"C-Conqueror's Haki…"
Lucci's eyes unfocused as Sword-Lion Gart's words rang in his ears. As a talent hand-picked by the World Government, he knew more than most about the sea's hidden truths.
He'd learned this much: once you grind Rokushiki to perfection, to grow any further you must touch a power that sits above the Six Powers. If Rokushiki is the bedrock, that higher force is the pillar that decides whether you can stand among true monsters.
Mastering Rokushiki alone will not make you a top-tier force. Even at its peak, Six Powers has a ceiling—one you cannot punch through by drills alone.
That higher force is called—Haki.
Three colors:
Observation Haki—sense intent, read the enemy's next step before it comes.
Armament Haki—the only reliable answer to Logia, aside from Seastone.
Conqueror's Haki—the rarest and most terrifying, a will born only to those with a king's disposition—one in a million.
Lucci stared, dazed, at Kai's back.
He has it… that king's will. And he's only four.
Four years old—and already wielding the one-in-a-million color. That level of gift was monstrous. In all the stories, only the greatest figures possessed Conqueror's… and they awakened it much, much later.
He'd heard the names. He knew even a Marine hero like Sengoku had Commanding Will—but that came decades into a life of war. No one—no one—at four years old.
One boy. One pulse. Four thousand pirates down.
Lucci drew a long breath as the reality set in. The battlefield had flipped on its head.
"You—what are you? You're not of the Rosede Kingdom!"
Sword-Lion Gart locked on Kai, voice tight and wary. He understood all too well what a Conqueror meant—and how dangerous such a creature could become.
"Who I am doesn't matter," Kai said, a faint smile touching his lips. "What matters is… you're going to die."
"By you?" Gart's scar twitched, but his tone stayed iron. "I'll admit it—you've got obscene talent. To hold Conqueror's at that age… impressive."
His eyes sharpened, voice turning cold. "But Conqueror's doesn't make you invincible. Not yet. You don't have the strength to kill me."
He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "I'm Sword-Lion Gart—bounty just shy of fifty million. And you're a four-year-old brat. Even with Conqueror's, you won't take my head."
He snorted. "A prodigy is still fragile before he grows. Today… I'll savor strangling one."
Kai's smile widened. "Can I do it? Let's find out."
"A man's fight, then," Gart growled.
"Exactly."
Under Gart's gaze, Kai lifted his right hand to his collar.
Rip—
Cloth screamed. His shirt shredded in his grip and drifted down in torn petals.
Hard lines of muscle ridged his small frame like coiled springs—corded veins snaked beneath skin that looked ready to explode with power. On his back, an ink-black demon totem sprawled like a hungry shadow, and with it a swell of savage pressure spilled out, raw and primal.
The air thickened.
He stood there like a beast wearing a boy's skin—breath steady, eyes half-lidded, killing intent leaking in steady waves.
A tide of force rolled outward, shaking dust from the rafters.
Boom.
The pressure settled.
"Come," Kai said softly. "Let's finish this."
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