Chapter 85 The Kingdom of Goa

Garen gazed at Vivi with utter confusion, while Vivi’s fair cheeks were awash with a bashful blush. If not for the venomous glare of Miss Double Fingers in the background, this scene might have seemed lighthearted and cheerful. However, Miss Double Fingers soon lost even the strength to lift her head and glare.

The sword wound piercing her chest and abdomen had damaged Miss Double Fingers’ lungs. Shortness of breath and violent coughing up of blood swiftly followed, while oxygen deprivation and blood loss gradually robbed her of control over her body and mind. This manner of death was unquestionably painful and terrifying. Despite her professionalism as an assassin and her wealth of experience as a special agent, even Miss Double Fingers could not face death with composure.

Garen looked at the dying Miss Double Fingers and said, “Answer me one question. I’ll give you a chance to survive.” Noting the alarming speed at which she was losing blood, Garen didn’t wait for her reply but got straight to the point: “Vivi said you came to the East Sea with that bald man on a mission. Where is he?”

The rewards for slaying the strong far outweighed those for reaping the weak. Ever since hearing from Vivi that two top operatives from Baroque Works had arrived in the East Sea, Garen had fantasized about a fateful encounter with them. He hadn’t expected one of them to deliver herself straight to his door.

Miss Double Fingers knew she had no time left to bargain for her life. Tormented by the terror of death, she answered hoarsely, her voice like a broken bellows, “He’s in the Goa Kingdom. The employer is the Oteluke family, a high-ranking noble house…”

“Goa Kingdom?” Garen didn’t recognize the complicated noble surname, but the familiar nation’s name struck a chord. Miss Double Fingers had no patience for Garen’s contemplation; with bloodshot eyes, she mustered her remaining strength to shout, “Save me, quickly!”

“Oh,” Garen replied, lifting his greatsword high.

“What are you doing?!” Miss Double Fingers’ gaze was filled with hatred and dread.

“I said,” Garen intoned, expression unchanged as he raised his sword, “I’m giving you a chance to survive. Whether you live or not is up to you. Demacia!”

A golden radiance descended from the heavens, engulfing Miss Double Fingers’ entire vision. In the overwhelming brilliance, she shut her eyes in utter despair. Yet when the golden light touched her body, she felt only a warm breeze caressing her face.

“I’m not dead?”

On the verge of death, Miss Double Fingers’ heart was sent on a rollercoaster ride before she even crossed the threshold of the afterlife. What she didn’t expect was that the ride had one final, sharp turn left: “The level of evil here is off the charts…”

Garen shook his head helplessly and raised his broad sword once more. “What a pity. You’re beyond saving.” After enduring several rounds of psychological torment, the unfortunate Miss Double Fingers finally became nothing more than experience points beneath Garen’s sword.

The reputation of a Devil Fruit user and elite agent was not undeserved—her experience value alone surpassed all Garen had gained in recent days serving as the “Glorious Executioner.” It made him all the more eager to face the bald assassin still lingering in the East Sea.

“So, the Goa Kingdom?” Garen thought of Wallace, who had just returned from Loguetown with an invitation from the Michael family of Goa, and murmured to himself, “Looks like I’ll have to make a trip.”

…

Goa Kingdom.

Oteluke Family Estate.

The current head of the Oteluke family was Oteluke III, but the aged patriarch no longer managed family affairs. True power lay in the hands of his adopted son and sole legal heir, Sterling. Sterling possessed a comically round head, wore a perfectly straight bowl cut, and had his facial aesthetics thoroughly spoiled by a flat nose. In Garen’s Earthly standards, such a countenance was the work of some otherworldly creator’s twisted humor.

Yet despite his appearance, Sterling was revered as a model youth among the nobility and regarded by his adoptive father as the ideal family successor. His “excellence” as a noble caused everyone to overlook the Oteluke family’s long-lost true heir—Sabo. Skilled in the art of intrigue from a young age, Sterling was also considered one of the most eligible suitors for the soon-to-be-wed princess of Goa’s royal family.

But at this moment, the model noble Sterling had shed all semblance of grace. “Damn it!” His already unremarkable face contorted with rage as he smashed a set of priceless porcelain tea ware to vent his anger. “The royal ball is about to begin! And that Michael family scoundrel, instead of staying hidden among commoners as a reporter, chooses this critical moment to return home?!”

The royal ball was a grand event soon to be held among the upper echelons of Goa’s nobility. Its true purpose was to find a suitable noble husband for the kingdom’s princess. After the ball, the royal family would officially announce their choice. The ball itself was just a formal ceremony; the real contest lay in the power struggles between the noble families of the candidates.

Sterling had long coveted royal status and had made ample preparations; the princess was all but his. Once he became the princess’s husband, with a few underhanded methods, the throne of Goa would be within his grasp. Yet just as all was about to fall into place, a new rival appeared: a young man who had nearly renounced his noble status, but for some reason was returning—Michael Wallace.

“Kill him!” The perfect plan now disrupted, Sterling lost all noble composure. “Kill him for me!”

Sterling was not shouting into the void but issuing orders to a cold-eyed, powerfully built bald man. The bald man, however, did not respond immediately; instead, he frowned deeply. “Michael Wallace, is it?”

If memory served, his new target was the journalist who had been reporting on the exploits of the righteous knight Garen. And that same Garen… After his partner Miss Double Fingers went missing during her solo investigation in Garen’s territory, Bald Mr. 1 no longer dared to underestimate him.

“Are you hesitating?” Sterling, a master of reading people, quickly detected the rare trace of emotion on the killer’s blade-like face. He snapped impatiently at Mr. 1, “I’m paying your agency well—”

“I know,” Mr. 1 curtly interrupted, silencing Sterling’s tirade. He looked at Sterling coldly and said, “Until the royal ball is over, I’ll follow your orders. I’ll kill Wallace too.”

“Good!” Sterling shot Mr. 1 a venomous glare, then ground his teeth and muttered, “If he wants to get in my way, he can go to hell with those two unfortunates before him!” Composing himself, Sterling quickly donned the mask of a perfect nobleman and swept out of the room.

Watching Sterling’s retreating figure, Mr. 1 shook his head in resignation. He despised this employer. The arrogance and ignorance of the old nobility led them to believe that their titles and ephemeral power could suppress all beneath them. Yet these foolish nobles lacked the most basic reverence—the awe of true strength.

Even after witnessing Mr. 1 slaughter noble rivals as easily as chickens, Sterling still dared to speak to him in such a flippant, arrogant manner, which Mr. 1 found incomprehensible. If not for the need to maintain Baroque Works’ reputation, the usually taciturn and ruthless Mr. 1 would have killed the repugnant employer himself.

After some time, Mr. 1 finally suppressed the murderous urge boiling within him. He began calmly considering his next target: Wallace. And, potentially, Garen, who might intervene on Wallace’s behalf.

Mr. 1 furrowed his brow and pondered: if that man truly was the famed single-path swordsman, he might not be an even match. But the agency’s intelligence was reliable and seldom wrong, and the missing Miss Double Fingers was far weaker than himself—Baroque Works’ top assassin—and may not have even been defeated by that man head-on.

If the opponent was not truly stronger than himself, fleeing without a fight would be laughable. Mr. 1 hesitated.

In the end, as a Fast-Slash Fruit user who believed himself a natural nemesis of all swordsmen, Mr. 1 made his decision: he would stay and complete the mission.

Professional agents did not possess the pure code of a swordsman. With that, he added one final caveat to his resolve: if he couldn’t win, he’d run.