
But none of them escaped their fate.
They weren't even true recruits yet — barely trained, barely armed. Cannon fodder at best. Against real pirates, death came swiftly. In a matter of minutes, more than half were gone.
Above the battlefield, Vice Admiral Mole hovered in midair, using Moonwalk to hold his position. Though the ships below were cloaked in darkness, he could still sense the bloodbath. His heart ached with fury.
"Owen!" he bellowed, voice cracking like thunder. "Call off your men! Now!"
Owen stood on a deck drenched in carnage, staring up coldly.
"Call them off? Mole, are you serious?" he scoffed. "Have you ever known a pirate to take orders from the World Government?"
The disdain in his voice was clear. And he wasn't wrong. The Warlord system hadn't been established yet. No pirate had any allegiance to the Navy.
With a flick of his arm, Owen drew his greatsword. Heat rippled along the blade — the power of the Heat-Heat Fruit. The steel glowed red-hot, steam rising faintly into the night. It burned like a brand against the darkness.
Vice Admiral Mole had faced Owen more than once. He knew this man's strength, and he knew the danger that blade posed. He wrapped his own sword, Bloodfang, in Armament Haki. The weapon turned pitch black, melding seamlessly with the night.
And then, they moved — faster than the eye could follow. In a heartbeat, they clashed.
"If that's your answer," Mole shouted, eyes blazing, "then I'll defeat you first!"
He slashed forward, sword howling through the air. The blade unleashed a searing arc of sword energy, roaring toward Owen like a lightning strike.
Owen didn't flinch. He raised his greatsword across his chest. Flames surged higher, fueled by the Heat-Heat Fruit. The temperature soared.
"Superheated Slash!"
His burning blade met the Vice Admiral's air slash with a hiss like the world tearing apart. Sparks erupted, and the night screamed with steel.
Owen's grip trembled slightly — a nearly imperceptible shake, hidden by the shadows. But he noticed. And so did Mole.
The Vice Admiral had grown stronger.
Owen had trained relentlessly to enhance his abilities, but even so, Mole had outpaced him — just barely.
That trembling hand was proof.
Without pause, Mole gripped his blade tighter and launched another strike.
Time was running out. If this fight dragged on, the rest of the crew would be slaughtered. Even if he defeated Owen, it would be meaningless if no one was left to save.
He had to end it — fast.
"One-Sword Style: Gunshot!"
"One-Sword Style: Blade's Cry!"
"One-Sword Style: Hammer Roar!"
Three consecutive sword techniques tore through the air, each one sealing off any chance of escape. The strikes combined the speed of a spear, the sharpness of a blade, and the crushing force of a hammer.
Owen's expression changed drastically. In the face of such overwhelming offense, he could only raise both fists in defense. Flames erupted around them.
"Superheated Fists!"
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The impact slammed into him like thunderclaps. Even though Owen blocked the blows, the sheer force left him reeling.
But Mole didn't wait to see the result. He knew those hits had landed clean. Owen wouldn't recover quickly.
Without wasting another second, the Vice Admiral dove toward the standard Navy ships — toward the young recruits who still fought for their lives.
His blade swung wide, cleanly decapitating the nearest pirate. Blood sprayed across the deck.
Now that Owen wasn't in his way, Mole moved like a reaper through a wheat field. No pirate could stop him.
"Captain Karl? Where is Captain Karl?" he called out, eyes sweeping the blood-soaked chaos.
A young sailor shouted back amid the fighting. "Captain Karl was surrounded by ten pirates! He's… he's dead, sir. Killed in action!"
"Dead?"
The words struck Mole like a hammer to the chest.
His blade froze mid-swing, caught halfway through a pirate's neck. The man didn't die immediately — instead, he writhed in agony, shrieking in pain.
Rage boiled in Mole's chest. He clenched Bloodfang tighter and let out a roar. Slashes flew in every direction, cutting down several more pirates in a flash.
"Where is Jacob Bovan? Don't tell me he's dead too!"
"Reporting, sir — he hasn't left his cabin since the attack began!"
Veins bulged on Mole's forehead. "Captain Karl is dead, and he's still hiding in his cabin? Outrageous! Absolutely outrageous!"
Before he could continue, the sky exploded with light.
A wave of blistering heat radiated outward, turning the air itself red. The intense temperature twisted the atmosphere, distorting everything nearby.
In the pitch-black night, it looked like a second sun had risen.
Mole's heart lurched.
"Owen… he's awakened his Devil Fruit!"