On the other side, Igaram pushed aside the broken rubble of the tavern, pieces of shattered wood and tiles scraping against each other as he cleared a path. Dust still hung in the air from the earlier destruction. Beneath him was Vivi, whom he had shielded at the very moment Mr. 1's attack had sliced through the tavern's roof and sent it crashing down upon them.
In that instant, Igaram had wrapped himself around Vivi, using his own body as a shield. Thankfully, Igaram possessed a sturdy physique; the falling roof and debris were not enough to cause him any serious injury. Bruised, yes—but nothing he could not endure.
As the last heavy beam was lifted aside, Igaram helped Vivi sit up. Both of them immediately turned their attention toward the ongoing clash between Gojo and the Baroque Works members.
But the moment their eyes settled on the battlefield, shock overtook them.
Mr. 1 was already lying on the ground—down.
And what was unfolding before them was not a battle.
A battle is when two sides exchange blows. When attacks are answered with counters. When there is resistance.
This… was different.
With every single strike Gojo made, one Baroque Works member either lost their life or was rendered completely useless with a devastating injury. There was no back-and-forth. No equal exchange.
Only one-sided domination.
Igaram's voice came out low and heavy. "This is no battle. He's carrying out a massacre of these Baroque Works members."
The scene continued for the next quarter of an hour.
The sound of clashing steel, cracking bones, and bodies hitting the sand echoed repeatedly through the street. Dust clouds rose and fell. Cries of pain gradually replaced battle shouts.
Finally, Gojo stopped.
He stood in the middle of the street, spotless. Not a single drop of blood stained his clothes or skin. Because of Limitless, none of it had ever touched him. He looked completely unharmed—calm, composed, as if he had merely taken a stroll.
But the same could not be said about the Baroque Works members.
The entire street was filled with bodies—either lifeless corpses or severely injured members groaning faintly in pain. They were scattered everywhere, covering the sand and broken stone like fallen leaves after a storm.
Out of the countless members who had charged at him, only Mr. 3, Mr. 2, and Miss Goldenweek remained standing.
This alone showed just how powerful Gojo truly was.
Even so, Gojo was taking deep breaths now. His chest rose and fell steadily. Killing so many people in succession had still required effort, even if they had never truly threatened him.
He muttered to himself, almost thoughtfully, "It would have been best if I had used the Flying Sword Slash. The stamina consumed would have been around the same—maybe even less. Fighting them individually is just a waste of time. But still… it was a good experiment."
Now I know.
Suddenly, a faint smile appeared on his face.
He turned his head slightly to the left.
"Oh? So now the boss decided to show up."
A new presence had entered the scene.
Crocodile stood at a distance, his coat swaying slightly in the desert breeze. His gaze swept across the devastated street—the corpses, the injured, the destruction.
He was fuming.
The rage in his eyes was barely contained as he looked at the dead and severely injured Baroque Works members lying everywhere. The atmosphere around him felt heavier, suffocating. The scene before him was nothing less than terrifying.
For Vivi, it was horrific.
After the first few minutes of the slaughter, she had not dared to look again. She could not bear watching Gojo massacre the Baroque Works members with zero ounce of sympathy on his face. The image of blade meeting flesh had been too much.
But when she heard Gojo's voice—"the boss decided to arrive"—she forced herself to look.
Following the direction Gojo was facing, Vivi saw him.
Crocodile.
And just a few steps behind him stood Miss All Sunday—the number two of Baroque Works—calm and composed, her eyes observing everything silently.
…
Just a few minutes ago, Crocodile had been sitting in his luxurious chamber inside the largest casino, the dim golden lights reflecting off polished marble floors. A glass rested in his hand as he waited calmly for the expected news from Mr. 1—the successful capture of Gojo, Vivi, and her guard, Igaram.
Everything had been proceeding according to plan.
But then the Den Den Mushi rang.
On the other end, Mr. 3's strained voice came through, panic barely hidden. "This Gojo is totally out of our league. We are completely unable to handle him. Mr. 1 and Miss Doublefinger are down. I am no match for him. He is very powerful, and he is massacring the Baroque Works members. I thought that maybe by fighting so many of them, he would consume his stamina—but it's more like the more he kills, the faster he becomes at killing. Please, you have to come and take charge."
The line went silent.
Crocodile's expression darkened immediately. Anger flickered in his eyes, but beneath it was something sharper—wariness. A powerful character appearing as support for Vivi was an unexpected variable.
Even so, his confidence did not waver.
No matter how strong this "Gojo Satoru" was, Crocodile believed firmly in his own strength. He was a Warlord of the Sea. He would deal with this man personally—and remove the only weak link in his entire operation: Vivi, who knew enough to potentially disrupt his grand plan, Utopia.
And so, he came.
Now, standing amidst the devastated street littered with bodies, Crocodile looked at Gojo with a cold, assessing gaze.
"It seems," Crocodile said evenly, his voice heavy with restrained fury, "that you have made an enemy of me—even though you knew that I am a Warlord."
Gojo slightly tilted his head, as if genuinely puzzled.
"So what if you are a Warlord?" he replied casually. "It's not like I haven't fought any Warlord before. Just before coming here, I fought one and defeated him. You must know him—Jinbe. And I can definitely say that you are not even as strong as him. So dealing with you is a piece of cake for me."
For a brief moment, the air grew still.
The claim that Gojo had defeated Jinbe was shocking. Crocodile's eyes narrowed. It was not entirely unbelievable—but neither was it easily accepted. Jinbe was no weakling.
But what truly ignited Crocodile's fury was the second statement.
That he was weaker than someone else.
That was humiliation.
Crocodile's jaw tightened.
"Is that so?" he said coldly. "Then die."
Immediately, sand began swirling violently around his right hand, spiraling upward in a growing vortex. With a flick of his arm, the sand surged forward like a tidal wave, sweeping across the battlefield. It engulfed fallen Baroque Works members without hesitation.
Crocodile did not care.
If they were too weak to fight someone like Gojo, they were not worth his concern. Those who survived would still be useful. The rest were expendable.
The wave of sand rushed toward Gojo and swallowed him completely. Grains pressed in from all directions, burying him beneath a dense, suffocating mass.
Crocodile watched closely.
He had observed something earlier—Gojo did not move to avoid attacks. Not even slightly.
"It seems," he mocked, "that you don't know how deadly it is to get covered in sand."
He slowly clenched his hand.
The sand that encased Gojo began to compress, becoming denser and tighter. The grains locked together, hardening like a crushing tomb. The pressure increased, aiming to suffocate and grind him down from all sides.
For a moment, there was nothing but a massive mound of swirling sand.
Then—
A faint light appeared within the sand, the next instant, a sharp slash cut through it.
The semi-oval sand barrier split cleanly in half and burst apart. Sand scattered violently in every direction, blown outward as if repelled by an invisible force.
When the dust settled, Gojo stood there.
Completely unharmed.
Not a scratch on him. Not even a grain of sand touched his clothes.
The faint smile had returned to his face.
----
Want to get daily updates and read 20+ chapters? Then join my Patreon!
Patreon Link: https://[email protected]/Hkj822
Join Discord Link: https://discord.gg/MXPrVTBM