Otherwise...
Just die!"
The flame-shaped sword, once again, slashed down upon its target!
This time, there was no trace of the previous 'gentleness.' The spikes on the sword's edge, resembling flames, suddenly surged forth, intertwining like branches, rotating and winding together, transforming the blazing great sword into a chainsaw covered in thorns and spikes. Amid the sound of it tearing through the air, the terrifying heat descended ahead of the sword's edge.
Then, it landed into an open palm.
Gripped tightly.
No matter how it shifted in form, changed direction, or adjusted its rhythm, in the end, it seemed destined to fall into that palm.
As if Yellow Beard voluntarily offered it.
The heat and flames comparable to a Melting Furnace erupted forth, yet could not char that hand into charcoal; even the madly rotating blades could not shake the current iron grip.
"Great Craftsman…"
