Chapter Sixty-Four: Six Forms

Question: If there were such an organization, one that gets blamed for every bad deed or even anything merely suspected of being bad, to the point that the World Government could only sigh in exasperation, muttering something like, “Damn it! It’s that bastard again!”—then what kind of organization would that be?

Answer: The Revolutionary Army.

The Revolutionary Army is considered a far greater threat than pirates. For the World Government, although it’s not an exact equivalence, it could roughly be described as: pirates are like a skin rash, while the Revolutionary Army is a grave internal illness.

Qiubai’s offhand, almost flippant answer caught Lucci off guard for a moment, but upon reflection, it seemed completely reasonable… Even though there was no way to tell if Qiubai was telling the truth, those three words—Revolutionary Army—carried a certain irrefutable weight.

Of course, Qiubai hadn’t said this just to cause trouble for the Revolutionary Army; he wasn’t that bored. It was simply a matter of convenience… If you had to pick an organization with a tight structure, mysterious and complex operations, unified goals, and, most importantly, extensive intelligence networks to take the blame, the Revolutionary Army was the only candidate that came to mind.

So, the Revolutionary Army was a perfectly logical answer, and Qiubai felt no pressure saying it… He himself was a bona fide “chaotic force,” and the boss of the Revolutionary Army, Dragon, was Luffy’s father, not his. So if someone else could shoulder some of the burden, Qiubai had nothing to lose.

After all, Dragon had so many fleas already—what’s one more itch?

What’s that? If Qiubai would just talk less, none of this would have happened? There’d be no need to pin it all on some organization? Sure, in theory that makes sense, but… isn’t that a bit too much to ask? Forcing Qiubai to practice “self-censorship” is as difficult as making him drink ten liters of Ganges water and then hold his bladder for eight hours—no one could bear that, right?

But the problem now was that while “Revolutionary Army” was a reasonable answer, it might not be the most appropriate—it would only escalate the situation.

“If it really is the Revolutionary Army, then although in theory it would be best to extract some intelligence from you, in reality, there’s no longer any need to take you alive.”

While it wasn’t an absolute, the Revolutionary Army—composed of “enlightened individuals” and “comrades in revolution”—was notorious for its members’ ironclad resolve. The World Government could rarely extract any valuable information through interrogation or torture.

Coercion, bribery, defection, capture—all were strategies the World Government employed against the Revolutionary Army, but by far the most effective and frequently used method was… assassination.

Most of these “dirty jobs” fell to Cipher Pol, so when Lucci said that taking him alive was unnecessary, it meant he was going to kill.

“Oh? Then I suppose I can look forward to it a little?”

Qiubai showed no fear in the face of this threat; in fact, he was genuinely a bit excited. In moments like this, he seemed to have nerves of steel… After all, the most effective way to improve one’s strength is always through actual combat.

He didn’t know Lucci’s true combat power, but there was no doubt it was formidable. Even so, Qiubai didn’t think he was overmatched.

What Qiubai anticipated was less about the fight itself and more about what he could discover about his own abilities. Rob Lucci was about the same age as Qiubai—the perfect opponent, not too tall or short, not too fat or thin, not too light or heavy. Qiubai wanted to use this well-matched adversary to test his own strength.

At this point, Lucci had already mastered the Six Powers of the Navy. More importantly, his frequent missions had given him a wealth of combat experience. Measured by the World Government’s data-driven standards, Lucci’s power level in human form was “800 Doriki”—a number that would mark him as a powerhouse even among thirty-four-year-olds, never mind that he was only fourteen.

To put it another way, if Qiubai could defeat Lucci in his normal state, it would mean he was stronger than Tony Tony Chopper, one of the “giant” combatants of a certain pirate crew.

Now, with both sides itching for a fight… the battle was inevitable.

Lucci leapt backward, spun, and launched a side kick; immediately, a distinct, vacuum-like blade of air formed at his foot. The attack, as sharp as any sword master’s flying slash, instantly cleaved through every obstacle between him and Qiubai.

“Six Powers: Tempest Kick.”

But this kind of long-range slash, while impressive, was rarely truly effective.

Qiubai ducked low, and the slash whistled just above his head, failing to so much as nick his neck.

His coiled body and legs, set apart front and back, were already brimming with power—then, that power exploded forth!

A tremendous recoil sent him hurtling forward, his body nearly skimming the ground like an arrow through the gaps left by the debris the Tempest Kick had sent flying.

Then, spinning like a top, Qiubai unleashed the centrifugal force and the full strength of his upper body. With one hand gripping his blade, he slashed upward at Lucci’s waist—fast, precise, and brutally powerful… Of course, he could have aimed for a more fatal spot, but stabbing an underage opponent in the groin without warning seemed neither polite nor harmonious.

To his surprise, Lucci made no move to dodge, but faced the attack head-on!

Clang!

Though one side wielded a sharp blade and the other was flesh and blood, the collision rang out with the sound of metal striking metal—clearly, Lucci’s kidneys had been specially trained; they were hard as iron.

Lucci had used an advanced defensive technique to harden his skin to the utmost:

“Six Powers: Iron Body.”

Qiubai’s strike had no effect. But, as the saying goes, “A wise man makes the most of his tools”—if a thousand blades couldn’t pierce Iron Body, would it be unfair to switch to a higher-grade weapon?

Still, Lucci was not as unscathed as he appeared. He realized he’d been too careless; though his defenses had not been breached, he should never have taken that blow head-on… Qiubai was a berserker swordsman—strength was his forte, and taking a hit like that hurt like hell.

But… this was where it ended. Qiubai’s aggressive stance left him overextended; charging in so recklessly was practically begging for a counter. Lucci trapped Qiubai’s sword with one arm, balanced on one leg, then drove his other elbow and knee straight for Qiubai’s heart from above and below.

A hit like that would have spelled instant defeat.

But was Qiubai, so sorely lacking in combat experience, really “unguarded”? Had Lucci forgotten how Qiubai’s first attack had been launched?

Qiubai was someone who could “shoot” at any time, anywhere. Behind him, dozens of sharp blades suddenly materialized in a flash.

Qiubai’s shooting technique wasn’t the least bit sneaky—in fact, it was impressive in its own right, for he used nothing but his own body.

He wielded weapons brimming with murderous intent, and at close range, nothing was more thrilling than a volley of shots.

Let’s see if you can survive this.