"You little bastard!" Blutz stormed toward him, shoving through the crowd. "Say that again!"
Gil leaned back, smiling wide, boyish and harmless on the surface. "Sure. You farted. Everyone here heard it."
"Damn you!" Blutz flipped a table aside, rage burning.
"Gil!" Bastille hissed in panic. "He's a Celestial Dragon's butler! Even an Admiral would think twice before crossing one!"
Gil shrugged. "Relax. He's not a Celestial Dragon himself. Just their lapdog."
Blutz snarled, looming over him. "Say it again! What fart did I supposedly make?!"
Gil tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "You just said you'd punch Whitebeard and kick Golden Lion. That's not ambition. That's hot air. You aren't fit to polish Whitebeard's boots. At best, you're a Celestial Dragon's mutt. And since Celestial Dragons mean nothing to me… that makes you less than a mutt. Less than a dog."
The room froze.
Gasps rippled through the tavern. Even hardened pirates stared like Gil had just spat on the Holy Land itself.
"Madman…" one whispered."He insulted a Celestial Dragon's butler to his face.""He's finished…"
Yet a few couldn't suppress their grins. "About time someone said it…"
Blutz's face twisted in fury. "You'll pay for that with your life!" He lunged, hand like a claw, aiming to rip Gil's throat out.
Gil barely moved. He lifted his hand, palm open.
"Banshō Ten'in."
The air imploded. Blutz's body snapped forward, dragged into Gil's grasp. Before anyone could blink, his body ruptured in midair—blood spraying like mist.
Silence.
The butler of a Celestial Dragon, reduced to red fog with a single gesture.
Chairs scraped as pirates stumbled back. The Axe Captain stared in mute shock. Even the veterans who'd seen New World monsters fight had never witnessed such effortless destruction.
"W-what… what just happened?""He killed him… with nothing but a hand motion…""This… this is Admiral-level power."
Bastille's voice cracked. "Gil… you've doomed yourself. Killing a Celestial Dragon's servant means…"
Gil brushed past him, smiling faintly. "A bug's a bug. Swat it, and move on."
He gestured casually. The two treasure chests rattled, then vanished into his system space. Gil turned and strolled out of the tavern without a backward glance.
Bastille scrambled after him, pale and sweating.
Behind them, the tavern sat frozen. Pirates, slavers, civilians—all struck dumb, unable to decide if they had just witnessed a miracle or a death sentence.