Patrick Redfield stood in the middle of the wrecked street, his umbrella casually resting against his shoulder.
His piercing crimson eyes were locked onto the three men blocking his way.
Pintel pulled himself free from a heap of broken timber, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the cobblestones. One side of his coat hung open, revealing bruised ribs beneath.
Ragetti was a few steps ahead, gripping a crude, heavy iron mace with white knuckles. Rust flaked off the chain, and dark stains crusted the spikes. Yet, in Ragetti's trembling, scarred hands, the brutal weapon seemed almost at home.
Emporio Ivankov positioned himself between them, his usual flamboyant grin completely absent.
"Listen closely," Ivankov said, his voice stripped of all theatrics as he kept his gaze fixed on the Crimson Count. "He can read intent. The moment you decide how to attack, he already knows."
Pintel thrust his hands out, making small circles with his fingers. "Then I'll make up my mind fast!"
"That's not how Observation Haki works!" Ivankov shot back.
"It's how his works!"
Ragetti adjusted his stance, tightening his grip on the mace. "I usually don't decide anything."
Ivankov glanced back at him, blinking in surprise. "...That might actually be an advantage."
Redfield's gaze shifted slowly between the three. His expression was calm, but the underlying tranquility had soured into sharp irritation.
Twice in one day, he had let his goal slip through his fingers. First Pato. Now Red.
Decades of watching his own body betray him—seeing his legendary speed fade and his strength dull—had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was still a monster compared to ordinary men, but the chasm between who he was and who he remembered was impossible to ignore. And now, these weak, insignificant fools were holding him up once again.
"I offered you quick deaths," Redfield said softly, "You really should have taken the deal."
Pintel thrust his hands forward, desperation lighting up his eyes. "Noro Noro Beam!"
A ring of pale light shot down the shattered street. Redfield swayed to the side just in time to avoid it, but Pintel frantically swept his arms, dragging the beam across the pavement.
Redfield's gaze sharpened. The edge of the slow-beam grazed the hem of his dark cape.
Suddenly, his movements slowed to a crawl.
"Now!" Ivankov shouted.
Ragetti was the first to charge. He hefted the spiked mace over his shoulder and slammed it down with enough force to crack the street.
Redfield raised his umbrella to block the blow.
The heavy iron collided with the fabric. The ground beneath Redfield splintered outward in a web of cracks, and for the first time, he felt the weight of the impact tugging at his arm.
Ragetti's eyes widened, a bloody grin spreading across his face. "Got you!"
"No," Redfield replied, his tone icy.
He twisted the shaft of the umbrella, using its leverage to fling the mace aside, taking Ragetti along for the ride. Ragetti spun through the air, his boots momentarily leaving the ground, but he used the momentum to swing the weapon back around from the opposite side.
Redfield leaned back just enough for the rusted spikes to whiz past his nose.
Before he could regain his balance, Ivankov appeared behind him. His upper body swelled dramatically, muscles bulging as his Horm-Horm Fruit transformed his physique for a sudden, explosive surge of power.
"HELL WINK!"
The concentrated shockwave slammed into Redfield's back. The blast shattered the remaining stained-glass windows of nearby ruins and enveloped the road in a thick cloud of pulverized stone.
Pintel dropped his hands, breathing heavily. "Did... did that hit him?"
"No," Ivankov replied through gritted teeth.
From the swirling dust, a silhouette emerged. Redfield stood there, his coat torn at one shoulder, exposing smooth, unmarked skin. His face was completely expressionless.
"Enough."
The air in the street shifted violently, a palpable tension rising.
Pintel sensed the Conqueror's presence before he even saw the movement. He tried to turn, but his reflexes were far too sluggish.
Redfield's closed umbrella slammed into his ribs. The force bent Pintel over the steel tip, then sent him flying like a cannonball down the street. He crashed through the front of an abandoned apothecary, barreled through the back wall, and disappeared into the thick forest beyond Trans Town.
The sound of snapping trees echoed in a chilling rhythm long after he was out of sight.
"PINTEL!" Ragetti shouted, panic in his voice.
Meanwhile, Redfield had already positioned himself in front of Ivankov.
Ivankov swung a massive, hormone-enhanced fist toward Redfield's chest. But Redfield caught it mid-air. Ivankov's eyes widened in disbelief—Redfield's grip was like iron around his enormous hand.
"Consider yourself lucky I don't have the time to give you a truly painful death," Redfield said softly.
Ivankov retaliated with his free hand, but Redfield yanked him forward, driving a Haki-infused knee straight into his solar plexus. Air burst from Ivankov's lungs.
Before he could crumple to the ground, Redfield seized him by the wrist and slammed him hard into the cobblestones.
The street buckled beneath Ivankov's massive weight. Redfield lifted him again and slammed him down a second time.
The crater widened. Ivankov's eyes rolled back as blood sprayed from his lips.
Redfield released his grip, leaving the Revolutionary motionless and buried in the rubble.
Ragetti let out a primal roar, swinging his mace in a wide arc. Redfield ducked under the iron head with ease. Ragetti quickly reversed his momentum, snapping the chain to pull the spikes back toward the Count's skull.
Redfield caught the iron chain with his bare hand.
Ragetti planted his boots firmly in the dirt and heaved with all his might. For a brief moment, neither man moved.
Then Redfield gave the chain a sharp yank.
Ragetti was yanked forward, completely off-balance. Redfield's fist connected with his chin, sending him soaring into the air, breaking through the thick fog that hung over the town.
Redfield casually let the chain fall. Silence enveloped the ruins once more.
He tilted his head back, watching the sky. A distant shape reached the peak of its ascent, hung there for a heartbeat, and then began its rapid descent.
Ragetti came crashing down like a meteor, smashing through the tiled roof of a two-story building, tearing through floorboards, and hitting the ground hard enough to send a cloud of dust billowing across the square.
As the dust began to settle, something stirred within the crater.
A bloodied hand reached out, grasping the jagged edge of a broken stone. Ragetti pulled himself up from the pit.
His mace was nowhere to be found. His face was a canvas of crimson, one eye completely swollen shut, his jaw hanging at an unnatural angle. His legs shook so violently that he struggled to stay upright.
But he was still conscious.
Redfield raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise.
Ragetti coughed, spitting a tooth into the dirt. "That..." he gasped for breath, his chest heaving. "...hurt."
Redfield studied the battered pirate before him. "You've got some serious endurance."
Ragetti managed a gruesome, bloodied grin. "Really?"
"A handy trait to have," Redfield replied, closing the gap between them. "But in the end, failure is still inevitable."
With a swift kick, he struck the side of Ragetti's head. The force sent the pirate spinning, crashing face-first into the dirt.
This time, Ragetti lay still.
Redfield hovered over him for a moment, the street around them plunged into an eerie silence. Pintel was lost somewhere in the dense woods. Ivankov was out cold in a crater. Ragetti was finally defeated.
Redfield shut his eyes, letting his Observation Haki stretch outwards, sweeping past the ruins and through the fog-laden forest, filtering out false memories and ghostly signatures.
The island revealed itself to him.
He sensed wild creatures nestled beneath ancient roots. He felt Dracule Mihawk's small coffin-boat drifting away from the island's edge. He detected the sniper's group moving into the southern part of Trans Town.
And further still—deep within the northern cliffs—two souls. One was carrying the other.
Red.
Redfield opened his eyes, the crimson hue flickering softly in the mist. "Found you."
He turned, his cape billowing as he disappeared into the fog.
Moments later, Jack Sparrow burst into the heart of Trans Town.
Crocodile trailed closely behind, her lower half dissolving into swirling dry sand to keep up. Monkey D. Dragon arrived with a fierce gust of wind, his heavy cloak swirling around him.
Bartholomew Kuma brought up the rear, cradling the injured Van Augur under one massive arm with surprising tenderness. Pato flitted anxiously above them, darting back and forth in a frenzy.
Jack came to a stop, his boots crunching on the loose gravel.
What lay before him was utter devastation. Roofs had caved in, deep craters marred the stone streets, and distant trees in the northern forest leaned at awkward angles, as if something had been violently hurled through them.
"We lost him!" Crocodile said, biting down on her cigar.