Chapter 48: Heretical Views (Please Vote for Recommendations)

Dividing up the North Sea? What an arrogant notion. At this moment, Doflamingo felt as though something viscous had been sprayed across his face—not the mucus from Trebol beside him, but rather the unseen Captain Kuntukuka attempting to violate his logic.

And the pitiable figure before him, with a bounty of twelve million berries, genuinely believed Doflamingo was about to ask for some specific plan.

“Our captain…”

His words, hampered by poor comprehension, were brusquely cut off by Doflamingo. Doflamingo had no interest in sea territory divisions; to his mind, it was an utterly foolish concept—one that implied the other party regarded him as a fool.

“Perhaps your captain doesn’t understand: the difference between the ocean and the land is that the sea is boundless and free. How could something as absurd as ‘divisions’ exist?”

“The sea is free and belongs to everyone, hence the existence of pirates… isn’t that so?”

“If pirates restrict their own range of activity, it’s like wild beasts locking themselves in cages. The North Sea is as small as a swimming pool, and now you want to turn the pool into a fish tank?”

“How utterly… stupid!”

Some pirates could joyfully roam the world on a rotten plank, but Doflamingo was not one of them. He was the complete opposite, a pirate with a strong sense of “territory.”

Were his words about the freedom of the North Sea? No, Qiubai heard him clearly: Doflamingo’s every word claimed the entire North Sea as his own.

His domain was not to be touched.

Now someone wished to take half the meat from his bowl. How amusing. Not only Doflamingo, but even Qiubai found the situation laughable.

“‘Porcupine’? Fufufu…”

That captain was no porcupine, but a thorough fool, attempting something more reckless than bargaining with a tiger.

“Go back, and tell your captain that the ‘Donquixote’ family has no interest whatsoever in your ridiculous plan.”

Doflamingo disdained even discussing such matters.

The other officers present snickered as well… Yellow Rooster suddenly realized he hadn’t even started before it was already over. Then, as Doflamingo’s words and the officers’ mocking laughter sank in, anger and embarrassment overwhelmed him.

“You… aren’t you afraid of an all-out war with the Komodo Pirates?”

“All-out war?” Doflamingo, who had just stood up to leave, halted immediately, unable to suppress his laughter.

Perhaps meeting these frogs at the bottom of the well was a mistake from the start.

After his laughter, Doflamingo’s words carried only contempt and menace:

“Are you even worthy of uttering those words?”

Perhaps it was arrogance, or perhaps it was simply the truth.

The question was highly subjective. From the Komodo Pirates’ perspective, having sent someone here, they must have believed themselves capable of rivaling the Donquixote family.

But they truly did not understand the Heavenly Yaksha. In Doflamingo’s eyes, not only were they not equals, but this pirate crew wasn’t even worthy of tying his shoes.

Thus, the phrase “all-out war” was laughable. What war? For Donquixote, if he encountered the Komodo Pirates at sea, he would simply crush them. If not, they could prance around as they pleased.

As long as they didn’t come too close, everything was negotiable.

Jumping clowns… well, perhaps not the best term, as it sounded like Doflamingo was insulting himself, but the meaning was clear enough.

Yet, this incident made Doflamingo ponder… Had the family gone so long without a “major event” that some had selectively forgotten the Donquixote’s notorious reputation?

As he mused, he pointed at Qiubai. “Qiubai, handle it.”

“Uh, should I kill him?” Qiubai paused and asked, making a throat-slitting gesture.

Yellow Rooster was first confused, then panicked, only now realizing he was deep in a den of thieves, entirely at their mercy.

“No, I still need him to relay those exact words back. Killing a visitor seems a bit discourteous.”

So, not to kill him?

Qiubai curled his lip. All the better; it saved him trouble. He began to warm up his fists.

After Ryoma’s guidance, Qiubai finally understood the essence of swordsmanship and had found the right path for his training. Now that he was on track, everything progressed twice as quickly.

He felt he was fundamentally different from his former self—even more so than the difference between Silver Elizabeth and Elizabeth the Too-Hot.

But as for how far his swordsmanship had come, Qiubai honestly had no idea; he’d had no opponents to test himself against… until now.

Yellow Rooster wore a sword at his waist, so this sharp-featured adversary seemed indeed a swordsman.

Previously, Qiubai possessed the “Seven Swords of Heavy Sakura,” but those were merely foundational and not true techniques. After Ryoma’s tutelage, including the original “Rikyu,” he conceived seven new sword techniques.

He called them “Vermilion Evil.”

Not “all evils,” not “exterminate evil”—but Vermilion Evil.

Of course, conception and maturity are worlds apart, so he needed to try them in combat.

“Now, let’s see whether my sword is worth ten million berries.”

Yellow Rooster was a perfect benchmark, as his bounty had just surpassed ten million. If Qiubai could defeat him, then his sword would be worth ten million… It seemed he intended to decide the outcome with a single strike, win or lose.

At this moment, the unfortunate Yellow Rooster couldn’t even escape; everyone present was watching him. Though they had no intention of ganging up on him, being surrounded by powerful fighters put him at a psychological disadvantage.

He was bound to be restrained and nervous—too unfair! But there was no way out. Still, he didn’t lose his nerve; even against the entire Donquixote family, he placed his hand on his sword’s hilt.

Qiubai, for his part, grasped with his left hand, and a blade appeared in it. If Qiubai had any unique trait in using “Unlimited Blade Works,” it was his occasional penchant for projecting the sword and its sheath together—a practice that consumed much more stamina than just the sword alone.

In theory, his scabbards were more valuable than his blades.

Scientifically, the value could be measured by the necessary labor time and materials consumed in production.

The blade Qiubai now produced was called “Thin Blade: Needle.”

Given the distance between the two, it was hard to say if it fell within swordsmanship’s attack range; the combination of arm length and blade length was usually a swordsman’s forte… Sword aura was a different matter.

But at this distance, when everyone expected Qiubai to show off or say a few words, he suddenly made his move.

The blazing white blade was drawn straight from the sheath, and as Qiubai swung, the blade seemed to extend infinitely forward.

That extension stunned Yellow Rooster for an instant, and after that instant, nothing else followed.

Qiubai’s strike was swift—he had a foundation in Iaido—but the blade’s extension was even faster. It was less a slash than a beam; his sword seemed a nimble, weightless lightsaber.

The blade’s light swept over the enemy’s position, and before Yellow Rooster could react, he felt a cold touch at his neck, followed by a surge of warm, viscous, blood-scented liquid.

Moments later, the pirate worth twelve million berries toppled backward.

It seemed… he had won?

Qiubai tried to sheathe his sword with flair, but… he couldn’t, for the blade had shattered into several pieces before he finished his swing.

Still, he could finally announce the name of his move:

“Vermilion Evil: Heretic Vision.”

But… wasn’t he supposed not to kill the man?