After Michael uttered those arrogant yet strangely reassuring words, the members of the SWORD Secret Special Force didn't say another word—instead, they all simultaneously retreated to a safe distance to watch the battle.
"Even if I'm made of smoke, I don't want to experience getting burned by that Holy Flame again."
Spoke the Smoke-Smoke Fruit user, who had suffered terribly from that exact experience before.
Michael heard him and looked slightly disgusted.
Smoker, this guy—under his command, had lost all his rebellious edge and was turning more and more into comic relief!
And just then, a voice suddenly pierced everyone's ears.
"What the hell!? I'm sorry, but could someone please ask if I even want to fight?! Can you not make decisions without my input!?"
The one who shouted this was none other than Crocodile.
To be honest, the tone and delivery were pretty close to a full-blown meltdown.
So what if he got dragged into this?
And more importantly...
"Crocodile, let's get one thing straight. You're a pirate. I'm a Marine..." Michael shook his head with a light chuckle. "Do I need your permission to hit you? I mean, maybe. But it doesn't really matter."
Before he even finished speaking, a powerful force exploded beneath his feet, and in the blink of an eye, he was standing right in front of Crocodile.
The Myōjō in his hand was wrapped in pure white Holy Flame, and Crocodile instinctively tried to avoid the attack by turning into sand—but that nearly got him killed.
Still, he was in his physical prime. In that split second, Crocodile immediately raised his golden hook, now covered in a layer of purple-black Armament Haki.
He blocked it—but not entirely.
Though he did intercept Michael's strike, the difference in raw power was massive. Even with a successful block, Crocodile was sent flying.
"Tch tch, not bad, Crocodile." Michael flicked the Myōjō in his hand, savoring the sensation of sending someone flying. "Everyone talks about how well you've mastered the Sand-Sand Fruit, but no one realizes—your physical combat skills and Haki aren't bad either... No wonder you got an 81 million bounty right out of the gate."
"What the hell kind of backhanded compliment is that!?"
Crocodile jerked his head up, blood spraying from his mouth. Crimson was once again seeping through the orange checkered vest he wore.
The barely-healed wounds tore open again after he'd forced himself to block that strike.
Crocodile was fuming!
Hawk Eyes and this damn Marine—neither of them were decent!
He hadn't even done anything and still ended up dragged into this fight!
He came to Alabasta to lie low and recover, not to challenge his limits!
Michael raised an eyebrow. With his sharp insight, he immediately noticed the fresh red stains.
Though he had grown stronger, he wasn't yet at the level where a casual swing could incapacitate someone of Crocodile's caliber.
Crocodile was injured?
Did he already fight Whitebeard?
But that didn't make sense—he should've fought Whitebeard only after becoming a Warlord, inflated with confidence...
"Done spacing out?" came a voice from behind Michael—Hawk Eyes.
"Sure, fight whoever you want, but I've only ever wanted to fight one person—"
Michael turned to see Hawk Eyes holding the Supreme Grade sword Yoru, already in his combat stance, though he hadn't struck yet.
"You don't attack someone who shows their back?"
"No, I usually do," Hawk Eyes replied honestly with a shake of his head. "But this time, winning or losing isn't important. What matters is that it's a proper duel."
Even Michael was caught off guard by that statement.
What kind of logic was that?
You're a pirate—wait no, technically Hawk Eyes didn't fly a pirate flag or claim to be one. He was just a wanted man.
A wanted man worth 400 million Belly!
Didn't his words and actions sound a bit... too righteous!?
"...My name is Michael. Rear Admiral of Marine Headquarters, Captain of the SWORD Secret Special Force, and Acting Branch Commander of the Alabasta Marines."
With that, Michael raised the Myōjō and charged at Hawk Eyes.
Compared to the heavily injured Crocodile, Hawk Eyes—at full strength—was obviously much tougher.
At least when crossing swords with Michael, he wasn't immediately sent flying.
But by the sixteenth strike, Michael finally knocked Hawk Eyes back three or four meters.
Though still in his prime, Hawk Eyes had yet to reach his true peak.
"This is why you can sweep across the seas and leave no trace behind... strong enough to eliminate every witness."
"You're not bad yourself. Even now, I have to admit—when it comes to swordsmanship alone, I'm not your equal." Michael shook his head. "You're destined to become the world's greatest swordsman. The future belongs to you."
"That doesn't sound like praise. It sounds more like a victor mocking the defeated." Hawk Eyes rubbed his arm, the shock from Michael's brute strength leaving his hands numb.
"How is that mockery? I meant it." Michael's lips curled into a malicious grin. "But as long as I choose to, I can make sure you never reach that future."
As they looked at the Holy glow radiating from Michael's body, that otherwise handsome face twisted into a wicked smile, even the members of the SWORD Secret Special Force started to doubt...
"Is Rear Admiral Michael... really a good guy?"
"Honestly? Hina's not sure anymore... That nasty grin and personality are hard to judge."
"He definitely has some kind of split personality. Once the fight starts, he switches modes—hurts your body with his hands and destroys your soul with his words."
"The worst part is... everything he says is true. You can't argue against it at all!"
"Could you all stop talking crap about your superior so loudly!?" Michael rolled his eyes. Then his expression sharpened as he turned to Hawk Eyes.
"You see? I've got a kid to raise. Can't afford to waste too much time. So... take this next move."
"If you die, well, tough luck."
"If you survive, remember—from now on, the old Hawk Eyes is dead."
Without waiting for a reply, Michael ran his other hand along the blade.
Instantly, strange, glowing runes appeared on the Myōjō.
As the runes lit up, waves of surging white Holy Flame poured into the weapon.
Michael raised the Myōjō high, then brought it crashing down toward Hawk Eyes.
A slash of Holy Flame, so dense it shimmered with a bluish hue, tore through the air.
"Judgement!"