Chapter Seventy-Four: A Storm of Blood and Carnage (Bonus Chapter 2)

"W-what is that?"
Seeing the sinister smile on Roland's face, Bartolomeo instinctively sensed danger. Though he had never witnessed a Flying Slash before, he realized at once that this thing was incredibly perilous.
"Run!"
Bartolomeo shouted, hoping his men could get out of the way in time.

But it was already too late.

The thugs could only stare helplessly as the Flying Slash hurtled toward them. They wanted to run, but their speed was no match for the attack. In the next instant, the Flying Slash passed cleanly through their bodies, then swept across several stone pillars in the hall, finally fading away before the wall.

Seeing themselves unscathed, the thugs began to laugh. "What was that? Looked terrifying, but it didn't even—"

Before the words left their mouths, those whose bodies had been cleaved by the Flying Slash stared dumbfounded at themselves as a thin red line appeared—and their bodies split cleanly in two.

Not a single scream escaped them; they died with that same stupefied expression.

"I'll kill you—!"

Witnessing this, Bartolomeo's eyes turned bloodshot, veins bulging across his furious, twisted face as he charged straight at Roland. He'd felt something was amiss earlier, but never imagined that one seemingly ordinary slash would kill so many of his brothers.

"As I said, those who commit wickedness shouldn't boast of their loyalty. It only sets a bad example for children," Roland shook his head. After warning Nami to stay safe, he too launched himself toward Bartolomeo.

Compared to the Flying Slash—a technique suited for clearing out lesser foes—Roland much preferred direct, blade-to-blade combat when facing an opponent who piqued his interest. It had been so with Arlong, and now it was the same with Bartolomeo.

As the crime lord of Loguetown, ruling over gangs across 150 streets, Bartolomeo might not surpass Smoker in strength, but he was certainly on par with notorious pirates like Arlong.

When Roland’s twin blades slashed at him, Bartolomeo twisted his body in an awkward maneuver, slipping through the narrow gap between the swords and swinging a fist at Roland’s strikingly handsome face.

Though caught off guard by this move, Roland still held the upper hand. When the gap in power was this great, most techniques proved useless.

Like now.

Faced with Bartolomeo’s unexpected attack, Roland did only one thing. His toe pressed into the floor, unleashing such force that the ground split as he leapt into the air, causing Bartolomeo to lunge at empty space.

Dropping from above, Roland spun his blades in elegant arcs and thrust them toward Bartolomeo. He used no special techniques—just the simplest, most straightforward form of attack.

Techniques like Air Rending, Wind Cleaver, and Cloud Cutter—Roland knew that if he unleashed them, it would be pure bullying. Even Smoker struggled to withstand such swordplay; if he used it against Bartolomeo, the fight would be over in a blink.

"Don’t underestimate me!"
Bartolomeo, eyes blazing red, was more clear-headed than Roland expected. Rather than meet Roland's attack head-on this time, he drew two pistols from who-knows-where and fired twice.

The scorching bullets sped toward Roland.
But Bartolomeo knew well—even with dozens of men firing together earlier, not one bullet had touched this man. How could two shots from him alone make any difference?

He fired only to buy himself time. Discarding the pistols, he drew a large blade and charged Roland once more.

One thing Bartolomeo understood: this man was powerful.
Yet battle was not only about strength; experience and cunning often tipped the scales.
Morality or treachery, it didn’t matter—as long as it meant victory.

As he closed in, several thugs suddenly hurled smoke grenades. Instantly, the hall was shrouded in choking mist.

"So this is the trump card he spoke of?"
Roland smiled.

For someone who’d never left East Blue or faced true power, such smoke might have been a problem.
But for anyone who’d voyaged the Grand Line and mastered Observation Haki, this was laughable.
With Observation Haki, nothing—be it invisibility or trickery—could hide, let alone mere smoke.

The moment Roland activated his Haki, killing intent erupted from him.

He’d thought the smoke bombs were meant to aid Bartolomeo in the fight. But these thugs were even more depraved than he'd imagined.
As the smoke rose, some rushed towards Nami, intent on taking her hostage.

That, Roland could not tolerate.

Nami was the reason he'd returned to East Blue, a priority even above Zoro and Koby. There was no way he'd allow a few thugs to harm her here.

With a sweep of his right-hand blade, a raging gale roared forth, instantly clearing the smoke from the hall.

As clarity returned, his left-hand blade shot across ten meters, skewering the ill-intentioned thug near Nami.

"Your men are disgracefully unruly,"
Roland lifted his blood-stained face, twisting into a terrifying grin as he unleashed another Flying Slash.

"I didn't say you could leave!"
In the direction of his gaze, a fish-man attempting to flee collapsed in agony and terror—the Flying Slash had severed both his legs.
As the fish-man howled in pain, Roland sent out several more slashes, slaughtering every thug in the hall save Bartolomeo.

"Now then, let us continue our fight!"

Roland grinned eerily. Though his lips shaped a smile, the blood smeared across his face made it a ghastly visage.

"You've killed so many of my brothers. You’re not leaving here alive,"
Bartolomeo drew a flare gun, fired into the ceiling, and a scarlet flare burst through the roof, soaring high into the sky.

Things had spiraled out of his control. He’d thought a few dozen men with guns would be enough to finish this damned man.
But it was nowhere near enough.

"Calling for reinforcements? You'd better bring plenty. I’m not done yet,"
Watching the flare soar, Roland seemed almost eager.

On his way here, he'd sensed malice from all sides. He’d planned to deal with the local gangs after settling things here. Now, with Bartolomeo’s signal, he wouldn’t need to hunt them down—they’d come to him.

"Roland, things seem to be getting out of hand,"
Though she trusted him, Nami couldn't help but tremble as she saw the crowd gathering outside.

"No wonder they call him the Godfather of Loguetown—so many underlings,"
Taking Nami by the hand, Roland stepped outside. Seeing the hundreds of fierce men, he started to laugh.

No wonder a justice-obsessed man like Smoker never tried to clean up the gangs in Loguetown. With a force this large, it made sense.

But with over 150 streets under his control, even these hundreds were just a few men per street. This probably wasn't even all of Bartolomeo’s forces.

"Nami, close your eyes in a moment. You might not want to see what’s about to happen,"
Roland whispered gently, then, twin blades in hand, charged into the seething crowd.

Compared to mowing them down with Flying Slashes, he now relished the raw, bloody thrill of close combat.

In an instant, blood and chaos erupted across the square where the Pirate King Roger had once been executed.