At Bastille's command, thirty Navy warships opened fire in succession!
The combined recoil shoved each vessel—over 5,000 tons—forcefully backward and to port.
They drifted several meters off, side-shifting across the water.
The sea shuddered under the incredible power of simultaneous broadside cannon volleys.
---
The spectacle was awe-inspiring.
Flames erupted skyward from countless muzzles, painting the sea and clouds orange-red.
Thick smoke billowed, obscuring the entire fleet.
Swirling cannonballs formed a terrifying black iron net that ascended into the sky, spreading wide—unmistakably impenetrable.
---
A roaring gale drove this metal downpour toward the pirate fleet.
At its center, the Moby Dick bore the brunt—its broadside hammered by a barrage three times denser than the other ships.
Marco dropped his telescope in awe-stunned fear and staggered to the deck as his knees buckled.
Even after thirty years at sea, he'd never witnessed a Navy opening two hundred cannon ports and unleashing such a relentless storm!
But there stood Roya—upright, composed, a faint smile on his lips.
Marco steadied himself.
> If the Vice-Captain isn't panicking, there must be a plan.
---
Roya swept out his Observation Domain.
Within moments, he linked himself to seven warships.
Simultaneously, orders echoed in each crew member's mind.
---
Seven ships executed seven distinct but coordinated evasive maneuvers in perfect synchrony.
On the flagship, dozens of oarsmen defied expectations—synchronized beyond belief—even as the rudder swung hard right by 6°.
Take that in: they accelerated forward and then pivoted right—then immediately, by another unspoken command, shifted left—seamlessly, as if the rudder had a soul.
The helmsman later confessed:
"It was more exhilarating than philosophizing with a geisha."
---
On the secondary vessel, Bista realized what had happened—
Even though the ship's rudder solo swung 12° right and lacked oomph,
The waves from the flagship's maneuvers carried it gently into precise alignment with the command.
Other captains watched in stunned awe:
"Is this… divine command?"
"Through the Observation Domain, he's sending orders directly into each sailor's mind!"
"Seven ships, over two thousand crew—all synchronized under a single will!"
"Even each cannonball's impact point was precomputed!"
"This isn't mere Observation Haki—it's… a miracle!"
---
The seven ships executed the same flawless turn.
Shock shattered into worship.
Despite the cannon blast still roaring overhead, every crewman knew one thing:
Not a single cannonball would land.
Boom after boom as explosive waves rained down—but shell after shell splashed harmlessly into water.
No ships nicked, no damage—even the decks stayed clean.
Marco wiped seawater from his face and looked toward Roya's direction: Not a single drop had touched him.
"Incredible evasion!"
A deafening cheer rose simultaneously across all seven vessels—echoing to the rear fleet and across the Navy lines.
On the Navy flagship, Bastille clenched hands, eyes and mouth twitching uncontrollably.
"Not… a single hit?"
"Impossible. You're all hallucinating. Check again immediately!"
In his rage, Bastille slapped a messenger for suggesting otherwise.
His pacing and muttering unnerved every crewman—morale plummeted.
---
Dalmatian closed his eyes, recalling the maneuvers.
A deep dread clawed at his mind.
Triggered by timing and haunting foresight, he foresaw the next phase…
---
In his vision: the seven pirate ships aligned perfectly at different depths—forming a flawless line of coverage.
Dalmatian seized Bastille by the collar and sprinted toward the lifeboats.
He knew with certainty what was coming next.
---
In the next heartbeat—BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Simultaneous detonations ripped through the Navy fleet.
Cannon fire from the pirate ships—precisely timed and aimed—hit ammunition holds across the enemy line.
Bastille's flagship shattered; others followed one by one—thirty warships, immolated in brutal combustion.
Their decks erupted in blazing fireworks—monuments to Roya's meteoric rise.
Dalmatian rowed like a man possessed, fleeing the hellscape.
> "Vice-Captain Roya… his Observation Domain has reached perfection. We must report this to HQ!"
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