Chapter Fifteen: Isn't This Far Too Weak?

On the large ship next to Luolan, Krieg, clad in golden iron armor, slowly descended the stairs, his gaze fierce and fixed on Luolan. In recent days, Krieg had been racking his brains to find a way to the Grand Line, yet today, troubles seemed to come one after another, fueling his mounting rage.

Moments ago, his subordinates had disturbed him over some trivial matter, which was annoying enough, but now some nobody had appeared from who-knows-where, causing a scene right here. What truly grated on him was watching this stranger brazenly poach his own men, as though he could endure such an insult.

“So it’s you? You bully my men and even have the audacity to claim you’ll kill me?” Krieg stood at the ship’s rail, glaring at Luolan’s impassive face, his irritation deepening. This man had slaughtered so many of his crew, crippled two officers, and now looked at him with such indifference—as if they were beneath his notice.

“Full of empty boasts? I think the reality speaks for itself. After all, your strength isn’t much greater than that of your battle commander, is it?” Luolan glanced at Gin, who lay nearby, barely able to move, his expression openly scornful toward Krieg.

“Is that so? Then go to hell!” Krieg shook his head, then struck without warning. As the golden shoulder armor on his right rose, concealed muskets fired instantly, two bullets whistling through the air.

A normal man might have failed to react, but for Luolan, Krieg’s movements were far too slow.

“A true warrior disdains such petty tricks,” Luolan remarked. Within the range of his Observation Haki, Krieg’s every move fell into his anticipation.

Almost as those two bullets flew, Luolan drew his short blade and effortlessly knocked them aside.

“It’s not over yet—” Krieg hadn’t underestimated the man who had easily bested Gin, nor did he naively believe such a sneak attack would finish him. His real killing move was the gas grenades launched from the other shoulder.

“Die!” Krieg raised his armored shield, firing volley after volley of gas grenades toward Luolan’s ship. As for the pirates aboard, they were of no concern to him. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter. After the battle, he’d just administer the antidote to Gin and Pearl.

“No, Captain Krieg—!”
“Hurry, find your gas masks!”
“Pearl, let’s get out of here!”

The pirates, seeing Krieg’s actions, scattered in panic. Some fled, some couldn’t escape, all surging toward the cabins in search of gas masks. In battle, they usually carried such gear, wary of their captain’s penchant for releasing poison gas—and possibly hitting his own men. But this fight had caught them off guard, and they were ill-prepared.

“As I said, a true warrior disdains such tricks,” Luolan intoned. With a sweep of his short blade, a fierce, dark-red slash erupted, cutting down the gas grenades and continuing toward Krieg.

“What on earth is that?” As a local East Blue pirate, Krieg had never witnessed such a display. His face paled, and instinctively, he raised the shield that had just fired the gas grenades, preparing to block the attack. Yet in his heart, a voice screamed: Don’t block it. Run. If you don’t, you’ll die.

Krieg was a man deeply afraid of death, otherwise he wouldn’t have rigged so many contraptions beneath his armor. When faced with a choice between pride and survival, he made his decision without hesitation.

What was pride compared to staying alive?

He threw himself backward, just as the slash grazed his scalp and, as it passed through the mast behind him, sliced it cleanly as though it were soft tofu.

Staring at the smooth cut in the mast, Krieg’s face turned ashen. Thank heavens he’d listened to his gut and hadn’t tried to block it—otherwise, he’d be dead now.

“So, tell me, how could you ever claim the title of the East Blue’s strongest pirate crew? You simply have the most men, nothing more,” Luolan said, leaping from his own ship onto Krieg’s, towering over him with a shake of his head.

“You brat…” Krieg bristled at the words, ready to explode, but at the sight of the keen blade in Luolan’s hand, he swallowed the retort that rose to his lips.

“It must be the blade—yes, that has to be it.” Krieg tried to comfort himself as he eyed Luolan’s short blade with undisguised greed. If he possessed such a weapon, he’d be so much more confident venturing into the Grand Line.

With that thought, Krieg forced a smile uglier than a grimace and fawned, “You said just now you want Gin to follow you, didn’t you?”

Luolan was taken aback. What game was Krieg playing now? Still, if Krieg wanted to play, he’d play along.

Crouching down, Luolan looked at Krieg, puzzled. “You’re going to give him to me?”

Krieg shook his head, then nodded. “I can, I suppose. He’s just a battle commander—nothing special. He used to disobey orders all the time. If he weren’t so useful, I’d have fed him to the fishes long ago.”

Luolan shot a mocking glance at Gin, whose face darkened. “So, tell me—what do you want in exchange?”

Of course, Luolan had no intention of trading anything. Bringing Gin in would be a great military merit for joining the navy—why would he just let that go? He asked only to undermine Krieg’s standing and reputation in Gin’s eyes.

Look closely, Gin. See what kind of person you serve? He’s ready to sell you off without a second thought.

Krieg slowly sat up, no longer daring to make any sudden moves. Although he suspected the strange attack was due to the blade, Luolan’s strength far outstripped his own, and further tricks were pointless.

He cast a covetous look at the short blade in Luolan’s hand and licked his lips. “A man as strong as Gin—surely he’s worth your blade, isn’t he?”

Luolan laughed at this—so that’s his angle.

Upon reflection, he understood why Krieg would think that way; the flying slash must have made Krieg believe the sword itself had some special power, even though Krieg hardly seemed the type to wield a blade well.

Feigning deep thought, Luolan replied in a slow, measured tone, “That exchange does sound like one I have no reason to refuse.”

The moment Krieg’s face lit up with joy, Luolan knocked him out cold with the sword’s sheath and muttered, “Unfortunately, I still have to refuse you.”

He wouldn’t trade Gin for the short blade—nor would he exchange it for a hundred Devil Fruits. This was a gift from his teacher, and he would never trade it away.