"A person like you appearing in the Marines…," Redfield sighed, his crimson eyes glinting under the moonlight.
"What's wrong with the Marines? You didn't eat your rice again?" Carl rolled his eyes, biting down on his cigar.
"If you became a pirate, the next Four Emperors would be you," Redfield said bluntly.
Given the monstrous strength of Solomon Carl, the young Marine before him, the title of Yonko wouldn't be out of reach. The current Four Emperors? In Redfield's eyes, only Whitebeard was a true emperor. The others? Not even worthy of standing alongside him.
Carl reached out and snuffed out his cigar. "So, you've been locked up in Impel Down too long and lost touch with reality. One by one, all of you old-timers seem to have some serious illness."
Redfield narrowed his eyes, unable to decipher Carl's words.
"Anyway, the throne is vacant now," he continued. "You have a chance to take it."
"Huh?"
The Sakura Ten in Carl's hand gleamed under the night sky before unleashing a black-and-gold Flying Slash that tore through the air.
"I'd have to be crazy to fight for that throne."
Carl wasn't interested in being a pirate. He had seen firsthand how deep the Marines' foundation ran—Admirals, Admiral candidates, veterans from the past era. Why abandon his position just to join a lawless sea filled with maniacs?
BOOM!
A whole section of the island was cleaved apart.
"Really? Then I can only get rid of you here," Redfield grinned, a sinister light flashing in his eyes.
"Someone must sit on that throne."
"If you won't, I will!"
SA!
The two figures blurred, colliding violently once more.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The entire island trembled like an earthquake.
In the ancient, slumbering town in the distance, terrified residents ran outside, gazing at the thick smoke and earth-shaking destruction in horror.
"What's going on?!"
"Did a Sea King come ashore?!"
"Impossible! How would a Sea King get on land? It must be some kind of monster!"
But no matter how hard they tried to comprehend the phenomenon, they couldn't see past the battlefield. Every time someone attempted to approach, an invisible force pushed them back.
Carl's Killing Field enveloped the entire island. But unless someone stepped too close or Carl deliberately targeted them, they wouldn't be drawn into its illusions.
Thus, the townspeople remained oblivious to the blood-drenched battlefield.
For over half a day—from noon to night—the two warriors clashed relentlessly.
Then, all at once, the battle came to a standstill.
The battlefield was an apocalyptic wasteland—deep fissures split the ground, craters gaped like yawning chasms.
At opposite ends of the destruction, two figures stood motionless.
Carl smirked, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. "Old man, looks like you're running out of gas."
His body bore cracks—evidence of Redfield's absurd speed. Even Carl's Observation Haki, amplified by his Killing Intent Battlefield, struggled to track him.
His opponent was a monster—a fusion of peak-level swordsmanship and Advanced Haki.
But Redfield was even worse off.
His once-dignified white braids had unraveled, his golden chain snapped, and his blood-red cloak lay in tatters.
He had fought countless powerful enemies over the decades, but never one as reckless as Carl—someone who completely disregarded Haki consumption.
"You might be right," Redfield admitted, "but I still have enough strength left to kill you."
Carl arched an eyebrow. "Careful not to talk too big, old man. You might jinx yourself."
By now, Carl had thoroughly analyzed Redfield's condition. The man was strong—far stronger than the crippled Golden Lion who had escaped Impel Down. But age was his biggest enemy. His stamina couldn't sustain prolonged fights anymore.
That's why he was so desperate for the Bat-Bat Fruit: Vampire Model—to regain his youth.
Carl's figure flickered as he lunged. "Old relic, just let me put you back in your coffin!"
Haaa—!
Redfield let out a long sigh. "You brats will never understand the audacity of our era's heroes!"
CLANG!
Their weapons clashed again.
Redfield's Haki-coated umbrella was chipped—riddled with cracks.
Cough…
He spat a thin trail of blood. Carl's relentless Haki-infused attacks were wearing him down, inflicting damage beyond what his defenses could endure.
Black lightning crackled around them.
"So what if they were daring?" Carl growled, Sakura Ten swinging furiously. "What does their bravery have to do with me?!"
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Redfield roared, deflecting each strike. "A brat like you wouldn't understand! That throne belongs to a true hero!"
Heroes—men like Roger and Whitebeard. Those were the only ones Redfield acknowledged.
And himself.
Lonely Red—a man who had always walked alone, seeing the ugliness in human hearts.
Carl scoffed. "You hear their voices and think they're ugly? That's just the reality of the world, old man!"
CLANG!
Redfield was sent flying, crashing into the earth.
Carl descended upon him, sword swinging. "Are all the 'heroes' of your era just a bunch of washed-up relics?!"
Another slash hurled Redfield deeper into a crater.
The old man's eyes flickered—then, unexpectedly, a smile curled his lips.
"…Relics of the past, huh?"
Straightening, he dusted himself off, adjusting his torn collar.
"Little devil," Redfield said calmly, "I'll admit, your words are interesting. But the heroes of my era were greater than you realize."
Black Haki coursed through his bat umbrella, rising in intensity.
"Let me show you… the true power of the old era!"
BOOM!
The two warriors vanished.
Only their afterimages remained—blades clashing midair, igniting bursts of black lightning.
Redfield's sharp eyes flickered with intrigue. "What kind of monster are you, brat? How do you have this much Haki?"
He had fought countless warriors over the decades. But Carl was unlike any of them.
Every swordsman carefully manages their Haki to maximize efficiency. Even Yonko-level combatants conserved their reserves for extended battles.
Carl? He threw Haki around as if he had unlimited stores of it.
His raw power was a reckless tidal wave, ceaseless and overwhelming.
Redfield's umbrella thrust forward.
Boom!
A surge of Advanced Haki—tainted with a purple sheen—condensed at the tip.
Carl's sword met it head-on.
CLANG!
The force rattled his arms. "What the hell?! The strength of your Haki doubled!?"
Yet, Redfield's output hadn't changed.
The old swordsman grinned. "Noticed, huh? That… is skill."
Carl's eyes gleamed with newfound insight. The Sakura Ten in his grip crackled with black-and-gold electricity. Its blade rippled—like a snake shedding its skin.
Redfield's expression shifted.
"…You're learning mid-battle?"
Then, he chuckled. "You really are a monster."
BOOM!
The battle raged on—throughout the night.
In the distant town, the fearful residents could only watch helplessly… as the island trembled under the weight of two titans clashing.
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