At this exact microsecond, it was as if time itself had ground to a complete, absolute halt. Perospero suddenly found his physical frame entirely frozen, his movement vectors reduced to zero.
The strategic anxiety tightening in his chest expanded exponentially. Before his cognitive functions could map out a single reaction, a highly anomalous, localized acoustic boom resonated across the plaza.
BOOM!
In the next fraction of a millisecond, his brain completely stalled.
Following the concussive resonance, the sector where Big Mom stood—previously enveloped by the colossal candy jaw—erupted violently. The fanged candy structure was instantly pulverized into microscopic dust.
"Pffft...!" A massive torrent of blood sprayed from the Emperor's jaws.
"M-Mama...? Preposterous! How could Mama sustain a tactical deficit of this magnitude!?" Perospero stammered, his entire frame locking up in pure horror, his tongue failing to articulate the words.
The suffocating barometric pressure he had felt moments ago had completely evaporated from the grid, but the visual of his mother frantically coughing up blood was a piece of data he simply couldn't erase from his calculations.
"Hmph..." High in the upper atmosphere, a sharp smirk spread across Vale D. Drake's face. This specific offensive output represented the maximum lethal parameter he could currently manifest.
By systematically compressing the surrounding sub-space variables into an absolute, single microscopic point, he could trigger an instantaneous, catastrophic implosion. Drake had engineered the spatial matrix to focus this implosion directly inside Big Mom's physical frame—an assault vector that was mathematically impossible to defend against.
Because the structural destruction was initiated entirely from the interior of the body.
Even for an anomalous, top-tier monster like a Yonko, sustaining an internal detonation of this caliber was bound to cause severe structural failure. It was a direct bypass of external defense metrics.
The Big Mom standing before him was merely the initial live asset to test this lethal application.
But she would undeniably not be the last!
However, the internal data requirements to execute this technique were exceptionally high. Even operating at one hundred percent capacity, Drake's stamina reservoirs only permitted a maximum of two deployments per encounter. Focusing the fabric of reality into a solitary point demanded an extreme expenditure of cognitive focus and raw willpower.
Still, against his current objectives, it provided more than enough leverage.
"Eight Desolations: Infinite Cleave!"
A spectacular torrent of sharp sword intent erupted from his blade, the sheer kinetic weight appearing as if it would slice the surrounding space clean open.
Although Big Mom had sustained severe internal trauma, her baseline vital parameters hadn't collapsed entirely. "Bring it on, you brat!"
With a savage roar, she swung the massive Napoleon to intercept the incoming trajectory.
CLANG! Steel met steel once more.
This time, Drake was delivering a maximum-output horizontal slash. The edge of Canhong was backed by six layers of compressed spatial force, perfectly synchronized with the razor-sharp properties of his Eight Desolations sword style. Under these exact parameters, Drake calculated that his blade possessed the structural integrity to sever anything in creation!
SNAP! The exact microsecond the edges connected, Canhong tore through the opposing mass with absolute ease. The living broadsword, Napoleon—the companion that had anchored Big Mom's perimeter for decades—was sliced cleanly into two pieces.
"Agh... M-Mama..." Before Napoleon's soul could articulate a final cry of agony, his vital spark evaporated from the grid entirely.
"What!? Napoleon!?" Perospero shrieked in absolute, paralyzed horror. He had failed to calculate a scenario where the near-indestructible living weapon could be permanently severed by an intruder.
Drake's raw power metrics had graduated into an apex tier that completely transcended his comprehension. It was an offensive output they simply lacked the leverage to resist.
How... how the hell did he become this powerful!?
"Mama!" Smoothie naturally processed the structural collapse on the adjacent sector, her eyes widening in pure shock.
"Your focus is compromised!" The exact microsecond her concentration wavered, Kenshin's drawn steel sliced through her perimeter without an ounce of restraint.
SLASH! A thick arc of blood sprayed across the stone floor.
BOOM!
Smoothie's towering frame crashed heavily into the earth, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.
"With a sword anchored in the soul, my form becomes the blade itself!" Every single time Kenshin swung his long nodachi, his movements carried an unreadable, poetic cadence.
It was precisely this spiritual evolution that caused his blade to grow exponentially sharper, his execution speed scaling to near-instantaneous thresholds. Backed by the violent acceleration of his thunder manipulation, his velocity parameters had reached the absolute peak of lethality.
His steel was undeniably sharp enough to cleave any obstacle.
This wasn't merely a linear upgrade in raw physical stats; his psychological state had achieved a level of absolute, manic obsession with the art of the blade. Over the last two years of secluded training, he had dedicated his entire existence solely to refining his sword mastery. While he had successfully unlocked the standard variables of Armament and Observation Haki along the way...
Haki was not his primary calculation vector. He craved nothing less than the absolute apex of swordplay.
Within his strategic framework, Haki functioned merely as a supplementary asset. Utilizing a dense layer of Armament Haki simply provided the baseline coverage necessary to secure a physical touch against Logia-type entities—and that data point was more than sufficient.
For the remaining parameters of the conflict, he relied entirely on pure sword proficiency!
"Mama, I'll anchor the defense! Candy Wall!" Seeing Drake preparing to deliver a follow-up strike to permanently delete the Emperor, Perospero panicked and launched his frame forward.
A colossal barrier of solid candy materialized smoothly, aiming to shield Big Mom's coordinates. But with a single, fluid arc of Canhong, Drake sliced the infrastructure into useless pieces.
"Mama...!" The surrounding Charlotte siblings processed the threat and swarmed forward to form a meat shield.
Without even breaking his stride or turning his head, Drake casually drove a left fist backward, unleashing a massive torrent of raw spatial shockwaves into their path.
RUMBLE...
The sheer weight of the spatial energy blasted the encroaching group backward, sending them tumbling across the plaza in droves.
"Agh...!"
Drake smoothly pivoted his blade, the tip of Canhong pointing directly back at Big Mom's coordinates. His breathing had turned slightly ragged; maintaining this tier of offensive output was exerting a noticeable toll on his system.
However, utilizing his instantaneous teleportation loops meant Big Mom's counter-attacks had consistently failed to register any physical damage against his frame. He held a total defensive advantage.
"Eight Desolations: Clean Slate!" Drake understood that standard, wide-scale attacks carried zero baseline utility against the monster-tier durability of a Yonko.
Consequently, he re-calibrated the parameters to deploy another maximum six-layer spatial compression, mapping the force directly onto his ultimate Eight Desolations style.
A massive surge of sword intent rippled through the upper atmosphere. It lacked any theatrical, grand structural expansion; instead, the attack manifested as an exceptionally thin, near-invisible horizon line cutting through reality.
This specific variable was engineered to condense the sharp properties of the blade to their absolute mathematical limit. Only by maximizing this metric could he completely ignore the anomalous physical defense thresholds of a Yonko.
Vrumm! Big Mom coated both of her massive forearms in a thick layer of Armament Haki, driving her fists forward to intercept the incoming horizon line.
SHING!
The thin line sliced through the local space, making direct contact with Big Mom's hardened knuckles.
BOOM!
As a violent storm of compressed air rolled across the summit, a sharp flash of crimson light erupted within Drake's eyes, and he forcefully blasted the colossal Emperor backward.
Simultaneously, a brilliant splash of blood cut across the sky, leaving a fine mist of crimson droplets falling toward the earth.
"Mama...!" The elite forces frantically scrambled forward to inspect her vital signs, compressing their coordinates to shield Big Mom behind a wall of bodies.
Perospero rushed to the vanguard of the formation, his gaze locking onto Drake with absolute, paralyzed horror. The legendary sword clutched in Drake's hand was still smoothly dripping thick, crimson droplets onto the stone floor at regular intervals.
The data was undeniable: that blood had been carved directly from the Emperor's frame.
For the vast majority of the Big Mom Pirates, this date would remain etched in their memory as an eternal, waking nightmare. Their mother—an entity who had effectively never sustained physical trauma in their recorded history—had just been severely compromised by a lone rookie!
This scenario completely violated the baseline principles of their reality.
Furthermore, their strongest asset—the commander-in-chief of the Sweet Commanders, Brother Katakuri—had been systematically vanished to some unknown sector by his spatial techniques.
The man standing before them was a freak of nature.
Staring at Drake's silhouette, which radiated a dense, suffocating aura of pure dominance, the heart rates of the remaining garrison accelerated involuntarily. It wasn't an shift in tactical awareness; it was the raw, unadulterated sensation of primal fear.
BOOM!
Following a thunderous concussive impact, a massive frame plummeted from the air, crashing heavily into the adjacent plaza. The kinetic force carved a deep, gaping crater into the stone.
Emerging from a nearby section of the debris with a slow, deliberate stride, Kenshin smoothly reset his stance. "The exact microsecond you partitioned your cognitive focus to handle external variables, your tactical defeat was officially locked into the equation."
"Smoothie!" the surrounding pirates shrieked in absolute, paralyzed disbelief.
One of their three Sweet Commanders... had actually suffered a definitive defeat at the hands of a swordsman whose name had barely registered in the recent New World intelligence briefings?
Has the architecture of this world completely turned upside down?
Tucked away within a secure, covert vantage point, the President of the World Economic Journal, Morgans, felt his hands shaking with pure adrenaline as his camera logged every microsecond of the data.
Terrifying! This was a spectacular display of pure terror!
An Emperor of the Sea... had actually sustained a tactical defeat! What kind of godlike entities had just descended upon this era?
"Hey, make sure you secure a clean snapshot of that Tamatebako as well," Morgans whispered, shifting his attention back to the high-profile woman flanking his position.
"Consider it handled," the underworld queen offered a beautiful smile. But just as her fingers neared the ornate surface of the legendary treasure chest, a sudden shift in the local structural stability caused the Tamatebako to slip from the edge of the high balcony, tumbling toward the lower tiers of the chateau.
"Not good! My treasure chest!"
Before she could launch an evacuation maneuver to retrieve the descending artifact, a colossal, earth-shattering detonation erupted from the base of the chateau, the sound waves tearing through the sky like rolling thunder.
RUMBLE... BOOM!!!