Conis stared blankly into the distance, her face drained of color. The scorching blast from the Burn Bazooka hung in the air like a roaring inferno, yet it washed over Ross without a ripple. Even the hem of his coat barely fluttered in the faint breeze it stirred.
The Burn Bazooka wasn't just any weapon—it ranked among Skypiea's deadliest, especially the Shandian-modified versions that had once humbled their own god. But against Ross? It vanished like a stone dropped into the endless sea.
This defied everything Conis knew. She'd seen him pluck a bullet from the air with his bare hand and turn it on Pagaya in an instant. But that platinum pistol? It was flashy, sure, but Pagaya was no warrior. The Burn Bazooka, though—that was a god-killer. And now, Ross had shrugged it off like a summer gust.
Her mind reeled. Sora had called him a World Noble, but titles meant nothing without power. High birth didn't make you invincible.
While Conis stood frozen, Ross kept walking, unflinching. He raised his right index finger, bending the first knuckle with casual ease—like cracking a knuckle after a long day.
A sharp hiss sliced through the air.
In the next heartbeat, thin red lines bloomed across the necks of every Shandian warrior. Clean as a razor cut, deep enough to sever bone. Blood sprayed in crimson arcs, soaking their armor and the ground. The fierce fighters crumpled like felled timber, twitching once before going still. Dozens of them, wiped out in a blink. No survivors.
Conis swallowed hard, her eyes snapping back to Ross. She'd overestimated him after Gion's flying slash, but this? Killing was child's play to him. A mere flick, and they were ants underfoot.
Gion's attack at least had visible sword energy. Ross's? Invisible. Untraceable. It could have taken the Shandians—or Conis, or anyone on Skypiea. Even their god.
The others didn't spare the bodies a glance. The Shandians lay outside Ross's mercy, destined as forgotten natives—swept into history's trash heap.
They pressed on uninterrupted for a few more minutes, reaching the Upper Yard Conis had described. Rough stone structures dotted the area, ancient and weathered, radiating primal power. This was once Shandian land, seized by Angel Island's gods after driving the warriors out. Now it housed the deities and their elite guards.
"Who dares invade the Upper Yard?!"
Ross's group triggered alarms the moment they arrived. Nearly a hundred God's Guards poured from the buildings, clad in heavy armor and brandishing spears, axes, and energy weapons. They formed a tight ring, faces grim under their helmets. Tension crackled like a storm about to break.
At their head stood a middle-aged man in gleaming silver-white plate, his face hidden by a closed visor. He gripped a knight's lance with iron resolve—Gan Fall, Skypiea's god.
His eyes flicked to Ross, then locked on Conis. "Angel Islanders? And you're with Blue Sea folk? Explain yourselves."
"God... Gan Fall," Conis stammered, the title catching in her throat. She coughed, then straightened. "Lord Ross, envoy of the World Government, demands an audience."
She'd barely gotten the words out, but in her mind, "god" felt hollow next to Ross. One blink, and she half-believed he could end Gan Fall.
"World Government?" Gan Fall's brow furrowed, doubt and caution sharpening his gaze. He ignored her slight and sized up Ross instead. He'd heard tales from Roger and his crew—the pirates who'd steamrolled Skypiea with godlike might. That crew could have crushed everything here. If they fled from this "World Government," how terrifying must it be?
"Mr. Ross," Gan Fall said evenly, lance steady. "State your business."
He wasn't some hotheaded priest. Qinghai's people had humbled him before; Roger's lot toyed with him like a child before sparing his life. Now another Blue Sea force arrived, backed by even greater power. Bravado meant nothing against that. God's pride? It burst like a bubble in the face of true strength.
Ross met his stare, a faint smile playing on his lips. The air grew heavier, the guards shifting uneasily. Whatever came next, Skypiea—and its god—teetered on the edge of oblivion.
—
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