Chapter 267: Every Scumbag Uses Submarines These Days
Sleek, form-fitting black diving suits. Thick, heavy helmet-style visors. Massive scuba tanks and cumbersome buoyancy control devices strapped tightly to their backs.
If an avid diving enthusiast saw these slavers, they might actually compliment the exceptional quality of their gear. If citizens of a technologically primitive island in the Grand Line saw them, they might stare in absolute bewilderment at the bizarre contraptions.
But in the eyes of the Fish-Men and Merfolk, the only thing this equipment accomplished was making them laugh hysterically.
"Pfft... I can't hold it in... Do they seriously think putting on these clunky toys will let them beat us underwater?"
The deeper the water, the more absolute the biological advantage of the Fish-Men and Merfolk became.
In fact, the moment a human submerged themselves—even if they were a mere millimeter below the surface—the surrounding water completely severed their natural means of respiration. Conversely, Fish-Men and Merfolk, blessed with dual respiratory systems, remained entirely unimpeded.
In the original timeline, Hody Jones was the ultimate prime example of this absolute environmental disparity. If not for the staggering advantage provided by the deep sea, a pathetic amateur like him—who possessed garbage physical techniques, zero Haki, and completely relied on lethal steroids just to scrape by—would never have stood a chance against Luffy.
Even with a combat power gap so vast it practically defied description, Hody Jones managed to drag out the fight purely by relying on the underwater environment.
When facing an opponent of roughly equal caliber, an underwater Fish-Man or Merman warrior was genuinely invincible.
"Cut the chatter!" Karma commanded sharply. "Stop wasting time and wipe them out! Move!"
Karma's voice was slightly muffled underwater, but the Neptune Army soldiers understood him perfectly. They immediately fanned out to both flanks, rapidly closing the net around the enemy divers.
The slavers, however, did not possess such tactical convenience. Even though their high-end diving gear allowed them mobility, the breathing regulators firmly clamped between their teeth made vocal communication entirely impossible. They were forced to awkwardly rely on crude hand signals to communicate with their comrades.
Hand signals could convey general intentions, but they completely lacked the precision and speed of spoken commands. By the time they finished frantically waving their hands at each other, the Neptune Army soldiers were already upon them.
Swish! Swish!
Several harpoons were fired from the slavers' spear guns, the sharp iron spikes carving localized currents through the dark water. However, the Neptune Army soldiers dodged them with almost insultingly casual ease.
The dense resistance of the seawater significantly decelerated the projectiles. Against the lightning-fast reflexes of the Fish-Men, such highly telegraphed, line-of-sight attacks were completely useless.
Just as the slavers frantically drew their combat knives, preparing for close-quarters engagement, the blindingly fast Merman soldiers were already right beside them.
Slash!
Rip!
Glug glug glug...
A series of muffled thuds echoed through the water as the Merman soldiers struck once and instantly retreated, completely refusing to engage in an extended brawl.
Upon closer inspection, the slavers hadn't suffered a single scratch on their bodies.
But the oxygen hoses connected to their regulators had been completely severed.
Massive quantities of vital, mixed breathing gas instantly erupted into the ocean, sending countless bubbles spiraling toward the surface.
While it appeared as though no direct, lethal damage had been inflicted, the instantaneous severing of their air supply sent the slavers into blind, suffocating panic.
With their oxygen violently cut off, several men immediately inhaled mouthfuls of seawater straight into their lungs. Their bodies instinctively reacted, forcing them to violently cough in a desperate attempt to expel the fluid.
But in the depths of the ocean, opening your mouth to cough only forced you to inhale more seawater. Even if they weren't dead yet, they had instantly lost all combat effectiveness.
Those who managed to hold their breath were temporarily safe, but exactly how long could a panicking human hold their breath underwater?
Especially in the middle of a high-adrenaline combat situation, where the body's oxygen consumption rate skyrocketed exponentially?
Driven purely by the primal instinct to survive, the remaining slavers abandoned all thought of fighting. They turned and frantically kicked toward the submarine. Even if the hull was breached, there was still residual oxygen trapped inside. It was infinitely better than drowning out here in the open ocean.
But before they could even move, the Neptune Army's second echelon was already upon them.
The first echelon, composed exclusively of lightning-fast Mermen, was solely responsible for harassment—slashing the bubble coatings and systematically destroying the enemy's breathing apparatus.
The second echelon, composed of heavily muscled Fish-Men possessing overwhelming frontal combat power, was tasked with delivering the fatal, decisive strikes against the choking, incapacitated enemy.
This was the formalized, highly refined doctrine of the modern Neptune Army's naval warfare.
Not only was it ruthlessly effective, but it practically reduced friendly casualties to absolute zero. Unless there was a heavily concealed, high-bounty commander hiding among the fodder, the Neptune Army almost universally won these skirmishes completely unscathed.
Meanwhile, inside the submarine, the emergency repair crew was frantically rushing from one compartment to another. No sooner had they managed to seal one breach than a massive new hole was violently torn open on the opposite side of the hull.
The chaotic sounds of combat outside the sub gradually faded into eerie silence, yet the terrifying sounds of the submarine itself being systematically dismantled hadn't stopped. Everyone inside the iron coffin knew exactly what that meant, though no one dared to speak the grim truth aloud.
Creak... groaaaaan...
The submarine's metallic hull continuously groaned in structural agony, echoing like a relentless death knell in the ears of the terrified slavers. The Neptune Army soldiers outside clearly had absolutely zero interest in negotiating.
If submarines weren't so exceedingly rare—meaning the Fish-Men lacked practiced experience in efficiently dismantling them—the vessel would have been completely ripped to shreds long ago.
However, a lack of experience didn't change the inevitable outcome. A short time later, the incredibly expensive, state-of-the-art submarine was reduced to a mangled heap of sunken wreckage on the seafloor, and the rescue teams swooped in to begin their work.
Regardless of their identity—slavers or captives—everyone was forcefully dragged to the surface first. They would save them from drowning, then sort out who was who and decide their ultimate fate.
The baseline physical constitution of humanity in this world was remarkably resilient. As long as resuscitation was administered promptly, a little drowning wasn't a lethal injury. This protocol maximally ensured the safety of the captive slaves.
For the slaves themselves, although nearly drowning was a terrifying ordeal, compared to losing their freedom and enduring endless, horrific torture, it was practically a blessing.
"Get someone with good eyes over here!" Karma barked. "Check if these are the targets His Majesty is looking for!"
"Can't you just look yourself, Commander?" a soldier grumbled.
"I'm face-blind! They all look exactly the same to me! Hurry up and verify their identities! If it's them, we need to report this immediately!"
"Uh... black hair, green hair, orange hair... yeah, this should be the three of them, right?"
"Get out of the way, you idiots!" another captain roared, shoving his subordinates aside. "Didn't they give us the damn portraits?! Can't you just compare them properly?!"
Fish-Man Island produced a specialized, highly durable waterproof parchment that wouldn't tear or bleed ink even when submerged for extended periods.
After violently shooing away the face-blind idiots trying to verify identities through highly questionable methods, Karma's squad carefully cross-referenced the portraits and finally confirmed the targets' identities.
"Gloriosa, we've found them. They'll be escorted to the Sabaody Archipelago surface port shortly. Assuming you can safely bring them back to Amazon Lily on your own? Or do you need me to provide an escort?" Nereus asked.
"Thank you," Gloriosa bowed her head deeply. "I can manage bringing those children home myself."
Even though her physical form had withered into a hunched old woman, Gloriosa's baseline martial foundation remained. She usually appeared completely harmless back on Amazon Lily purely because she viewed herself as a sinner and chose a life of quiet penitence.
If push came to shove, anyone who mistook her for an ordinary, frail old lady would suffer a horrific, fatal lesson.
"An equivalent exchange," Nereus replied smoothly. "You provided exactly what I asked for. Neither of us owes the other anything."
After summoning an escort to properly see Gloriosa off, Nereus turned his attention to the detailed after-action report filed by Karma.
In short, the human trafficking syndicates were desperately beginning to upgrade their maritime technology. Because the Neptune Army lacked practical experience dealing with submarines, they were forced to violently dismantle the vessel through brute force.
Theoretically, outfitting an entire slaver fleet with state-of-the-art submarines was financially and logistically impossible. But purely as a proactive precaution, Karma formally requested authorization to implement specialized anti-submarine dismantling courses into the military curriculum.
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