Chapter 98: The Crimson Moon of Flowers (Part 1)

“Ten million” of their own seemed to have lost the will to resist, yet cadres at this level could shatter no pirate’s fighting spirit even if they fell. Add Qiu Bai’s attitude… and the effect would only enflame these sea raiders further. Though distant exchanges had appeared fierce, dealing with close-range intruders came first, and Qiu Bai saw nothing but a dense thicket of pirates before him. He lacked the power to solo an entire elite pack of half a billion monsters, nor could he simply slaughter and flee at random, so his limited focus settled on a handful of targets. “Make way, let me come!” The words dropped and a volley of metal rang out; the pirate mass parted, and a figure in full heavy armor emerged, swathed like a medieval knight from head to heel. Was this self-defense born of cowardice, or fearlessness of true courage? It had to be said that a man willing to dress this way and still sail the seas possessed, in another sense, “commendable courage.” Clad in seamless full-plate steel, that weight would sink without a trace if it fell into the water… even Poseidon himself could not save him. “Mora has been taken out again?” The armored man’s voice, though faceless, dripped with crude arrogance. “Navy? Bounty hunter? Pirate?” “…Before, who you were made no difference. You will be dead soon enough.” The Steel Pirate bent his knees, arms open in a grappling stance, then charged across the trembling deck straight at Qiu Bai. Mass and momentum, heavier than any ultimate speed, struck like a hammer; if that blow landed, the result would match his own boast… a dead man. Qiu Bai stepped backward lightly, offering no retreat to the armored charge, but instead advanced. Fear? Surrender? Death? “Got you…” The grotesque armor patterns stood out clearly; even Qiu Bai’s nostrils caught the faint scent of rust. Then, at the instant the enemy believed his strike had landed… “There’s a saying I should deliver first—the one blocking the way is you.” “Make way!” Often Qiu Bai spoke at length, yet he had never once boasted on his own body, so even he did not know what volume his chest could unleash. Those two words… thunder exploded. He shifted left, dodging the arm with fluid grace, then raised his left knee; the clash of bone and steel rang loud and sharp. Incomprehensibly, the slender Qiu Bai lifted the entire suit of armor with nothing but a single leg’s power. At the same time a greatsword, its blade wider than his forearm, materialized in his left hand. He gripped the hilt, placed his right palm just forward of the blade’s center, bent his waist and twisted, then rotated counterclockwise. Every ounce of strength detonated at once. “Clang!” The broad blade slammed down like a door panel, striking the armor with a sound like a temple bell—this was less swordsmanship than blunt force; the mad swordsman was clearly suited to a hammer. Yet the technique remained. The wide, thick blade first met the enemy through the raised central spine, then, as axis, the upper edge struck again; the impact force rebounded it upward, driving the lower edge into a third blow. Though it looked like one strike, for the man inside the armor it felt as though some colossal land beast had first stomped his foot, then his foot again, then his foot once more. So this was, for the sake of being a “swordsman” like Qiu Bai, his fifteenth sword: Patch. The pirate charging in full armor toppled like a baseball struck dead-center by a metal bat, knocking several comrades aside and grazing the main mast before tumbling into the thick bulwark. Shallow pits and scattered metal fragments littered the deck… this merciless blunt strike would keep the opponent down for a time. The heavy sword in Qiu Bai’s hand dissolved into colorful smoke, vanishing without trace; he rubbed his knee once, then continued forward. Watching the ruin left by his “predecessor,” the pirates finally gathered the intention to charge in a mob… or had that baseball not caused the interruption, they would have swarmed long ago. In this moment Qiu Bai clearly lacked the power to drop an entire crowd with a single glare, yet that did not mean he had no answer. After discarding the berserker’s standard gear he switched to his usual weapon, Thin Blade Needle. He swung it forward in a flat arc, then held the edge level before his chest. Eyes, ears, mouth, and nose were the five sensory organs every person carried; while they granted normal perception and external awareness, they also imposed fatal structural weaknesses. Strike any one point invasively, and even without that million-to-one “heaven-chosen” talent the effect could be replicated. The blade was thin as cicada wing, translucent and delicate, more like a fragile craft than a weapon, yet weapons remained weapons. Special technique turned that slender edge into ceaseless trembling and humming; after countless repetitions Qiu Bai had mastered the rhythm that kept it vibrating without pause. The swing, the tremor, and the sound layered together; the blade’s vibration linked air and space, so the tone began faint, then grew brutal. Like a chorus of whales breaking the surface, like the roar of a lion pride on the plain. This was no explosion’s deafening pressure but something finer, closer, deeper, and more destructive. Few could endure the agony of a torn eardrum, yet when they truly faced it they would discover the true depth of that pain. Or rather, it was direct neural interference and ruin; without sufficient strength one could scarcely act while the sound wave tore through. This was the sixteenth sword Whale Lion. In raw killing power it could not compare to the large-scale violent continuous barrage that was also a group technique, yet it carried meaning beyond sword development alone and suited certain special moments especially well. Of course, if pressed, the current situation was not one of them. In the sound-wave assault the pirates clutched heads that throbbed with pain, their combat strength nearly shattered. Still, the attack could not reach every soul. “Repeat once more, I ask the captain and—” “Sub-captain? Right here. If there’s trouble, speak.” The sudden strike to the neck swallowed the rest of the words; the sudden restraint and suffocation dropped the long knife from Qiu Bai’s fingers. Thin Blade Needle pierced the deck vertically; a slender, powerful palm seized Qiu Bai by the throat. Wind-fast, eel-slick movement turned the figure into a ghost… in short, the sub-captain Qiu Bai sought had arrived. No one knew why the hundred-million bounty pirate earned the name Iron Wall, yet his approach was so swift it passed unnoticed. Qiu Bai… was lifted by the throat, but his expression remained unchanged. After studying the man before him with solemn attention he still spoke, voice rough and low, though that was partly because the other party refused to strangle him before the situation was clear. “Yamodalu… sub-captain?” The face in front of him matched the bounty sheet exactly. “Yes. So who are you… and what do you want?” Fingers tightened with every word. “These questions need no answer, sorry sub-captain… honestly, I never meant to fight you to the death. After all, one should know oneself.” Qiu Bai had not grown arrogant enough to imagine he could first finish one hundred million pirates and then tackle two hundred million more. “Surrender? Regrettably our pirate crew accepts no captives… still, if you speak plainly, you can at least die more comfortably.” “No. I mean, your heart… I’ll take it.” Qiu Bai meant to skip the fight and its outcome, taking life or death at once… though now it looked as though he were the one who would not survive. Yet attacks always came from unseen, unexpected places—a sharp sword drove straight for his heart from behind the sub-captain. However, the strike did not land as usual. The hundred-million bounty was no empty promise; the man had foreseen it, did not turn his head, and struck backward with a fist! That fist, wrapped in black flowing light and seemingly indestructible, smashed Qiu Bai’s sword aside. Local armed… armed Haki. “Do you think such a trifling trick will—” Yet the sub-captain who had dodged the attack fell silent… in the end Qiu Bai kept his word. The attack came from an unseen place. And the unseen place was not behind the sub-captain but in front of him, behind Qiu Bai. Qiu Bai’s body itself served as the most natural, most lethal shield—a long sword first pierced through from his back, cold metal sliding between organs, then driving straight into the sub-captain’s chest and heart. “You…” Blood erupted without pause. “Sorry. Strength is limited, so… I chose captain.” The hand lost its strength; Qiu Bai’s feet touched deck again and his voice returned. The game he played had not been naive enough that a single shout of “We are the Fairy Pirates’ magicians,” a small trumpet, and a burst of BGM would allow friendly one-shots against opponents several segments higher. Some things were cruel, equivalent, and simple, yet for Qiu Bai they were not a bad thing. So the matter now was simple and easily explained, logic flawless: dare self-destruct, hence can kill. Qiu Bai left his stamina for the boss, rendering the slight impoliteness to the sub-captain understandable, yet even a hundred-million pirate with his heart opened had only one choice—immediate exit. Still the sub-captain had scenes ahead, but they belonged to others to command… the death of the second in command would surely cow this crew from rash action. “Dong.” The sub-captain’s body stiffened as if frozen; he toppled backward, head cracking against the deck with a clean, decisive sound. A cruel fact for him, yet combat power, victory or defeat, and life or death remained entirely separate concepts, linked far more loosely than usual. “Cough!” Qiu Bai rubbed his neck, wiped a streak of blood from his mouth—his throat bone had not been crushed. Then his left hand closed, reclaiming the sword from the deck; he stepped forward to the sub-captain’s side and bent slightly. Index and middle fingers together, he slipped them past the pale teeth, into the dark, blood-slick mouth, then lifted; fingers and palm caught the upper jaw of this “great man.” Qiu Bai straightened and walked on, sub-captain’s upper body suspended, lower feet dragging… it looked as though he were prying the other’s front teeth to pull him along. In truth, the fact was exactly that. It was not tiring; the blood already congealed served as lubricant against friction. From beginning to end Qiu Bai had never stopped—now he simply carried a sword through his back and dragged a man behind him with his right hand. It had to be admitted: Qiu Bai was a pirate. He was cold as ice that could never melt. He was hot as red lava rolling and churning. Now between him and his target or purpose there seemed to be no longer any interval at all.