Perhaps it was seeing his comrades slaughtered, or perhaps it was the fear that Weibull and the others might turn to gang up on him, but Jesse's swordsmanship began to falter. His once-confident strikes grew erratic, his expression more and more grave, tinged with a shadow of despair.
Bucky, too, noticed the results of Weibull's side of the battle. His crew had performed remarkably well, far better than he had anticipated. Though they'd taken some wounds, it was an overwhelming victory, exceeding his expectations.
Watching Jesse's sword swings grow sloppy and desperate, Bucky knew there was no longer any point in dragging this out. Continuing the fight would gain him nothing and only waste precious time—time the king might use to slip away. That, he could not allow.
Up until now, Bucky had deliberately avoided using his powers, relying solely on swordsmanship. But now, determined to end it quickly, he unleashed everything—including the full abilities of his Chop-Chop Fruit.
The balance of the fight shattered instantly. Jesse was quickly driven onto the defensive. His swordsmanship, which moments ago had held its own, could no longer threaten Bucky at all. Bucky's blade-work turned ferocious—reckless even—trading blow for blow with no concern for his defense. Where Jesse's sword slashed, Bucky simply took the strike and countered with his own, the advantage of his Devil Fruit nullifying any danger.
Jesse, however, had no such luxury. Each exchange left fresh sword marks across his body. If not for his vast combat experience, he would already have fallen.
Despair crept into Jesse's eyes. Against an opponent whose ability directly countered his own—and with nothing but swordsmanship in his arsenal—he could see the end coming.
At last, he seized an opening to disengage, stepping back out of Bucky's reach.
He did not flee. Instead, he stood there, looking at Bucky with an expression that mixed admiration and resignation.
"You are a monster," Jesse said quietly. "To have reached this level of swordsmanship at such a young age… your talent is terrifying. Your future will be extraordinary. If I'm to fall to your blade, then I have no regrets. Enough talk—one final strike. Life or death, let the heavens decide."
Jesse no longer wished to continue this hopeless duel. He knew he could not win, and he knew what awaited him if he lived. For all the wrongs he had done, there would be no happy ending. This final, decisive exchange would be his way of granting both himself and his opponent a worthy conclusion.
The blade in his hand began to glow a deep, blood-red light, its hue growing ever more vivid. Without any unnecessary flourish, Jesse swung—a single, all-out slash.
A blood-red sword aura roared forth, carrying the force to split the heavens. The ground it passed over was cleaved open as if by a divine plow, leaving a deep, straight trench in its wake. The very earth seemed to weep blood, its surface stained with that crimson light.
Seeing the sheer force of the technique and sensing Jesse's resolve to stake his life on it, Bucky's expression hardened. This was dangerous.
He, too, unleashed his trump card. The blade of Flame Sun burst into tangible fire, and with a swing, he sent a massive tornado of flames whirling forward to meet the crimson strike.
The two attacks collided with a thunderous impact, gnawing away at each other. Slowly, Bucky's flames were forced back, overwhelmed by the blood-red slash until they dissipated entirely. The crimson aura, though greatly diminished—less than half its original power—remained.
This exchange was Jesse's victory.
Bucky did not take the remainder head-on. With a swift Soru, he vanished from sight, and the slash ripped into the ground behind him, carving a crater tens of meters across.
Jesse saw the aftermath of his attack… and smiled faintly. Blood poured from his mouth and nose, his sword slipping from his fingers as he collapsed backward. His face remained calm, that smile carrying layers of meaning—guilt, reluctance, helplessness… but above all, a deep satisfaction.
When Bucky approached and checked, he found that Jesse had no breath left. His body was like a puppet with its strings cut, devoid of all strength, flesh unnaturally soft—likely the price of that final technique.
For his role in the human trafficking scheme, Jesse's death was richly deserved. Yet Bucky could not deny the man's swordsmanship… or the spirit he had shown in the end. In those final moments, Jesse had been a true swordsman.
Bucky placed Jesse's body in the great crater his last strike had carved, covering him with earth. It was the final honor he would grant him, swordsman to swordsman.
By now, Weibull and the others had finished their battles—every enemy defeated, not a single survivor left, save for the armadillo Zoan, whose fate remained unknown.
"Haha! Cousin, that was one hell of a fight!" Weibull laughed.
"Captain, what's our next move?" someone asked.
Ignoring Weibull, Bucky glanced at Kuro and the others. "Time to settle accounts with the old king."
With that, he led the group toward the grand palace that loomed in the distance.
They walked for ten minutes without encountering a single soldier or servant, until they stood before the massive gates. The doors stood wide open, and not a single guard was in sight.
Inside, the old king sat on his throne. To either side of him were dozens of elderly men and several stern-faced middle-aged figures—nobles, the kingdom's ruling class, and all directly tied to the crimes at hand.
When the nobles saw that it was Bucky and his crew—and that they were barely scratched—expressions shifted instantly. Some faces went pale, some men collapsed to the floor, and others forced smiles uglier than tears. Yet none of them ran.
Nearly all of the kingdom's elite fighters had been deployed earlier, and now none were left to guard them. They had no soldiers, no protection, and little strength of their own. Even if they tried to flee, it would be pointless.
And truth be told, this was by design. To ensure the plan remained secret, they had ordered all personnel stationed outside the palace. No witnesses, no leaks.
But now, with no one to aid them, escape was meaningless. Against enemies who had wiped out the kingdom's mightiest warriors, running would only hasten their deaths. As the kingdom's ruling elite, they understood that well.
Under the weight of dozens of wary eyes, Bucky and his crew strode slowly into the great hall. All gazes turned to the old king, still seated in calm composure upon his throne.