Chapter Seventy-Five: The Value of Slaughter (First Update)

Watching the events unfolding in the square, Nami finally understood why Rollin had told her to close her eyes—what was happening was simply too gruesome.

At this moment, there was nothing refined or gentlemanly about Rollin. Bathed in blood, he resembled a merciless machine of slaughter. No, not entirely without feeling—for now, he seemed to be relishing it.

Nami recalled the last time she’d seen Rollin like this: back at the Cocoyashi Village dock, when he’d dispatched those dozen or so fish-men before quickly returning to his usual self. As for what happened in Arlong Park, she’d only witnessed the collapse of the tall building and knew nothing of the rest. This was the first time she had truly seen Rollin in such a terrifying light, like a demon risen from the depths, harvesting lives with chilling indifference.

“Damn it!” Bartholomew was stunned and enraged by the carnage. He hadn’t summoned his men to be butchered by that kid. Ignoring Nami, Bartholomew burst from the building, charging straight at Rollin. He had been a force in Loguetown for years, fighting countless battles, but never had he suffered such a devastating defeat. The blood staining the square had all flowed from men who had fought and bled alongside him.

“You? You’re nothing but another corpse,” Rollin said, frowning at Bartholomew’s arrival but striking without hesitation. With a single slash, the man was cleaved in two.

He’d meant to leave this particular foe for last, but since the man was so eager to die, Rollin saw no reason to delay. And so, the notorious godfather of Loguetown, Bartholomew—the future Straw Hat crew’s most fanatical admirer and the number one cannibal pirate everyone wished would vanish—met his end.

This was the first time Rollin had killed someone so closely tied to the original story, but it didn’t seem to affect him much. A pirate was a pirate; his death neither hindered nor altered Rollin’s plans.

…

When Smoker finally received word and arrived at the execution square with a contingent of Marines, the scene before them left everyone stunned. Some of the weaker-stomached Marines vomited outright at the carnage.

Surveying the field of bodies, Smoker took a deep drag on his cigar, and only after finishing it did he stride over to the blood-drenched Rollin.

“Damn you. Do you even know what you’ve done?” Smoker growled, gripping Rollin by the collar, his anger undiminished by the blood.

“Bartholomew—the biggest crime boss in Loguetown. He and all his men are here now,” Rollin replied, picking up the severed, dark crimson rooster-combed head from the pile and handing it to Smoker. Then, as if nothing had happened, he stretched lazily and walked directly toward the Marine base.

He had killed the men; now, cleaning up was Smoker’s business. After all, Smoker was no match for him anyway. Rollin wasn’t worried about Smoker reporting him to higher-ups—those who lay dead were scum, and the Navy would hardly dismiss him for such an act. In fact, among the upper ranks, especially the hawkish faction led by Akainu, his actions would likely be praised.

Because the Marines were present, Rollin didn’t bring Nami along. She was a Marine now, after all, and Smoker would never stand by and let harm come to her.

Halfway there, Rollin suddenly remembered something and doubled back into the building. Spotting the fish-man who had managed to crawl a good distance away, Rollin sneered, strode over, and with a single slash severed the creature’s main artery before leaving.

Back at the base, not a single Marine dared greet Rollin—his appearance was too fearsome, after all. But he paid no mind to such trivialities. Returning to his room at the guesthouse, he bathed, washing away every trace of blood, then dressed in fresh clothes and lay on the bed.

His heart racing, Rollin opened the system interface, which had always been so inconspicuous. He seemed to recall hearing the system chime as he slaughtered those thugs in the square, but engrossed in the carnage, he hadn’t given it much thought. Now that it was over, he was curious to see just what the system was up to.

The familiar virtual panel appeared, and Rollin habitually glanced over his stats:

“Host: Rollin.”
“Race: Human.”
“Special Ability: Zoan-type Human-Human Fruit—Demon Form, current stage: 3.”
“Slaughter Value: 597”
“Strength Level: 5 (5040/10000)”
“Speed Level: 5 (6800/10000)”
“Endurance Level: 5 (3540/10000)”
“Swordsmanship Level: 6 (26100/70000)”
“Observation Haki Level: 3 (7890/10000)”
“Armament Haki Level: 4 (3310/10000)”
“Complete daily training to receive random attribute experience.”
“A normal person’s stats are all at level 1, while ordinary Marines and pirates have at least one attribute at level 2.”

“Consistently completing disciplined training for a certain number of days grants cumulative rewards—the longer the streak, the richer the prize.”
“When Slaughter Value reaches 1000, the fourth stage of Demon Form is unlocked.”
“Note: When Slaughter Value reaches 1000 for the first time, the fourth Demon Form can be freely selected.”
“Current streak: 3701/3900 days, reward: ???”

The rest of the stats were unremarkable, but the new Slaughter Value entry intrigued Rollin. As for why it had only appeared today, he suspected it was linked to the mountain of corpses in the square.

Since venturing out to sea, he hadn’t killed all that many people—perhaps a dozen or so when dealing with the Krieg Pirates, a hundred or so captured and released, the rest spared. The survivors of the Steel Blade Pirates after that shipwreck numbered only a dozen or so. The largest massacre before today had been the fish-men in Cocoyashi Village—apart from today’s lone survivor, all had died by his hand. But even adding them all together, the total barely reached a hundred.

Today, however, with Bartholomew’s hundreds of subordinates, his Slaughter Value had soared to nearly six hundred. If his hunch was correct, the system had only begun displaying this metric after he broke the five hundred mark. Anything less and it probably wasn’t worth mentioning.

Aside from the Slaughter Value, what excited Rollin most was the prospect of unlocking the fourth Demon Form. He had unlocked the first form, Judean, on the very day he ate the Devil Fruit. After three years of training and development, he had unlocked the second form. Another three years had yielded the third stage. But in the four years since, neither he nor the system had shown any sign of progress toward the fourth. He’d even begun to wonder if it existed at all.

Now he understood—the fourth Demon Form required accumulated Slaughter Value to unlock. It made perfect sense. The first three forms, including Judean, didn’t boast many special abilities, just a few moves borrowed from their original users, and mainly enhanced his physical strength. If that was the case, unlocking those stages through training was logical.

By the same token, the fourth form—requiring Slaughter Value to unlock—filled him with anticipation. If the first three were mere physical enhancements, what sort of unique power would the fourth, attainable only through bloodshed, bring?

Full of curiosity and expectation, Rollin drifted into a deep and contented sleep. It had indeed been a most eventful day.