Cavendish's face shed all its earlier elegance—what stared back was eerie, feral, and cruel. His pupils blanched to bone-white; his mouth split in a rictus, grinning upward at an impossible angle.
This was his other self: Hakuba.
A persona born for slaughter—mindless, frenzied, and, in raw combat, nearly twice as strong as Cavendish's already prodigious swordplay.
"You look worse than me, freak! Shōheki Kyū (Barrier Sphere)!"
Sensing danger spike, Bartolomeo cursed and popped a massive spherical barrier over himself.
Good thing his reflexes were quick, because—
"Clang-clang-clang—!"
A hundred cuts rained against the barrier before he even glimpsed Hakuba's shadow. The wall held, but the force behind each slash still thrummed through it like a drumbeat.
"Damn it—his power and speed both doubled! He's nothing like before. Was he sandbagging earlier? Figures—pretty boys always have ten faces! Trash…!" Bartolomeo gritted his teeth. "What now? If he turns those slashes on my crew, they'll be down in seconds…"
Then—
"Zhing—!"
A silver-white sword light flew from Creed, locking onto Cavendish.
"That arc's fast, but nowhere near that maniac's speed. How's it gonna land?" Bartolomeo winced.
He needn't have.
Rather than dodge, Cavendish charged into the beam, rapier first, intent on shattering it.
"Gara—!"
Steel met light—and the silver brilliance burst into a storm of pale blades that exhaled killing cold. In an instant, frost engulfed Cavendish; he froze solid into a block several meters thick.
"Too good! Kori no Ken'i (Ice Sword Intent)! The same invincible edge that froze the 'Lords of Water' in Water Seven—Creed-senpai!!"
Bartolomeo practically jumped for joy.
Before entering the New World, he'd made a pilgrimage to Water Seven's now-tourist-lined "Procession of the Gods." If this silvery frost could pin down the demonized Cavendish, there was no doubt—it was Creed's world-famous ice sword intent.
As he shouted, a figure stepped into view out of thin air.
A young man in white—refined, strikingly handsome.
"Creed-senpai!"
Bartolomeo dropped to his knees, palms together, eyes brimming. At last—his idol!
His crew mirrored him; on Bartolomeo's ship, being a rabid Creed fan was the first requirement for joining.
"Uh… you can all stand."
Creed, a touch helpless before the mass prostration, glanced toward the ice.
Within the crystal coffin, Hakuba receded. Cavendish's handsome features returned.
Creed weighed the man with his upgraded Kenbunshoku. That second persona's composite strength brushed SSS: sword and power at SSS, speed at SSS+—a cut above the norm. In baseline Cavendish form, sword and power fell to SSS-, speed to SSS. Young yet; with polish, SSS+ on the blade would be no hurdle.
He tapped the ice; it rang and split. Freedom returned—along with uncontrollable shivers. Ice sword intent wasn't something ordinary bodies tolerated well—even Cavendish's teeth chattered.
"C-Creed-senpai, I—I…"
Bartolomeo stammered, so moved he barely formed words.
"You're Bartolomeo? What do you want with me?"
Creed knew—but let him say it.
"Creed-senpai—you know my name? That's… that's…!"
Bartolomeo's eyes rolled; he nearly fainted from bliss.
"Captain, don't pass out! Tell him why we came!" Vice-captain Gambia hollered from behind.
"Creed-senpai, please accept me—Bartolomeo—and the Barto Club under your banner! Let us fight for your cause!"
Jolted back, Bartolomeo got it out in one breath.
Creed didn't answer at once. "My crew? Do you understand who I'm moving against? This isn't play. If we lose, we die."
"Whether it's a Four Emperor in the New World—or the World Government and the Celestial Dragons—I'm not afraid. If I can follow you, Creed-senpai, I'll stake my life without regret."
Bartolomeo's eyes didn't waver.
"Good. Rise. From today, you're the Creed Pirates' Third Division."
Creed decided cleanly.
"No! The Third Division must be mine. Bartolomeo, you're Fourth!"
Cavendish, still shuddering from the chill, raised a quavering protest.
That single slash had shattered his pride—and shown him the gulf to a top greatsword master. At the same time, Creed had flung open the doors to a higher hall of swordsmanship. Of course Cavendish wanted to follow; in some ways he was a blade maniac—submission to supreme technique came naturally.
He'd come to challenge Creed's sword to begin with.
"Weren't you calling Creed-senpai your rival? Now you're brazenly joining? Even if you're smitten, you're only fit for Fourth!"
Bartolomeo gaped, then smirked—he who arrives first gets the prize.
"I insist on Third. If you refuse—duel. Winner takes the Third Division."
Cavendish's chin lifted.
"Duel it is. Don't think you'll walk over me."
Bartolomeo didn't balk; they'd crossed blades several times on the way here without a true decision.
Since both wished to serve under him, Creed had no intention of letting them brawl for rank the moment they entered his shadow. He raised a hand—settling the air with a pressure like still steel.
"Enough. Save that heat for our real enemies. I'll see your worth in due time—and assign you accordingly."
(End of Chapter)
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