"Green-haired demon who stalks perverts? That title alone ought to fetch a hefty price."
Monet bit her lip, the veins in her hand bulging with tension.
She had done everything she could to survive in this place with her disabled mother. She was at her limit.
What now? What was she supposed to do?
"Not talking, huh?!"
Sloane raised his hand and chopped downward.
"Then make her talk! Get her!"
A gang of thugs, blades drawn, advanced slowly.
Monet instinctively stepped back, reaching behind her waist to draw the wooden spike she kept hidden.
Seeing this, her mother, Jones, struggled to rise.
Clang!
She slammed into a sheet of metal nearby. Ignoring the pain, she cried out in panic.
"Gentlemen! I'm the wife of Baron Moll! Take me—just leave my daughter alone!"
Sloane didn't even flinch.
A fallen noble dragged into the lawless zone of Sabaody? The more pitiful they were, the more it pleased the ones pulling the strings behind the scenes.
"Mom, I'll always protect you!"
"Monet!!"
Without hesitation, Monet charged forward with her spike, fully prepared to die rather than be taken.
The gang closed in.
She lunged and drove her weapon straight into the belly of the creepy baby-headed thug leading them.
No resistance. The spike went clean through.
"Mmmf! Mmmf!"
The baby-faced man let out muffled, garbled cries through his sewn-shut mouth.
No defense. No counterattack.
Monet blinked in disbelief and looked up.
Around her, the thugs stood motionless, like puppets with their strings cut. Not a twitch. The only thing proving they were still alive were their wide, terrified eyes.
"What... what's going on?" Monet turned to her mother.
Jones was just as stunned, half in shock, half in sorrow.
"I... I don't know either."
"Fufufufufufu~"
A low, almost lazy laugh echoed from the wall nearby.
"That's your reward for protecting your mother."
Monet and Jones both jerked their heads up in alarm.
A man and a woman hovered silently in midair.
The woman stood tall—easily three and a half meters. Her imposing frame, combined with the massive sword strapped to her back, radiated a quiet, fierce strength.
But beside the man next to her, she seemed downright petite.
Bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the man's crimson feathered coat shimmered like it was lit from within.
Monet's pupils shrank.
As a former noble, she could read. And she knew exactly who this man was.
The one who killed the Golden Lion.
The Heavenly Yaksha—Donquixote Doflamingo.
"You've got two minutes to claim your reward, little lady~" Doflamingo said sweetly, silencing Jones with a flick of his fingers. He leaned forward, eyes gleaming as he looked at Monet.
"Don't you want to finish what you started?"
His words snapped Monet back to reality.
She and her mother—what did they possibly have that someone like him would want?
But if someone that powerful said it was a reward... then it was a reward.
No point overthinking it. Might as well take it.
Resolved, Monet dashed into the still-frozen crowd of traffickers.
Blood sprayed with every strike.
More muffled cries rang out.
Doflamingo winced, baring his teeth slightly.
Getting stabbed in the kidneys... what man wouldn't be terrified?
And this little girl—she didn't go for clean kills.
No, she specifically went after their kidneys. One after another. Crippling them slowly, painfully.
It wasn't a quick death.
Moments later...
The traffickers—now bleeding out, kidneys shredded beyond repair—collapsed on the ground, twitching and whimpering their last.
The once-delicate Monet now stood in the middle of the carnage, drenched in blood, a wild grin tugging at her lips.
Clatter.
She let the wooden spike fall from her hand, then dropped to her knees with a loud thud, bowing her head low.
"Thank you, Lord Doflamingo... for your gift."
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