While the Marines' forces crumbled in chaotic disarray along the coast, another confrontation unfolded deep within the island—a silent, merciless hunt.
God's Knights moved with cold precision through the ruins and forests, their swords flashing like streaks of silver lightning. Each strike left a pirate lifeless in its wake. Expressions were absent from their faces; every movement was mechanical, as if they were executing an unbreakable routine rather than participating in a battlefield.
In contrast, the Roger Pirates cut through the island's chaos like a razor. They moved with purpose, leaving destruction in their wake but driven by a single-minded goal: the treasure at the heart of God Valley.
"Lads, the treasure is just ahead!" Roger's voice rang out. At the forefront, he unleashed a thunderous God Avoidance, sending a cluster of CP agents and the buildings behind them hurtling into splinters.
"Roger, be careful! Don't break the treasure too!" Rayleigh called with a smile, effortlessly deflecting a CP agent's blade. With a single backhand, he left a deep wound etched across the Marine's chest.
The Roger Pirates surged forward with unstoppable momentum, yet among them, Kyle's steps felt heavier and heavier. Every vibration, every sporadic image from the island's chaos, fueled the dark rage simmering within him.
The visions came unbidden: young Saint Marcos, a Celestial Dragon, gleefully chasing a girl his age with an ivory pistol. The girl screamed as she fled, only to be struck in the leg by a bullet. She fell to the ground, writhing in agony, while the boy clapped his hands with delight.
"Too noisy," Kyle murmured under his breath.
Roger turned, sensing Kyle's tone, intending to ask a question. But the captain froze at the sight of Kyle's golden pupils, which now burned with an icy, unstoppable killing intent.
"Kyle?" Roger asked cautiously.
Kyle did not respond. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his black-gold naginata, its tip pointing diagonally to the ground.
"Silent Apocalypse."
Instantly, within a hundred-meter radius of Kyle, the world seemed to die.
The wind vanished. The roar of cannon fire evaporated. The wild laughter of pirates, the shouts of Marines, the terrified screams of slaves—all disappeared as if erased from existence.
Saint Marcos, gun aimed, froze mid-motion. No matter how he tried, he could not make a sound. The trigger clicked silently; the pistol fired, but the explosive report never came.
Even the Roger Pirates and CP agents, locked in combat, found themselves moving with unsteady timing. Each attack was off by a fraction, every movement slightly misaligned. The battlefield had transformed into a silent, surreal pantomime.
A CP agent swung his sword with lethal intent, yet the blade cut through nothing but invisible air. He opened his mouth to shout, but no sound emerged. Absolute silence, paradoxically, brought terror more profound than the loudest roar.
Kyle's figure flashed across the battlefield, appearing suddenly in front of Saint Marcos. The boy's astonished expression hadn't even faded before Kyle's large hand gripped his neck, lifting him off the ground.
Those golden eyes, cold and void, held no anger, no pity—only a disdain for what he deemed trash.
"You…" Saint Marcos tried to speak, but no syllable escaped.
"Kyle!" Roger's voice carried shock as he watched, unable to intervene.
Kyle turned slowly, grinning at Roger. The smile was dazzling but terrifying, a blend of brilliance and predatory intent.
"Don't worry, Captain Roger."
He tightened his grip; Saint Marcos's head drooped limply, yet there was no audible crack of bone. Kyle's kill was surgical, silent, absolute.
"I'm just… cleaning up the trash."
With a casual toss, the boy dropped the lifeless Celestial Dragon to the ground. His expression hardened to cold indifference as he scanned the CP agents and stunned Celestial Dragons.
"Next."
---
"Saint Marcos… Saint Marcos is dead!" A CP agent pointed at the small corpse, his face ashen. Killing a Celestial Dragon was blasphemy incarnate, a crime that threatened to ignite the wrath of the World Government itself.
"Kill him! He must suffer the cruelest tortures!" others roared, bloodshot eyes ablaze.
In unison, the CP agents surged toward Kyle from all directions, their fury tangible.
Even some pirates, seeing opportunity amidst chaos, joined the fray.
"He killed a Celestial Dragon! Hahaha!"
"Grab him! Maybe he's carrying treasure!"
For a fleeting moment, the enemies of the Marines and the pirates found a common target: Kyle. He stood calmly at the center of the storm, black uniforms, swords, and furious faces closing in. The faint playfulness in his golden eyes had faded, replaced by cold indifference, like a king surveying his world.
As the first CP agent's Finger Pistol reached him, Kyle's gaze sharpened. An invisible, commanding will erupted from him.
Buzz—!
The air thickened, coiling with black-and-red lightning, surging outward like living thunder snakes.
This was no Devil Fruit power—it was Conqueror's Haki, a natural ability reserved for kings.
Ugh ah… thump… gulp…
Frontline enemies froze, eyes rolling, foam at their mouths, collapsing in a tide of unconsciousness. Horses and men alike were thrown into disarray. In one breath, a vacuum of terrified silence enveloped the battlefield.
Only those with exceptional willpower resisted, trembling, clutching weapons that seemed feather-light in the presence of Kyle's Haki.
Roger, having just cleared a section of the battlefield with God Avoidance, stopped mid-strike, eyes widening.
"Kuhahaha! Rayleigh! Look at that!" Roger laughed heartily, admiration radiating from every word. "That kid's hiding power deep!"
Rayleigh adjusted his glasses, a rare expression of surprise beneath his calm demeanor. Years ago, young Kyle had exhibited a flicker of Haki, a tiny flame barely affecting his surroundings. Now, that flame had become a raging inferno, capable of devastating everything around him.
"Honestly," Rayleigh muttered with a smile, shaking his head, "this crew… it's full of monsters."
Roger's eyes sparkled with excitement. "This is exactly why I chose him!"
Even Garp, fiercely battling Golden Lion Shiki, halted and scowled at Kyle's aura. "Hmm… there's someone on the island aside from Roger and Rocks of this caliber?"
Shiki, floating, frowned. "Tch… that kid from Roger's crew is lucky, indeed."
Kyle slowly lowered his gaze, stretching his neck with a crisp crack, surveying the struggling enemies. The elusive smile returned to his face, calm and predatory.
---
In the shadows of ruined buildings, Ivankov and Bartholomew Kuma moved swiftly, seizing their chance amidst the chaos.
"Vee-haw! Here it is!" Ivankov exclaimed, pointing to a temporary warehouse. "The prizes are inside!"
Kuma silently pushed open the heavy door with his massive frame. Inside, jewels glittered under the sunlight, but their eyes were fixed on two ornate wooden boxes.
"It's them! Ginny was right!"
The boxes contained two Devil Fruits. One was blue with dragon-scale patterns, exuding ancient majesty; the other pink with paw-pad-like markings, deceptively harmless.
"Which is the Boba Fruit?" Ivankov asked.
"Who cares? Grab it!" Kuma said, decisively picking up the blue one.
Suddenly—
Boom!
The warehouse wall exploded. Charlotte Linlin had arrived, eyes blazing with greed.
"Little mice, those are mine!" she roared, swatting Ivankov aside with terrifying force.
Kuma snatched the pink fruit and fled, Ivankov clinging to his side. Linlin, blue fruit in hand, grinned, tossing Ivankov aside, but a dark shadow fell between her and him.
Kyle, naginata resting on his shoulder, blocked her path. "Bullying children isn't a hobby."
He had already "cleaned" nearby Celestial Dragons and CP agents in silence.
"Move, or you'll end up like them," he said casually, gesturing to the corpses.
Linlin's massive body lunged at him, but Kyle's naginata struck with blinding speed, the shockwave forcing her back.
"You bastard…" she growled, fury mixing with awe.
Kyle grinned. "Hard, really hard… as expected of a future Four Emperor."
But multiple powerful auras were converging. Kyle's eyes narrowed.
Linlin, sensing the shift, weighed her options. With a greedy laugh, she fled, carrying the blue fruit safely.
Kyle did not pursue. Calmly, he surveyed the battlefield. Golden eyes glinting with rational calculation, he declared to himself:
"The venting is over. Now… time to find some fun."
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)