Seeing the shower of lead and iron screaming toward him, Lancelot did not dodge.
Instead, he charged straight toward the bullets.
The world seemed to slow, his mind falling into a state of hyper-awareness.
Through the lens of his newly awakened Observation Haki, the incoming barrage was not a chaotic, impassable storm.
It was a series of precise, glowing red lines, each with a clear and predictable trajectory.
His body, now enhanced by a superhuman physique, moved almost before his conscious mind gave the command.
He didn't just weave; he flowed.
A slight twist of his torso, a precise dip of his shoulder, a half-step to the left—his movements were an impossible, dance-like motion that carried him through the hail of bullets, completely unscathed.
The wind from the passing projectiles rustled his cloak, but not a single one found its mark.
He was closing the distance with terrifying speed.
"How... how is this possible!"
The vice-captain of the Blood Slaughter Pirates, a man who had seen countless battles in the East Blue, widened his eyes in pure, unadulterated shock.
His mind simply could not process what he was seeing.
Among all the pirates he knew, when faced with a firing squad, they did one of three things: they dodged, they blocked with a shield (or a crewmate), or, if they were skilled, they parried the bullets with their swords.
But this... this scene... someone walking through a point-blank volley of gunfire as if it were a light rain... this was unprecedented.
This was monstrous.
"Whoosh…"
In the blink of an eye, the distance was closed.
Lancelot, his eyes cold, swung his right-hand blade, Flame Dragon, in a devastating arc.
"One-Sword Style—Flame Dragon Tornado!" he bellowed.
He began to spin, his body turn into a blur of motion.
The crimson blade, radiating an intense heat, generated a fierce, superheated gale.
A fiery tornado swiftly formed around him, a vortex of flame and wind.
The nearby pirates, who had been frozen in terror, were suddenly snatched from their feet.
They were lifted into the air, their clothes and hair igniting instantly.
Their screams were cut short as Lancelot stopped his attack, the tornado dissipating as quickly as it had formed.
he pirates, now little more than flaming meteors, fell back to the deck, reduced to charred, smoking husks.
After clearing one side of the ship in a single, terrifying move, Lancelot leaped onto the deck of the next pirate ship in the harbor, resuming his slaughter without a moment's hesitation.
A wave of pure panic, thicker and more potent than the smoke, rolled through the harbor.
"Set sail! He's a demon! Hurry, set sail!"
The pirates on the remaining ships were utterly terrified.
These weren't Marines; they were something far worse.
They were ruthless, efficient, and left no survivors.
If they didn't flee now, they would be next.
Ropes were slashed, anchors were frantically raised, and sails were unfurled in a chaotic, desperate scramble.
By the time the initial battle ended and a grim silence fell over the water, only six pirate ships remained in the harbor, either captured or too damaged to move.
The other five had managed to escape, disappearing over the horizon.
"Tch."
When the trio regrouped on the deck of the Blood Slaughter, Lancelot let out a sigh of frustration, wiping the blood from Frost Demon on a dead pirate's shirt.
Truthfully, he knew he had not yet reached the level of a true "Great Swordsman."
If he had, a single, powerful flying slash could have split those fleeing ships in half, preventing their escape entirely.
His "Iron Cutting" was still new; he could sever a cannon, but not a galleon.
The three did not immediately head for the island.
They were breathing heavily, their uniforms spattered with blood.
The real battle, they knew, was yet to come.
The captains and their strongest fighters were still on the island.
They sat on the deck, resting and recovering their stamina, the harbor now eerily quiet save for the crackle of distant fires.
After a brief, tense respite, Petty Officer Daniel, who had been observing the island through a pair of binoculars from the deck of the Saber, suddenly shouted a warning.
His voice was sharp with alarm.
"Lieutenant Commander Lancelot! Be careful—someone's approaching! Moving fast from the town center!"
"Hm?"
Lancelot, Lina, and Gin immediately tensed.
They rose to their feet as one, their gazes turning inland, scanning the smoke-filled streets that led from the town to the harbor.
Soon, a single figure came into view, jogging at a steady, determined pace.
The man had short-cropped green hair, and a dark green bandana was tied securely around his left bicep.
He wore a simple white T-shirt, now stained with grime and blood, and a thick, green haramaki was wrapped around his waist.
Dark green trousers and heavy black boots completed the outfit.
But it was not his attire that held their attention.
It was the three katanas resting at his hip.
As he drew closer, they could see more details: three golden, teardrop-shaped earrings dangling from his left ear, and a grim, focused expression on his face.
A jolt of pure shock ran through Lancelot.
His mind, which had been focused on tactics and logistics, suddenly went blank.
He recognized that silhouette.
He recognized those swords.
He recognized that hair.
It was Roronoa Zoro. His favorite character from the One Piece world.
He never, in his wildest dreams, expected to encounter him here, like this.
But, as he processed the scene, it began to make a strange, logical sense.
Zoro, at this point in the timeline, was a famous bounty hunter.
And this island, Black Thorns, was a notorious pirate haven.
It was a veritable gold mine for someone in his line of work.
Hunting pirates here was perfectly logical.
But then, Lancelot's pupils contracted sharply.
His gaze focused, and the fanboy excitement evaporated, replaced by a cold, analytical chill.
Zoro had clearly just finished a fierce battle.
His body was covered in fresh wounds—deep cuts that looked like they had been made by cutlasses.
And in his right hand, he held a severed head, gripping it callously by its matted hair.
Blood was still dripping from the neck, pooling on the ground with every step he took.
It had clearly just been taken.
Lancelot's mind reeled.
He recalled Zoro's earliest portrayal, his infamous reputation: "Zoro the Pirate Hunter."
'Yes,' Lancelot thought, a grim realization dawning.
'This is the real Zoro. This is the real world.'
Bounty hunters weren't Marines.
They weren't heroes.
Why would anyone bother with the logistical nightmare of capturing a high-bounty pirate alive, dragging them back to a Marine base, and filling out paperwork?
Why go through all that trouble when you can simply decapitate your target?
You could claim the full bounty just by bringing in the head.
Dragging a living, breathing, and very angry pirate along was a burden.
If anything went wrong on the way, there was a very real chance of being counter-killed.
These were, after all, pirates whose hands were soaked in blood—far from lambs to the slaughter.
The aura radiating from Zoro at this moment was terrifying.
It was sharp, cold, and utterly ruthless, like an Asura that had just emerged from hell.
Calling him a demonic bounty hunter wasn't an exaggeration at all.
But soon, Lancelot's gaze shifted to the figures chasing behind Zoro.
A group of seven men was in a frenzied pursuit, their faces contorted with rage.
Lancelot recognized four of them instantly from the bounty posters Daniel had shown him—four pirate captains with bounties all exceeding ten million Berries.
They were accompanied by three other men who looked to be their first mates, fighters with bounties in the high millions.
Clearly, Zoro, as a lone bounty hunter, had successfully hunted one of their comrades in this pirate-infested territory, and in doing so, had provoked their collective fury.
This wasn't just a hunt; it was a blatant slap in the face. If they let this green-haired bounty hunter leave Black Thorns Island alive today, they might as well quit the East Blue altogether.
"Hmm?"
Just as Lancelot and his team had noticed them, Zoro and the pirates also caught sight of Lancelot's group of three, standing on the deck of the captured pirate flagship.
Both sides froze momentarily.
But their reactions were entirely different.
Zoro was a bounty hunter.
Though notorious, and possessing an aura that screamed "danger," he had no inherent hostility toward the Marines.
He wasn't a pirate.
He hadn't, as far as Lancelot knew, taken any underworld contracts to hunt Marines.
However, the expressions of the seven pirates chasing him twisted in pure, unadulterated shock.
Their pupils trembled violently.
Their pursuit faltered, their pace slowing to a confused, terrified halt. Even a fool could tell what had happened.
They saw the three blood-soaked figures.
They saw the Marine flag flying on the Dreadnought Saber.
And they saw the harbor, filled with their own burning, sinking, and captured ships.
Their escape route, their security, their comrades—all had been dealt with.
Zoro, ignoring his pursuers for a moment, quickly closed the distance to Lancelot, Lina, and Gin.
He stopped at the edge of the wharf, looked up at the three of them, and, with a casual, almost disrespectful motion, tossed the severed head onto the deck.
It rolled with a wet thud, stopping at Lancelot's feet.
"Black Bear, captain of the Black Bear Pirates," Zoro stated, his voice a low growl.
"Bounty's 16 million."
He looked Lancelot right in the eye. "You're Marines. Can I claim the bounty from you?"
Zoro was in surprisingly high spirits.
He'd been in a tough spot, ready to fight his way through seven men and then dive into the sea to escape.
Running into a Marine Lieutenant Commander here was an unexpected stroke of luck.
Besides, with this bounty, he could finally replace two of his swords.
Currently, apart from the white-sheathed Wado Ichimonji, the blade gifted by his master, the other two katanas were the most ordinary, cheap kind.
They couldn't withstand his full strength and, as he had just proven, would break after just a few serious battles.
Gin and Lina exchanged a wary glance.
They swept their eyes over this newcomer, assessing his strength, before landing on the severed head rolling on the ground.
A palpable sense of wariness rose in them.
They both recognized the name. Black Bear, a 16-million-Beri captain, had just been taken down by this man, alone.
Lancelot, however, only smiled.
"Of course..."
Then his gaze shifted, looking past Zoro to the seven pirates who had now stopped, uncertain and trapped between a demon and the Marines.
"But how about a little cooperation first?"
"What do you mean?" Zoro frowned, his hand instinctively moving to his swords.
Lancelot pointed with Flame Dragon at the group.
"These pirates. They all carry decent bounties. As a bounty hunter, surely you have some interest in them?"
At these words, Zoro turned to look back at his pursuers.
The corner of his mouth curled into a cold, predatory smirk.
Not a bad proposal.
If he took down one more, the combined bounty would be more than enough to get him two famed swords.
Of course, that was assuming he could find any for sale.
His eyes scanned the group, and in the end, his gaze locked onto the clear leader, the man with the 18-million-Beri bounty: Blood Slaughter.
"That one," Zoro growled, his intent clear. "Blood Slaughter... is mine."
Truly, Lancelot thought, this was the Zoro he knew.
After killing the second-highest bounty on the island, he now immediately set his sights on the highest.