Chapter 99: Battle Against Mr. 1

“He who kills shall himself be killed.” Stelly, who had resorted to every underhanded means to eliminate his rivals through assassination, naturally worried that his own head might one day be taken as well.

That was why the exorbitantly paid Mr. 1 served not only as his assassin but also, never leaving his side, disguised as a bodyguard attending to Stelly at all times.

Though Mr. 1's appearance fee was steep, and his emergency-rescue fee was enough to drive even noble families to bankruptcy, one had to admit that you get what you pay for. Stelly's money was well spent:

Mr. 1 was the top agent of Baroque Works, second only to the leader himself, a formidable fighter even by the standards of the first half of the Grand Line. Once he arrived in the East Blue—a sea dubbed the weakest of all—he was like a tiger thrown into a flock of sheep, utterly unstoppable.

The great hero Stelly's righteous deed of shooting a Celestial Dragon provoked a frenzied counterattack from the feudal reactionary forces.

Noble bodyguards, palace guards, and even some blue-blooded lords personally joined the fray. They surged toward Stelly like a crashing tidal wave, brandishing their weapons with twisted, snarling faces.

But that nondescript bald man merely shifted his stance slightly, and suddenly a dazzling gleam of cold light flashed in the sunlight.

Like a phantom, he wove through the crowd, his flickering sword-light tracing simple yet deadly arcs across those bodies of flesh and blood.

In but a few brief breaths, Mr. 1's steel-cast, iron-forged physique had crossed through the surging masses and planted itself firmly before his employer, Stelly.

And the soundtrack to his magnificent entrance was the agonized screams of dozens of men dying in excruciating pain; adding color to the scene were fountains of blood gushing forth in every direction.

The fervor to jointly punish the traitor Stelly was doused with a bucket of ice-cold water. The nobles who had been shouting just moments ago now fell silent, faces twisted in terror, while the remaining palace guards stood frozen in place, trembling, afraid to advance.

Mr. 1 didn't so much as glance at the "weeds" he had so easily reaped. He merely said coldly to Stelly:

"Let's go, you fool."

Stelly had no mind to rebuke the bald assassin for his insulting tone. He hurriedly scrambled to fall in behind Mr. 1.

Hidden behind Mr. 1's broad back, Stelly's bloodless, pallid face finally relaxed somewhat.

But upon reflecting on the "heroic deed" he had just committed, Stelly felt the world go dark before his eyes, overcome by a despair as if the sky were falling and the earth were caving in.

"Stop standing there dazed!"

Mr. 1's voice was as cold and indifferent as ever. "Follow me."

Stelly's deathly despairing body gave a slight tremble, and in the end, a spark of survival instinct flickered to life: no matter what, survive first, worry later.

And so Mr. 1 strode forward with his chin raised, leading Stelly out of the collapsing encirclement as if he were passing through an empty plain.

Those palace guards, whose courage had long been shattered by Mr. 1's ruthless efficiency, dared not block the bald assassin's path, and unconsciously parted to open a wide road for him.

Smooth sailing all the way.

Until a heavily armored knight wielding a greatsword barred their way.

"Out of my way."

Mr. 1 slowly raised his right hand, and under the power of his Dice-Dice Fruit, his forearm swiftly transformed into a sturdy, razor-sharp long blade.

With this gleaming hand-sword, he pointed it menacingly at Garen, who stood before him, and spoke in a cold, oppressive tone:

"My ability is the bane of every swordsman."

"Stand in my way again, and you will die."

Garen said nothing, merely gripping his greatsword tighter in silence.

The air filled with a murderous tension.

Cowering behind Mr. 1, Stelly whimpered in a hushed voice:

"Don't fight him... that's a Celestial Dragon..."

But Mr. 1 paid no attention to the utterly terrified Stelly, fixing an ever more serious and piercing gaze upon the knight who showed no sign of yielding.

He knew full well in his heart:

Setting aside the fact that this Garen's status as a World Noble remained unverified—even if it were true, this was now a life-and-death situation that could only be resolved by the sword.

Neither side wasted any more words, silently igniting the invisible beacon of war.

Garen struck first, unleashing the thirty-percent movement boost of his Decisive Strike.

Though Garen couldn't yet execute a full-fledged Soru of the Six Styles, he could still borrow the explosive legwork of that technique to burst forth with astonishing speed.

The force surging from his legs shattered the solid stone bricks of the royal capital beneath his feet, and as his body shot forward, bursts of air-splitting cracks echoed through the air. The sword arcing toward its target stirred up a visible gale of wind pressure.

Seeing this, Mr. 1's impassive face finally shifted slightly.

He quietly activated the power of his Dice-Dice Fruit, reshaping the blade formed from his right arm to be broader and thicker, better able to withstand heavier impact.

Garen's greatsword was about to come crashing down from above, the brilliant golden light coiled around its edge already reflecting off Mr. 1's gleaming bald head.

Bold in his mastery, Mr. 1 waited until that very instant of lightning and flint before lightly raising the heavy blade formed by his right arm, meeting Garen's descending greatsword head-on.

A shrill clash of metal rang out, and waves of pressurized air burst outward from the point of impact like a surging tide.

Before that storm had even reached his face, Mr. 1's left hand, which had been covertly gathering strength at his side, lashed out like a hunting leopard, fingers pressed together into a hand-blade, stabbing straight for Garen's chest.

Yet in the very instant the hand-blade shot forth, Mr. 1's expression changed dramatically:

His hand could no longer transform into a blade.

What should have been a razor-sharp dagger driving into his opponent's chest was now merely a flesh-and-blood hand strike.

Mr. 1 obviously lacked any advanced martial arts like the Finger Gun, so the un-transformed left hand landing on Garen's chest only made Garen's body stir faintly, its killing power severely diminished.

As a user of the Dice-Dice Fruit, Mr. 1 could transform any part of his body into a hard, sharp blade—one could rightly call him an N-Sword Style swordsman.

But at that crucial moment when he launched a surprise strike at his enemy's chest, the ability he took such pride in suddenly vanished:

The blade formed by his right hand remained as it was, but Mr. 1 could no longer control the transformation of the already-condensed blade, nor could he morph any more of his body into steel.

And Garen seized this opportunity to do something Mr. 1 found even more utterly unexpected:

Garen voluntarily withdrew his sword from its standoff with Mr. 1's right-hand blade, allowing that broad heavy sword to swing unimpeded toward his own neck.

Yet Garen completely ignored the blade closing in on his throat, instead swinging his greatsword in a horizontal arc, aiming straight for Mr. 1's chest and abdomen.

Both blades struck their respective targets.

With his Devil Fruit ability still silenced, Mr. 1 could not transform his body into steel to block Garen's blow, and in a single strike, the greatsword carved a wide, deep gash across him.

Though his iron-forged muscles instinctively clenched and squeezed together to shrink the wound, blood still poured relentlessly from the gash on his abdomen.

The searing agony made even this steely bald hard man involuntarily knit his brow.

But pain was not the greatest threat to his composure. What truly sent a chill down Mr. 1's spine was this:

His own blade had, at the same moment, cut into Garen's neck—even sinking several centimeters deep into his flesh—and yet the man stood before him completely unfazed.

Not only did Garen show no sign of injury, his expression was as relaxed and effortless as ever.

How is this possible?

His mind in turmoil, Mr. 1 hastily pressed his hand over his own bleeding wound, retreating several steps backward to escape Garen's attack range.

The 1.5 seconds of silence had passed, and the familiar Devil Fruit power returned to Mr. 1's body, yet it did nothing to ease the grim tension on his face.

Garen's strength and the bizarreness of his abilities far exceeded anything described in the Baroque Works intelligence reports—indeed, far surpassed even Mr. 1's own worst estimates. This caught him completely off guard.

"Wounded by my greatsword and still so quick on your feet. Worthy of being Baroque Works' top assassin..."

Garen offered a sincere word of praise, though inwardly he now had a far clearer assessment of his own current strength:

At level seven, his raw physical prowess alone was enough to go toe-to-toe with Mr. 1, a top-tier assassin of the Grand Line, and in terms of abilities, he utterly dominated his opponent in every respect.

Mr. 1 remained silent, his expression grave as he fully activated his Devil Fruit power.

Having witnessed the speed Garen had just displayed, Mr. 1 knew he could not escape this troublesome opponent by running, and so he steeled himself for a fight to the death.

He unleashed the full power of the Dice-Dice Fruit. In an instant, blades after blade of gleaming cold steel sprouted from his arms, elbows, shoulder blades, chest, and back.

These blades covered his body like an intricate suit of armor, simultaneously serving as lethal weapons to cut down his foe.

Having experienced that bizarre "silence" effect, Mr. 1 had swiftly devised a countermeasure:

Since the opponent's ability couldn't seal off blades that had already been generated, he would preemptively don a suit of blade-armor, so he wouldn't have to face the enemy's sword with mere flesh and blood in the midst of combat.

"Looks like some kind of Shikotsumyaku..."

Watching the myriad blades sprouting across Mr. 1's body, Garen quietly remarked: "Quite the bag of tricks."

And then...

"DEMACIA!"