The trafficker was so frightened he nearly wet himself. He'd had rotten luck today—trying to sell slaves and accidentally pitching his "product" to the Marine Hero himself.
To save his own skin, he obediently led Karl to their main holding site for the captives.
Shhk—Shhk—Shhk!
More than a dozen crimson arcs flashed through the air. The surrounding slave-traders collapsed where they stood. Karl's blade, Raikiri, drank deeply of the blood; the red sheen along its edge pulsed and deepened.
Lately, the sword had undergone a transformation. In the past, its black-silver surface only gained a faint crimson halo after drawing blood. Now, even when dry, the blade gleamed a deep, ominous red; once it tasted blood, that glow intensified into something almost alive.
Perhaps a swordsman's weapon grows alongside him. Or perhaps cursed blades evolve faster than their masters. By now, in terms of quality, Raikiri stood on equal footing with Raven and Shusui. Though not a Black Blade, it seemed to have walked another path—something akin to future-era "demonic aura." Karl privately called it Blood Offering, a blade forged stronger with the blood of countless villains.
Clang—! The chains were cut.
"I'm Karl, Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral," he said calmly. "You're safe now. If you used to be a pirate, step forward and admit it. I'll let it go this time."
Several men exchanged nervous looks and slowly raised their hands.
Karl's lips curled. In one precise motion, he drove Raikiri through the exposed pirates among the captives.
There was no need for chivalry with pirates.
He tossed a set of keys onto the floor. "Unlock yourselves. There's some money in the next room—use it for travel expenses."
"Thank you, Vice Admiral!"
"Thank you so much!"
Karl didn't respond. He turned and left.
Nightfall — Auction Hall, Grove 1, Sabaody Archipelago
This wasn't one of Donquixote Doflamingo's gaudy venues; the décor was restrained and practical. Still, the place was packed—nobles, pirates, merchants. A lively crowd, and the turnout suggested proper promotion. Karl felt satisfied; Monkey D. Dragon had clearly taken this seriously.
He entered a VIP box and waited quietly.
Click.
The door opened, and a hooded man slipped inside.
Karl opened his eyes. The man pulled down his hood and smiled.
"Long time no see, Vice Admiral Karl. Congratulations on becoming a Marine Hero."
"I didn't expect you to come personally," Karl replied.
"The Holy Light Shells are too important for the future of the Revolutionary Army," Dragon said. "I couldn't stay away."
Karl motioned for him to sit. "How many did you bring?"
"One hundred Holy Light Shells and ten Holy Healing Shells. This auction is about building recognition, so we didn't flood the market."
Karl nodded and said no more. Dragon looked like he wanted to continue, but seeing Karl's reserved mood, he chose to wait.
The Demonstration
Roughly twenty minutes later, the host warmed up the crowd and unveiled the first item. A plainly dressed attendant carried it out—and Karl immediately recognized it.
It was a Holy Light Shell.
The host whisked away the cloth. The stacked shells emitted a gentle golden glow as the lights dimmed.
"Amazing!"
"What is it?"
"A glowing shell?"
The host smiled. "You might think it's just a light source—after all, a lamp can do the same for a few thousand berries. But if that were all, it wouldn't be here tonight. I'll keep you guessing for a moment—because we'll show you exactly what it can do!"
"And whoever guesses correctly—wins a hundred thousand berries!"
That lit the room up.
A thin, frail man stepped onstage.
"As you can see, this man is… not strong," the host said. "Do you think he can smash that wall?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
The host proved the point: he placed two dumbbells in front of the man. The host lifted them easily; the thin man strained and failed, panting.
Some in the audience had already guessed the purpose of the shell—but curiosity kept them watching.
"Now—the moment of truth! Press the switch!"
The man held the Holy Light Shell and pressed the raised switch. Stored radiance poured out and enveloped him.
"Ahh—oh—wow!"
Under the light's effect, his body transformed before their eyes—muscles swelling, posture straightening, as if a miracle serum had coursed through him.
A collective gasp filled the hall; the temperature seemed to drop from the shock.
Karl smirked from the VIP room. So they'd done their research. Using a frail test subject made the effect obvious.
Like a level-1 player suddenly buffed by a max-level healer.
The enhanced man glanced at the host, then sprinted at the stone wall—smashing it to rubble. He picked up the dumbbell and twisted it into a knot.
"So," the host asked, voice booming, "do you all understand what the Holy Light Shell does now?"
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