"How heartless."
Elus spoke as he caught the slender rapier between two fingers.
"Aiming straight for my kidney… do you have no sense of a swordsman's honor at all?" he asked, eyeing the increasingly pale Venculla with a look of mock disappointment.
"You…"
Venculla felt as though he were trapped in a nightmare. He stared at his blade, held fast by nothing more than two fingers, and for a moment, he questioned if he had even woken up that morning.
His sword was not one of the legendary named Meito, yet this nameless rapier was a masterpiece that yielded nothing to the so-called Great Grade Blades.
The Supreme Grade, Great Grade, and Skillful Grade blades were the storied artifacts of Wano's ancient smiths, their fame bolstered by centuries of history and lore. In truth, the modern world did not lack for blades that could rival those ancient treasures. Venculla's rapier had been forged by a renowned smith of the New World, purchased by Umit at an exorbitant price specifically as a reward for him. Aside from the lack of historical prestige, its sharpness was equal to any Great Grade blade in existence.
But today, he began to doubt his own steel.
Even with the reinforcement of his Armament Haki, his sword had been caught as easily as a falling leaf, and with only two fingers.
"Victory is the only honor a swordsman knows. For the loser, there is only shame," Venculla replied, his voice strained. "Besides, no one ever wrote a rule saying a swordsman can't aim for the kidneys."
As he spoke, Venculla abruptly released the hilt of his sword. His right hand flattened, fingers snapping together to form a living blade, and he thrust it with all his might toward Elus's chest.
But once again, he was caught.
This time it wasn't two fingers; Elus's hand clamped firmly around his wrist.
The terrifying force of the grip nearly pulverized his wrist bones. The sheer agony turned Venculla's face a ghostly white, and only his iron-clad willpower kept him from screaming aloud. Inside, however, a tidal wave of shock threatened to drown his reason.
He was too fast.
Venculla was called the "Ghost Sword" because of his blinding speed and erratic techniques. His velocity was the foundation upon which his entire legend was built. Yet now, the speed he prided above all else was being utterly crushed.
He was being outpaced by a prince whose intelligence reports claimed was a mere politician of mediocre martial ability. Two strikes, two failures. And the second had cost him the integrity of his wrist.
"Oh? You're a tough one, aren't you!"
Elus released his grip.
Venculla's hand dangled at an unnatural, broken angle, stripped of the support of its bones.
"I don't dislike men with backbone. But unfortunately, courage isn't a miracle cure. Broken bones don't knit themselves back together just because you have a strong will. I'll consider it your lucky day. Go back and tell Umit that I've taken note of his insolence. Tell him to wash his neck and wait; it won't be long before I come for his head."
The moment the words left his lips—
Whoosh!
A bolt of crimson light erupted from Elus's palm. It moved with the speed of a lightning strike.
A wet, sickening sound followed, like a ripe watermelon being smashed against a stone wall. A headless corpse tumbled limply from the roof of the tower, rolling past Venculla's feet. A trail of scarlet blood marked its path, and a few hot droplets splashed onto Venculla's face. The searing heat of the blood made it nearly impossible for him to draw breath.
He was dead.
The 'Magic Ball Sorcerer,' the only Devil Fruit user in the operation with a bounty of 120 million Berries, had been snuffed out before he even had a chance to show his face. His head had been vaporized instantly.
A primal chill seeped into Venculla's marrow. He realized then that he had fundamentally miscalculated.
To kill a pirate worth over a hundred million so casually, while simultaneously shattering his own wrist with such ease… it wasn't just his mistake. Lord Umit had also fundamentally misunderstood the situation of the Echemondo Kingdom.
This was no soft bone to be chewed on. This was a slab of reinforced steel that would break the teeth of anyone who tried to bite it.
"The game ends here, I think."
Elus stood with his back to Venculla, showing no concern for a counterattack. He leaned against the battlements, calmly surveying the swarming crowd below. Everyone who was coming had already made landfall. Waiting any longer would yield no further harvest. It was time to draw in the net.
"Watch closely. This is a grand banquet."
Elus let out a sharp, resonant laugh.
He spread his arms wide in an embrace. From his back, two massive, obsidian wings erupted, and from his brow, a pair of pale, curved horns emerged. The inhuman silhouette made his status as a Mythical Zoan user undeniable.
But what truly made Venculla's eyes bulge in terror was what came next.
The moment those wings unfurled to their limit, a massive, invisible pressure exploded outward. It was intangible and unseen, yet it hit the senses like a physical tidal wave, surging across the island and covering miles in every direction.
Twenty thousand soldiers and pirates, currently marching toward the heart of the harbor, collapsed simultaneously. They fell like wheat before a harvester's scythe, hitting the ground in perfect, terrifying unison.
In a realm unseen by the common eye, twenty thousand vibrant souls drifted out of their bodies. They floated in the air with a dazed, hollow look. But before they could begin their journey to the Great Beyond, a colossal suction force from the tower dragged them upward.
The blue-black gemstone embedded in Elus's chest pulsed violently, its light swirling like agitated water.
Twenty thousand fresh souls. Even if most were of mediocre quality, the sheer quantity made for a magnificent feast.
"Conqueror's Haki?"
Venculla had not succumbed to the pressure. He used the last of his willpower to endure the mental shock, staring at Elus with eyes full of dread.
Having spent years in the New World, he knew exactly what Conqueror's Haki represented. Many powerhouses possessed it, but every single one was a legendary figure—the most prominent being the Four Emperors themselves.
"Not quite."
Elus raised an index finger and gave it a playful wag, dismissing Venculla's guess. Then, he provided the answer.
"It's Reiatsu. Spiritual Pressure."
"Reiatsu?" Venculla repeated the alien term. He looked at Elus, lost in confusion. The word alone carried no meaning he could grasp.
"There's no need for you to know more. Knowing things you shouldn't is a quick way to get yourself killed," Elus said, offering no further explanation. It wasn't for the sake of secrecy; he simply found the task of explaining it too tedious.
Reiatsu was a specialized trait of his Bat-Bat Fruit, Mythical Zoan, Model: Black-Winged Great Demon. Much like Marco the Phoenix's "Blue Flames of Resurrection," Reiatsu was the unique phenomenon of Elus's fruit.
The Hierro that hardened his skin, the Bala he used to vaporize the Sorcerer, and several other techniques yet to be revealed were all byproducts of this Spiritual Pressure.
The Hogyoku had followed Elus's will, perfectly manifesting the powers of the Black-Winged Demon within the laws of this world. It had granted him the power to live exactly as he pleased in this chaotic sea.