"Not bad willpower, but the script doesn't have a role for you, so sorry."
Rosse's gaze spanned half the battlefield and landed on Shimotsuki Ushimaru, who was kneeling and struggling on the ground.
As his voice fell, the pressure of Conqueror's Haki on Ushimaru's body suddenly doubled.
This time, the pressure almost drained Ushimaru of all his strength.
In the face of absolute disparity in power, his resistance seemed especially pale and laughable.
He lasted only two seconds before collapsing to the ground with a thud.
At this moment, even moving a finger was difficult for him. He could only stare in despair as Rosse carried out his slaughter.
That killing, like a work of art, was torment to him every single second.
"Damn it!"
Blood and tears flowed from Ushimaru's eyes.
Perhaps it was regret, perhaps it was unwillingness.
He regretted why he had come to cause trouble for Rosse.
He was unwilling, unwilling that he didn't have Rosse's strength.
The other samurai and commoners besieging Rosse had thoughts much the same as Ushimaru's.
In five minutes of fighting, more than 200 had been killed.
It wasn't enough to collapse morale, but the bloody slaughter had already made many people afraid.
By ten minutes, nearly 500 had been killed in all sorts of cruel ways.
Rosse still stood there, as if without any consumption at all, like a precise killing machine, tirelessly continuing his attacks.
By then, quite a few people wanted to escape.
But they discovered in despair that moving forward wasn't a problem, yet the moment they turned back to run, Conqueror's Haki would descend, making them not dare retreat even half a step.
In such a situation, everyone realized that only by charging forward to kill Rosse might they have the slightest chance of survival.
Twenty minutes… thirty minutes… Until after a full hour, as many as 5,000 people had died by Rosse's hand.
On Ringo's side, morale had completely collapsed.
Everyone stood numbly in place, unable even to hold onto their weapons, entirely stripped of the courage to attack Rosse.
"Monster… monster…"
"Demon… he's a demon… hahahaha!"
"Lord Shimotsuki, Lord Kozuki, Lord Kurozumi… whoever it is, please come save us."
"I beg you, let us go."
"Lord Rosse, we are willing to become your slaves."
"..."
Compared to the shouts of crusade before, only an hour later, the people of Ringo had become an entirely different sight.
Whoosh!
Rosse slashed with his blade, easily killing the last man in front of him dressed in plain clothes.
Looking far out, not a single person dared stand within five meters of him.
In truth, since he had killed 1,000 people, Ringo's side had already collapsed.
If not for the pressure of Conqueror's Haki, they would have long fled entirely.
It was only because escape was hopeless that most chose to charge forward in despair to meet death.
It wasn't that they had real backbone. Only that compared to standing and waiting to die, charging to their deaths seemed less torturous.
And the remaining half were simply cowards too scared even to kill themselves.
Glancing at the fallen crowd around him, Rosse no longer had the mood for amusement.
He raised his head, his gaze pausing on Shimotsuki Ushimaru for half a second, then decisively looked away.
'Trash!'
Losing an arm, he'd passed out from blood loss in just one hour.
A thing like that wasn't even worth more than a glance.
In the end, Rosse fixed his gaze on Toki.
Seeing her numb yet shocked expression, the corner of Rosse's mouth curved slightly upward.
'Sure enough, bullying Toki is more interesting.'
When their eyes met, Rosse slowly raised his right hand, and right in front of Toki, lightly snapped his fingers.
Snap!
Even amidst the noisy battlefield, that snap sounded incomparably clear.
And in the instant the sound rang out, Toki's pupils instinctively contracted.
She saw it.
All those still alive left on the field, almost at the same time, their bodies turned into clouds of blood mist, as though exploding from the inside out.
In just an instant, thousands before her exploded, turning into a heavy blood rain, drenching the entire land.
Seeing this, Toki could no longer endure it. She turned around and vomited with a loud retch.
In her life, she had never seen such a bloody scene.
And seeing Toki's state, Rosse's smile grew even wider.
At the same time, nearly 5,000 notification chimes rang at once, telling him around two million experience had been credited.
Adding in the scattered kills before, he now had less than three million experience left to reach SS-rank.
He had to admit, quantity was more important than quality.
A system like this, only in his hands could it show its true worth.
He was very much looking forward to seeing how far his strength could rise after sacrificing all of Ringo and even Wano.
SS-rank, he wondered if five million people would be enough.
"Moria."
"Lord Rosse, please command me at any time."
Moria bowed slightly toward Rosse, looking at him with true reverence.
He believed he had the strength to kill that many people as well.
But to kill so many, and still have such a completely unconcerned mindset, even Moria, a pirate, felt some dread.
Compared with Rosse, he felt like a saint.
Since going out to sea, all the people he had killed didn't add up to what Rosse killed in one day.
"Clear a road, and take him along with us. Oh, and treat him a little, don't let him die too fast," Rosse said casually.
"Kishishishishi, no problem!"
Moria bent slightly and swiftly went to Ushimaru's side, dragging him onto a cart.
At the same time, hundreds of shadows howled from his body, drilling into the relatively intact corpses on the battlefield.
Immediately after, Moria's own shadow swelled abruptly, spreading like ink, expanding until it covered the whole sky of the battlefield.
This was the drawback of his ability. If he wanted to control zombies with shadows, it had to be in a sunless environment.
Before long, those corpses possessed by shadows began shaking as they rose, turning into zombies, and under Moria's control began clearing a path.
Rosse ignored the commotion of cleaning. With a casual wave of his hand, a thin layer of seawater floated into existence on his body's surface, washing away all the bloodstains and chunks of flesh.
In but an instant, he was completely renewed, restored to his pristine look before battle.
That bright red suit, now aside from the fabric's own color, bore no trace of filth or bloodstains, not even the slightest smell of blood could be detected.
He was already used to such bloodshed. To him, it was no different than mud sticking on his clothes.
He wouldn't care too much, but leaving it on still felt uncomfortable.
Soon, the path ahead was cleared.
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