Chapter 370: The Island's Reckoning

Whoosh.

The tension in the air was palpable. Everyone who made a living on these treacherous seas understood what this moment meant, blood was about to be spilled and only the strongest would escape.

Dom immediately crouched low before exploding upward like a coiled spring, his movements sharp and predatory. The Nichirin blade in his grip spun through the air, trailing an arc of rainbow light as it whistled toward Beheader Zidar with deadly precision.

The scattered pirates around them did not move to assist their officers; this was the Grand Line, where survival often meant knowing when to stay out of someone else's fight.

Clang!

The metallic ring of steel meeting steel echoed through the street. Zidar's movements were fluid and graceful, his one-handed parry effortless as he deflected Dom's attack with an elegant sword flourish. The force of the deflection sent Dom's weapon spinning out of his grasp, clattering uselessly on the cobblestones.

By the time Dom's feet touched the ground again, his opponent had retreated several feet, moving with the fluid grace of a dancer. The cloth covering Dom's face had been sliced clean through, and thin lines of blood ran down his cheek where the blade had kissed his skin.

Dom's pupils dilated in shock. This was the first time since his transformation that he had been so completely outmatched!

Zidar drew his rapier fully from its scabbard, the slender blade moving like liquid mercury as it swayed and danced through the air. The tip traced hypnotic patterns, creating mesmerizing star-like formations that seemed to hang in space. His footwork was equally unorthodox, his legs moving with springy precision, each step carefully measured and rhythmic, as if he were performing an intricate ballet rather than preparing for battle.

"Impressive," Zidar whistled approvingly, his voice carrying the confidence of a man who knew his own abilities. "You have real skill. No wonder you managed to take out that worthless fodder."

Dom slowly straightened, his expression grim as he analyzed his opponent. He could see now that Zidar's strength lay in two areas: exceptional weaponry and extraordinary body coordination. In terms of raw reaction speed and physical prowess, they seemed to be roughly equal, but this man's technical mastery was on a completely different level.

Through Oboro's heightened perception, the fighting style became clear. This was not traditional swordsmanship at all, but fencing, the elegant martial art elevated to deadly artistry. The emphasis on reaction time, evasive footwork, and lightning-fast thrusts marked Zidar as someone who had trained extensively in this refined discipline.

But Dom's attention was suddenly drawn away as a massive shadow fell over him. Somehow, Meat Grinder Maipeng had circled behind him, the giant's imposing frame blotting out the afternoon sun as he lifted a trunk arm and brought it down like a sledgehammer.

Dom rolled desperately to the side, the cobblestones he'd been standing on shattering under the force of the impact. Dust and debris filled the air as the shockwave rippled outward from the crater-like depression.

"Let's start with you, newbie," Maipeng rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. "Newcomers who don't know their place on these seas. Tell me, were you separated from your crew after entering the Grand Line? Maybe your ship was destroyed and you're just strays looking for scraps? I've seen a lot of young hotshots like you two. Time someone showed you some respect."

Before Dom could fully recover, Zidar's voice whispered from behind his shoulder. The fencer had somehow closed the distance with ghostly stealth, his blade already in motion as points of starlight converged on Dom's position.

Even with his sharpened reflexes and hard-won combat experience, Dom couldn't predict where the actual strike would land among the bewildering array of feints and misdirection. All he could do was raise his arms to protect his vital organs and hope for the best.

Thup, thup, thup.

The sword found its mark several times, piercing Dom's defenses like needles through silk. Blood gushed from several stab wounds across his torso and arms, painful but deliberately not fatal.

Dom leaped backward, creating space between himself and his opponents as crimson drops pattered on the pavement.

The watching pirates erupted in cheers for their officers, their voices carrying the bloodthirsty enthusiasm of spectators at a gladiatorial contest.

"Master Zidar has a bounty of thirty million berries, you picked the wrong fight, boy!"

"Master Maipeng is sitting on twenty-eight million! This is no beginner's paradise like the Four Blues!"

"If you get down on your knees and beg for mercy right now, maybe our masters will be kind enough to let you live!"

The taunts came from all directions, but Dom was already adjusting his stance, preparing for another attack despite his wounds.

"Stop."

Oboro's voice cut through the chaos like a blade, soft but carrying absolute authority.

Dom shot him a frustrated look, he hadn't even used his enhanced abilities yet. If he had unleashed the full power of his transformation, the fight might have turned out differently.

But Oboro had already assessed the situation with clinical precision. Despite the bloodline enhancements and experience cards Dom had received, his basic foundation remained weak. Years of scraping by as a low-level pirate had left gaps in his training that raw power couldn't fully compensate for. Against these two slick pirate officers, even with his skills, Dom was operating at about twenty million berries worth of combat effectiveness.

This was the reality of the higher worlds. Piracy required not only strength, but talent, instinct, and above all, proper training. Dom had learned most of his techniques by trial and error, lacking the systematic training that separated true fighters from street brawlers.

The Grand Line was littered with pirates worth tens of millions of berries. Reaching the Sabaody Archipelago required not only power, but incredible luck and adaptability. Even pirates with bounties of over a hundred million could meet their end in the early stages if they made the wrong enemies or encountered unexpected challenges.

The Flame Dragon Pirates had been lucky to get as far as they had.

Besides, the bounties reflected the government's assessment of the threat level, which included many factors beyond pure fighting ability. Robin was the perfect example; her astronomical bounty had nothing to do with her fighting skills and everything to do with her dangerous knowledge.

Pirates under fifty million were still considered ordinary on the Grand Line. Those above fifty million could be called "rising stars" and began to attract serious attention. The fact that individuals like Ace and Cavendish had achieved such recognition at their age spoke volumes about their exceptional talent.

"Are you going to stand up for your friend?" Zidar asked with theatrical arrogance, continuing to weave patterns in the air with the tip of his blade. He seemed genuinely unconcerned by Oboro's approach, treating him as just another obstacle to be elegantly disposed of.

Oboro walked slowly forward, his hands still casually in his pockets, his expression unreadable under his hood.

"Kill him!" someone shouted from the crowd of pirates.

"Hurry!" another voice added with a cruel laugh.

In the next instant, Zidar lunged forward like a striking viper. His movements were a masterpiece of deception, appearing now to the left, now to the right, his entire form seeming to flicker and dance as if he were made of mist rather than flesh and blood.

The points of starlight created by the tip of his rapier wove a confusing pattern of potential strikes, each potentially deadly, making it nearly impossible to predict where the actual attack would come from.

The combination of advanced footwork, fluid body mechanics, and exotic swordsmanship flowed together in a display that was both beautiful and terrifying to behold.

But Oboro merely frowned slightly, as if slightly annoyed by an insect.

The moment Zidar's shadow reached him, Oboro nonchalantly pulled a hand from his pocket. Then, with a movement so swift it seemed to blur reality itself, he snapped his arm up from the bottom to the top. Every joint from shoulder to wrist moved in perfect coordination, creating a whip-like effect that caught Zidar completely off guard.

The impact lifted Zidar off his feet. His pristine white hair flew wildly as blood spurted from his nose and mouth, and his eyes rolled back to show only white as consciousness fled his body. A thin red line appeared across the center of his face where Oboro's fingernails had traced their path.

"Fancy," Oboro commented with mild disdain, his tone suggesting that he had just swatted away a particularly annoying fly.

What had appeared to be a sophisticated technique was actually full of exploitable weaknesses for someone with Oboro's level of experience and perception.

Thud.

The officer who had been graceful and confident only seconds before crashed to the cobblestones like a broken marionette, his weapon clattering as his body went limp. The elegant fencer was dead before the fall was complete.

The sudden reversal hit the surrounding pirates like a physical blow. Several stood with their mouths open in disbelief, their eyes bulging as they struggled to process what they had just witnessed.

Immediate death. Against one of their strongest officers. By someone who looked like just another vagrant from the outer islands.

"AHHHHHH!"

Meat Grinder Maipeng's roar of rage and shock shattered the stunned silence. His massive frame shook with fury as he lunged forward like a living battering ram, his giant hands spread wide to crush his target between them.

But for all his imposing presence and raw power, Maipeng's speed was sluggish compared to Oboro's enhanced reflexes. Before the giant could even complete his grappling move, Oboro had moved to his side with casual ease.

A single finger extended, touching a precise point on Maipeng's lower back with the gentleness of a whisper.

The effect was instantaneous and devastating. Maipeng's eyes became bloodshot as he fell to his knees, both hands clawing at the spot where Oboro had made contact. His entire body convulsed with agony that seemed to radiate from his very core, cold sweat beading on his face as strangled screams ripped from his throat.

He couldn't move. He couldn't even stand. The pressure point technique had effectively severed his connection to his own nervous system, leaving him helpless despite his enormous physical strength.

Oboro slowly turned to face the remaining pirates, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

The crowd of criminals took an involuntary step back as one, terror written on their faces. Whatever fighting spirit they might have possessed dissipated like the morning mist under his calm gaze.

The world of piracy operated on simple principles: strength commanded respect, weakness invited death. These men had just seen two of their strongest officers dispatched with almost contemptuous ease. There was no shame in recognizing when one was outclassed.

Most pirate crews lacked the true cohesion and loyalty that bound true families together. They were partnerships of convenience, groups of individuals who banded together for mutual benefit but scattered like leaves when real danger arose.

"Wait... I remember now! It's him!" One of the pirates suddenly shouted, his finger shaking as he pointed at Dom's uncovered face.

The scream drew everyone's attention like a magnet.

"That's him! The one who escaped with the God Slayer, the one from all the wanted posters! The former flame dragon pirate, the cunning fox Dom!"

"God Slayer?" The whisper spread through the crowd like wildfire.

"It's really him!" As recognition dawned, the pirates began to retreat more frantically.

Once this identification was made, it didn't take long for the logical conclusion to follow. If the man standing there bleeding was Dom the Cunning Fox, then the figure who had just effortlessly killed their officers could only be...

More and more eyes turned to Oboro with growing horror.

Even with his face partially hidden, there was no hiding from the truth now.

"He's the real one!" someone gasped.

"That guy... he's actually... still alive!"

The realization hit the pirates like a bolt of lightning, leaving them stunned and paralyzed with fear.

For the people of Bona Island, this revelation meant only one thing: their world was about to change forever.

The Godkiller had come to their remote corner of the Grand Line, and nothing would ever be the same again.