Loya couldn't hold back anymore. She covered her mouth, sobbing as tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking her clothes.
Doyle said nothing. Hidden beneath his sleeve, the fist he'd been clenching slowly relaxed.
Outside, the onlookers were frozen.
Inside, the scene unfolded, Teach sat cross-legged, happily finishing his food, a wide grin on his face. Loya was in tears, and even the arrogant members of the Mad Blade Pirates looked shaken.
Teach licked the last grains of fried rice from his chopsticks, then stood. He picked up the bag with two bottles of rum that had been resting on the table.
Waving lazily at Doyle, he chuckled.
"Haha! Doyle, today's been a good day. Ate my fill, drank my fill. I'll be back again when I have the time."
Doyle managed a warm nod. "Mhm. Come again, Teach."
Teach turned toward the door only to feel cold steel block his path. A massive serrated saber hovered just in front of his neck.
"Bastard," Schiller snarled. "I've had enough fun. I'm in a foul mood, and I'll use your head to fix it."
But there was no satisfaction in Schiller's face.
He had insulted Teach, yet the man before him showed no fear, no panic, he wasn't even paying attention to him. That indifference was unbearable. His rage finally boiled over.
"Schiller's furious! That kid's done for!" someone outside cried, feeling the murderous aura radiating from the Mad Sword.
"Such a shame, for a man like that to die here…" another muttered, still haunted by how calmly Teach had faced Schiller until now.
"I don't know," a third said, eyes narrowed. "Feels like something's about to surprise us…"
Teach paused, then slowly turned his head to meet Schiller's glare. He smiled faintly and tapped the edge of the blade with his finger.
"This thing? It's not meant to threaten people."
Schiller licked his lips, excitement mixing with bloodlust. "Threaten? No, I'm going to kill you. I'll make you beg, scream, cry at my feet." His voice trembled with manic hunger—he was a butcher who lived for slaughter.
Teach's smile widened, but his words were like cold steel.
"So I can take this as a declaration of war, then? …In that case, are you ready to die?"
"What?" Schiller blinked. He thought he'd misheard. The crowd was equally confused. Only Mostima, watching intently, smiled knowingly. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.
"As pirates," Teach said evenly, "if you dare to declare war, you should already be prepared to die in battle."
"Damn brat!" one of Schiller's men roared from the back. "Don't you dare look down on us!" He yanked out a pistol, aimed straight at Teach's head, and fired at point-blank range.
Bang!
The gunman's skull exploded before the bullet ever left his barrel. His body crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, blood pooling beneath him.
Everyone's eyes went wide. Teach stood calmly, a smoking flintlock in his hand. No one had even seen him draw.
"W-what just happened?"
Hadena felt sweat bead on his forehead. "That speed…!"
"He's a gunman? No, more than that… a top-tier marksman!" someone gasped.
Mostima's eyes narrowed. "Not just a marksman. Look closer, three swords at his waist." He recognized them instantly as blades of high quality, each no weaker than his own named sword, Retsu Kū.
The realization made his hand unconsciously stroke his hilt.
And yet, what impressed him most wasn't the weapons, it was the execution. That draw had been perfect, honed through countless repetitions.
The civilians watching trembled with a strange anticipation. On this lawless island, Schiller was despised. Many secretly hoped this newcomer would finally put an end to him.
Schiller's teeth ground together. He hadn't even seen Teach move. One of his most loyal men had been killed in front of him. This was humiliation, a direct challenge to his authority. If he let it slide, his crew would abandon him.
"Everyone, kill him!" Schiller roared. "He can't shoot us all!"
He raised his serrated blade high and slashed down with devastating power. The air itself cracked from the strike.
"Such force…" Hademan muttered from outside. "Only Mostima could take that head-on."
The rest of the crew surged forward, shouting threats and jeers. There were more than seventy of them packed into the tavern, each a savage killer in his own right.
Teach's eyes narrowed with irritation. Their noise was grating. These were gnats, not opponents. Only Schiller barely warranted his attention, and even then at best, the strength of a squad leader under Whitebeard.
He shifted a step aside, lowering his head just enough to let Schiller's monstrous slash whistle past harmlessly. To the crowd, it looked like a narrow escape, but to Teach, it was child's play.
"Don't get carried away, small fry," he growled. "To take my head, you'd need at least a warship."
With that, he drew Thunder Fang.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Pay the price for offending those you shouldn't."
He swung once, a light, casual stroke.
Nothing seemed to happen. Schiller sneered. "That's it? A joke of a slash. Who are you trying to scare?"
But then the tavern fell silent.
Mostima's eyes went wide, his breath catching. "Impossible…" He had seen it, the invisible slash splitting into dozens of razor-thin threads of flying-slashes, each striking with perfect precision.
"Such control…" he muttered. "Even I… can't manage that."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Bodies dropped one after another. In moments, every member of the Mad Blade Pirates lay lifeless on the floor, every one except Schiller.
Schiller's legs shook. For the first time in years, true fear gripped his heart. His crew was gone. Dead in an instant, by a technique he couldn't even comprehend.
But fear soon gave way to rage. His bloodshot eyes locked on Teach. Tears welled as he choked out, "They… they were my companions!"
Teach tilted his head, amused. "Companions? Hah. I should thank them. I just finished eating and needed some exercise."
He adjusted his bandana, set his purple hat on his head, and smiled.
"You…" Schiller's fury turned hysterical. "Without them, who will share the spoils? Who will revel in the screams? Who will slaughter beside me?" His voice cracked with madness.
He raised his blade and hurled himself forward with one final, desperate slash.
Teach didn't flinch. He met the attack with a single punch. The recoil tore Schiller's sword from his hands, the massive blade embedding in the floor behind him.
Before Schiller could recover, Teach was already in front of him, one hand wrapped around his throat.
"Quit dancing like a clown," Teach said coldly. His grip tightened. "Since you're so desperate to be with them, I'll send you along."
Schiller kicked and clawed, but it was useless. His vision blurred.
"Thank me," Teach whispered.
And with that, he let go. Schiller's body crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
The tavern was silent. The Mad Sword of the New World, feared by many, had died like a dog. And Teach stood over him, calm as ever, a faint smile on his lips.