Bickley, the so-called Sword Saint of the Celestial Dragons, roared with fury, veins bulging on his forehead.
"You insolent creature! How dare you lay a hand on a Celestial Dragon?! This is sacrilege! I'll execute you myself!"
He drew his Holy Sword, ready to cut Urouge down, but the moment he tried to move—his body froze.
His muscles wouldn't respond.
Even without Observation Haki, he could clearly see Urouge's incoming slap, yet his body refused to dodge. Every time he tried to muster his Haki, it instantly dissolved, swallowed whole by an overwhelming tide of invisible power.
A suffocating Conqueror's Haki held him in absolute submission.
Bickley's expression twisted as terror finally dawned. Slowly, his eyes drifted toward the man standing calmly nearby… the one watching everything unfold with a faint, almost lazy smile.
Thorne Ashveil.
There was no one else capable of completely shackling a Celestial Dragon's body and Haki with pure will alone. Despite his relaxed demeanor, Ashveil's strength was unfathomable. In this entire world, only he could accomplish something so monstrous.
And so, while frozen in place…
Smack!
Urouge's second slap landed squarely across Bickley's face.
"You— y-you— how dare you hit me a second time?!" Bickley sputtered, cheeks swelling red and uneven. Humiliation burned through him. Ashveil didn't even bother touching him—he let a "lowly human" strike him instead.
It was a disgrace beyond imagination.
It was an insult to Imu herself.
Urouge blinked at Bickley's outburst, shrugging. At this point, he'd already grown comfortable with slapping the arrogant Saint. The fear he once had of the Celestial Dragons had long vanished.
"What a strange request," Urouge muttered with genuine confusion. "But if you insist."
Smack! Smack! Smack!
The crisp rhythm echoed across the island.
Meanwhile, Bickley desperately tried to reach his Holy Sword, to cut down the brute in front of him—to cut down Ashveil—but his body refused to obey. No matter how much Haki he pushed, Ashveil's overwhelming Conqueror's Haki held him locked in place, like a puppet with its strings seized.
His hair grew disheveled, his face distorted with anger and fear.
"Thorne Ashveil, you bastard!" he screamed internally—only to receive another resounding slap in response.
Eventually, Urouge's hands trembled in pain, and he exhaled sharply.
"Damn… my palms hurt."
Bickley breathed out shakily. "It's finally over…" he thought.
It wasn't.
Ashveil clicked his tongue in mild disappointment. "Urouge, you look strong, but your slaps are weak. Let someone else take over."
He then turned to the Whitebeard Pirates, who had been enjoying the show.
They immediately perked up, sleeves rolling as wicked anticipation spread across their faces.
Bickley's pupils shrank in horror.
"Wait… Ashveil… you can't possibly mean all of them…!"
His voice cracked. His arrogance evaporated.
"No! No, please! I was wrong! I won't act superior again! Please—stop!"
But the pirates were far too excited to listen.
The chance to slap a Celestial Dragon—Imu's own descendant, no less—was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They surrounded him with wide, eager grins.
Whitebeard strode up first, laughing heartily.
"Gurarara! Hitting a Celestial Dragon feels surprisingly good!"
Golden Lion Shiki joined him with an equally wicked grin.
"And it's even better since he's related to Imu! Hahahaha!"
Rebellious at heart, Shiki let out a few enthusiastic strikes, venting years of suppressed frustration.
Smack, smack, smack!
His palms stung, but satisfaction burned warmly in his chest.
Soon, the rest followed.
Slap!
Slap!
Slap!
Slap!
The sound of open-handed strikes filled the air like an unending storm.
At first, Bickley shrieked with each impact, but as the swelling worsened—cheeks ballooning, lips puffing—his cries turned into muffled whimpers. No one could understand what he was saying anymore.
By the time the crowd finally lost interest, Bickley's face looked grotesquely swollen, red and purple like a malformed balloon.
Ashveil stepped forward, his shadow falling over the broken Saint. Bickley lay half-collapsed on the ground, trembling.
"How does it feel, Bickley?" Ashveil asked calmly. "Do you still believe your Celestial Dragon blood makes you superior?"
He crouched slightly, meeting Bickley's ruined gaze.
"Do you still dare speak to me without respect?"
Bickley could no longer form words. He nodded frantically, terrified Ashveil might unleash another round of torment on him.
Ashveil watched him closely.
At last, he could tell—the arrogant Celestial Dragon had been completely crushed beneath his will.
---
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