On high ground near one of the ports, a group of pirates — driven wild by the rewards promised by the Donquixote Family — finally tracked down Oboro and Dom.
Oboro sat casually on the grass at the crest of the hill, looking down with cool superiority at the excited, hostile crowd gathering below.
A cigarette dangled loosely from his lips as he smoked slowly.
In the world of Demon Slayer, tobacco hadn't become widely popular until the Taisho era, so he had never picked up the habit there.
Smoking now brought back vivid memories of his time and experiences on the Dark Continent.
He had also removed the mask from his face. Yet, from the perspective of those below, his features remained hidden in shadow; all they could clearly see were the cold, icy eyes beneath the brim of his hood, and the wispy smoke drifting upward.
Down at the foot of the slope stood Dom, alone, holding a short blade.
Scattered around him were the bodies of several men — already dead.
"That's him!"
The leading pirate pointed his sword up at Oboro and shouted.
Blinded by greed, they had completely lost their sense of reason.
"Grab him and the Devil Fruit is ours… plus the Donquixote Family will owe us a huge favor!" someone else yelled in agreement.
"Charge!"
With a roar, twenty or so men launched their attack.
There were only two enemies facing them. By all logic, the advantage was entirely on their side.
Dom bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty grin. His clothes were still stained with wet, fresh blood. His body blurred like a phantom as he shot straight into the crowd.
He moved between his enemies with blinding speed. Steel rang against steel whenever a weapon managed to block his strikes, but given how weak and slow these pirates were, none could truly stand against him.
The fierce morale and fighting spirit of the mob vanished completely within just two or three minutes.
It was as if a bucket of ice‑cold water had been dumped over their heads.
Blood splattered everywhere. The more Dom killed, the more exhilarated he became. His overwhelming strength filled him with a sense of intoxicating pride… something he had never felt before.
"Hahaha!"
Dom laughed wildly amid the slaughter.
His Nichirin Blade — sharp and well‑crafted — sliced easily through skin and flesh, delivering fatal wounds with every stroke.
His rich combat experience turned the fight into nothing more than chopping vegetables.
Before long, Oboro finished his cigarette. By then, Dom was the only one left standing on the ground below; everyone else lay dead in pools of their own blood.
"His will may be weak, and his past life as a pirate left him naturally timid… but that's just human nature. With real victories to prove himself time and again, he changes. Nothing is more persuasive than results," Oboro thought to himself, watching Dom's expression — clearly hungry for more.
Right now, Dom undoubtedly loved this feeling: what it meant to be strong.
It was building his confidence.
"Go ahead and find a merchant ship first… and remember to meet me at the auction tomorrow. Right now, all eyes are fixed on me; no one is paying attention to you," Oboro called out.
"Yes, sir."
Dom looked up, snapped out of his bloodlust and euphoria, then turned and ran off.
Besides pirate vessels, hundreds of merchant ships, cargo haulers, and trade fleets from various kingdoms arrived at and departed from Sabaody every day, traveling to all corners of the world.
Their businesses were often shady, dealing in arms or contraband. Compared to pirate ships, the World Government tended to turn a blind eye toward them.
If the two of them wanted to leave, blending in with merchant vessels was their best bet.
This location was close to the port, and quite a few of the "hunters" chasing them were already dead. Word of this would certainly spread fast.
Oboro remained here intentionally — creating the illusion that he was about to flee the island.
The officers of the Donquixote Family had surely received reports by now, though he didn't know exactly which ones were coming.
The archipelago was vast, so right now they were undoubtedly spreading their forces and spies everywhere; they couldn't focus all their strength in one single spot.
Under these conditions, it was the perfect setup for Oboro's plan: fishing.
A moment later, more figures appeared swiftly from beneath the shade of the mangrove trees.
This time they weren't pirates, but a group of well‑dressed men in suits, armed with firearms — the mafia.
Oboro stood up slowly, rolling his neck and stretching his limbs. "Let's warm up a bit first."
"Kill him!"
There was no courtesy upon sight. The mafia carried themselves with a ruthless, business‑like deadliness far more efficient than the pirates.
A burly man with a cigar clamped between his teeth gave the cold command.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Instantly, a hail of bullets poured toward him.
...
Half an hour later…
Dellinger arrived, his high heels clicking sharply against the ground.
He had rushed here at full speed the moment he received the report, breathing slightly heavily from the haste.
Young Master was absolutely furious about the theft of the Devil Fruit.
Dellinger intended to slaughter the thief personally.
Stepping onto the battlefield and seeing the piles of corpses all around, he sneered with disdain.
The only purpose of this trash was to locate the target and delay him. He never expected them to actually accomplish anything else.
"Not bad work you've done here…" He walked leisurely toward the lone figure standing amidst the bodies, hands clasped behind his head, his tone arrogant and mocking.
"So… it's you again," Oboro said, sounding faintly surprised.
He had expected Lao G to show up, not this boy.
Dellinger ground his sharp teeth together, picking up on the clear disdain in those words.
"Trying to run? There isn't a ship in this harbor that will take you… We've alerted every fleet and port authority. Even if you use your Devil Fruit power to vanish, you'll never get off Sabaody." Dellinger's eyes scanned the surroundings, looking for signs of accomplices.
They had seriously underestimated the influence of the Donquixote Family.
Or more precisely — the authority of Doflamingo, the Warlord.
"When did I ever say I was running away? Relax… You seem to really enjoy fighting and killing. Funny… so do I."
Oboro shook his head, speaking casually, and pulled down the hood covering his head.
Dellinger froze in his tracks.
His eyes lit up. "Hiss… So it really is you!"
He clearly saw Oboro's face — the very same person everyone was searching for, the runaway slave of the Celestial Dragons who had vanished without a trace!
"Perfect!" Dellinger cried out excitedly.
Capturing the Celestial Dragons' runaway slave would be a massive achievement… Young Master would be extremely pleased.
"I've decided… I won't kill you straight away. But a little torture is absolutely necessary. So try not to die too quickly…" Dellinger raised one slender finger.
He stopped speaking. In the next instant, his pupils shrank to pinpricks, and his perception of time seemed to freeze.
Just a second ago, the man had stood more than thirty meters away. In the blink of an eye, he was right in front of him.
His speed was terrifying.
"Heh…"
Oboro chuckled softly as he closed the distance.
Although Dellinger's reaction was fractionally slower, his incredible physical abilities allowed him to instantly close the gap in time.
He coated his lower leg in Armament Haki and drove the sharp, stiletto‑like heel of his shoe straight toward Oboro's temple. The angle and trajectory were calculated perfectly.
CLACK!
Oboro raised his arm and blocked the kick just in time. The sharp point of the heel stopped mere centimeters from his skull, but the impact was so great it sent him sliding backward several meters across the ground.
"Hmm?"
Dellinger was genuinely surprised.
He hadn't held back in the slightest that time. He had struck with Haki infused into the attack… and this man had caught it using only physical strength?
It was almost unbelievable!
In his understanding, a strike with Haki and one without were two completely different things.
He had used Armament Haki. Logically, to block it, the defender must also use Haki. But the sensation against his leg just now… it felt like smashing his power into cotton wool.
The man had caught his shin with an open palm and neutralized the force of the kick using a yielding, flexible strength.
He hadn't resisted the impact head‑on.
It was the technique of dissipating force!
Haki certainly enhanced the quality and power of an attack… but as long as you didn't clash directly, you could minimize the damage through controlled deflection and cushioning.
Of course, doing this required incredible reflexes, plus a body tough enough to withstand the force and the Haki itself. If the power was too great, Oboro wouldn't be able to manage it.
The only reason it worked was that… this young man's mastery of Haki was still quite immature — fairly average.
If it had been Lao G instead… Oboro wouldn't have been able to deflect that kick. He would have been seriously injured or killed instantly.
This was all despite the fact that Oboro's physical stats were still quite poor.
However, these past few days of constantly practicing the cultivation method of the Dantian had brought about significant improvement.
Without that progress, he wouldn't have been capable of this.
Martial arts and refined combat skills certainly existed in the world of One Piece… The reason Dellinger was shocked was simply because no one here fought like this.
Hah…
Oboro straightened up slowly after being knocked back, shaking his reddened palm.
"Truly worthy of the Donquixote Family… to master Haki at such a young age. Impressive… you really aren't half bad."
With Lao G and "Joker" himself around, knowledge of Haki wasn't exactly a secret within the Family.
The mocking, patronizing tone made Dellinger's eyes burn red with rage again.
Suddenly, rows of sharp fins rose along his back, boosting his movement speed to the absolute limit.
He blurred into a series of afterimages circling Oboro across the battlefield, waiting for an opening.
"Tch! So arrogant… you piece of trash! I've changed my mind. I'm going to kick you to pieces!"
"Some big shot you are… you don't even know how to use Haki!"
Dellinger was experienced enough. He had already realized Oboro's physical body wasn't strong — his fighting style was just weird, and his perception was terrifyingly sharp.
Besides… if Oboro could use Haki, there would have been no reason to risk himself blocking that kick earlier.
"Too fast… My five senses track him perfectly, but if I try to strike first, my body probably won't be able to keep up with his rhythm," Oboro analyzed internally.
Even with his spiritual powers suppressed, his fundamental strength was undeniable.
His unparalleled mental focus allowed him to observe every movement Dellinger made with absolute clarity.
Once he left Sabaody, he would need time to rest and rebuild his body… and most importantly, continue cultivating his internal energy.
SWISH!
While he was thinking, Dellinger suddenly leaped high, appearing from a blind spot outside Oboro's field of vision, and rushed downward.
His leg muscles bulged as he brought his foot down with crushing force.
It was his signature technique: High Heel – Guillotine Drop.
He aimed straight for Oboro's neck.
But the instant the distance closed, Dellinger's eyes widened in shock.
With unbelievable reaction speed, Oboro shifted his body with minute precision — bending backward just enough so that the lethal kick sliced harmlessly over the top of his head.
Then, while Dellinger was still committed to his momentum and unable to change direction, Oboro turned, clenched his fist, and drove his elbow forward in one fluid motion.
Dellinger's body had reacted — his physical abilities were beyond normal human limits — but at such close range, space itself felt compressed… there was simply nowhere left to dodge.
Oboro's tactical thinking was too sharp.
Where raw speed and mobility failed, he reversed the situation through perfect technique and micro‑adjustments.
His opponent's combat experience hadn't yet reached its peak.
He was capable of doing so much better…
"The Donquixote Family isn't strong because of you or Joker alone… It's strong because you are a group. Strength comes from unity, not individuals. Never look down on any opponent. Arrogance gets you killed," Oboro's voice echoed clearly in Dellinger's ears.
To the stomach!
By now, Dellinger wasn't listening anymore. Seeing the punch coming, he instinctively predicted its target.
He instantly coated his abdomen and lower chest in Armament Haki.
"AHHH!"
But in the next second, a scream tore from his throat as he hung suspended in mid‑air.
Oboro's fingers were buried deep into his eyes.
A feint attack.
Dellinger crashed to the ground, hands clutching his bleeding face, rolling back and forth in agony, screaming in pain.
"If that had been Lao G, I really might have been in trouble… That old man can cover his entire body in Haki. Even if I completely outmatched him in skill, I couldn't break through his defense… incredibly troublesome," Oboro said, looking down at the humiliated youth with a smile.
"AAAHHH!!"
Dellinger heard the words. He surged up from the ground, enraged, lowering his horned head to charge directly at Oboro.
But his movements were slow and clumsy. Oboro simply stepped forward and kicked him square in the face, knocking him back down.
His distinctive cap fell off, sliding across the dirt.
"Oh… so those horns actually grow out of your skull. They aren't part of the hat," Oboro murmured, raising an eyebrow.
On the ground, Dellinger's limbs twitched rigidly.
Oboro hadn't just blinded him; he had simultaneously struck pressure points to paralyze his nervous system.
Right now, the young officer's body was effectively numb.
It seemed freely using Haki — instantly shifting its coverage to any part of the body — wasn't as easy as it looked.
It required years of rigorous training… very similar to the concept of Flow in Nen. If Dellinger had been able to coat his entire body in Haki, or even quickly shift it to different locations… he would have escaped unscathed from Oboro's trick.
"You really are… just too weak."
Oboro bent down, grabbed one of Dellinger's horns, and lifted him clear off the ground.
Dellinger's arms and legs flailed, clearly trying to fight back, but his paralyzed nerves made every movement weak and useless.
"Huh? Why can't I convert him?"
A moment later, Oboro frowned.
The whole point of this "fishing" was exactly to convert defeated enemies into resources.
He needed to determine exactly what functions the System could perform within this world.
But what worked effortlessly in Demon Slayer was failing here…
Originally, he should have been able to extract Dellinger's half‑Fish‑man lineage, his combat skills, his kicking techniques, and even his mastery of Haki.
Back in the world of demons, as long as the target was rendered helpless, the extraction worked perfectly.
"Is it really tied to the strength level of the world itself…"
Oboro realized the truth.
Undoubtedly, it was the Will of the World interfering again.
It refused to let him harvest resources and abilities freely.
"You'll die a miserable death… Young Master will find you, and he will—"
Suddenly, Dellinger snapped his head up, baring his sharp teeth, face covered in blood, screaming threats.
CRACK.
Before he could finish the sentence, Oboro reached out and snapped his neck.
Even with the disparity in physical toughness, Oboro's grip strength — enhanced by martial arts techniques — was still formidable.
He didn't bother listening to the rest of the threats.
Words like that, he had heard far too many times across countless worlds.
"Ah… so I have to kill them first before I can convert and extract… Interesting. It feels a bit like hunting story characters for loot, heh."
"And… after death, the grade of the card generated seems to have dropped slightly… Doesn't matter. I understand the mechanics now, and that's enough."
A short while later, Oboro tossed Dellinger's lifeless body aside casually.
Having to kill in order to gain resources created an inherent, irreconcilable conflict between him and every powerful person or major character he met — they were destined to fight to the death.
Truly… the world was doing everything possible to force him into dead ends.
Oboro twirled the young man's white cap casually between his fingers and walked away with leisurely steps.
Shortly after his figure vanished into the shadows of the mangrove trees, other groups, alerted by the news, finally arrived.
From the moment Oboro engaged Dellinger until he killed him, barely a few minutes had passed.
"Th… this…"
When they saw the gruesome scene, especially the blonde youth lying crumpled on the ground, everyone froze in horror.
His neck was twisted grotesquely… blood still flowing from his empty eye sockets.
Someone recognized him immediately.
An officer of the Donquixote Family… had been killed.
____________________
For more advance chapters visit my patreon
patreon.com/kane45
Tier: 10$ Casual Reader - +20 Advance Chapter
20$ Intermediate Reader - +40 Advance Chapter
40$ Expert Reader - +80 Advance Chapter
Update: "Monday to Friday - Update 3 Chapters a Day"
"Saturday and Sunday - Off"