[Magician’s Red] fired the hyper-compressed plasma orb straight forward.
The scorching plasma core melted through the freighter’s reinforced steel hull like a hot knife slicing through warm butter, punching inside without meeting the slightest resistance.
Once it penetrated deep into the inner compartments, the plasma sphere instantly detonated.
A colossal fireball fifty meters across tore the massive freighter cleanly in half.
By that time, the crusaders had already retreated to a safe perimeter, watching the towering explosion erupt over the waves.
A chill ran down their spines; had they delayed their getaway by even a few seconds, the concussive shockwave would have caught their own vessel.
From that point on, the voyage went remarkably smooth, and the ship arrived safely in Singapore without further incident.
Horne had half expected the ship to strike a reef or suffer some freak calamity, but miraculously, nothing went wrong.
Touching down in Singapore, the crew enjoyed a brief window of well-deserved downtime.
When Polnareff stepped into his hotel room to unpack, his instincts immediately flared with suspicion.
Horne had already briefed the group beforehand that two of Dio’s assassins were lying in wait here, representing the Tarot cards of the Devil and Temperance.
Among them, the Stand representing the Devil—named [Ebony Devil]—was fundamentally weak, requiring its user to suffer physical trauma before its curse could even activate.
Having just swept the bathroom, Polnareff noticed an eerie doll perched on the nightstand, along with several cold sodas hauled out from the mini-fridge.
(Has this bastard singled me out already?)
Polnareff’s guard locked in instantly.
To utilize its malice, [Ebony Devil] needed to possess an inanimate vessel, and creepy puppets were its favorite medium.
Without granting the assassin a split second to react, Polnareff kicked the mini-fridge door wide open, unleashing [Silver Chariot] to pierce and scramble the hidden hitman’s brain in a blinding flash, executing him before he could even summon his Stand.
“Tch.
I’ll have to get Horne to dispose of this garbage later.
I need a new room, too.”
Polnareff muttered in disgust.
Meanwhile, Jotaro ran into the other assassin, though this enemy’s appearance was unnervingly familiar.
He looked identical to Kakyoin, down to the finest detail—so convincing that even Jotaro was briefly taken aback.
There was no denying the enemy’s disguise was master-class, yet this counterfeit Kakyoin could never fake what lay beneath the skin.
In Jotaro’s eyes, ever since the flesh bud had been extracted, Kakyoin was refined and composed, bearing none of the sinister malice dripping from this imposter’s glare.
(A Stand capable of shapeshifting…
[Yellow Temperance].
Just as Horne warned, he’s impersonating Kakyoin from when he was still brainwashed.)
Jotaro pulled down the brim of his cap and addressed the fake Kakyoin coolly.
“Kakyoin, let’s head down to the waterfront.”
“Sure.”
The two walked in silence until they reached the secluded shoreline; the instant the crowds thinned out, the imposter made his move.
His flesh melted and morphed like viscous rubber slime, lunging violently toward Jotaro.
Yet Jotaro had been waiting for this exact opening; the second the slime surged, [Star Platinum] manifested at his side.
Jotaro grabbed the counterfeit Kakyoin and dragged him headlong into the crashing waves, plunging both of them beneath the sea.
The master of [Yellow Temperance] was a mercenary named Rubber Soul, hired by Dio for cold, hard cash.
[Yellow Temperance] was formidable, capable of devouring and assimilating organic tissue to expand its biomass.
It could also envelop its user completely, flawlessly mimicking the physical appearance and voice of anyone.
Yet that wasn’t the true terror of [Yellow Temperance].
Its absolute supremacy lay in its ability to absorb all kinetic shock; flames only caused its biomass to multiply, while sub-zero ice merely hardened its slime into razor-sharp spikes.
Shielded behind this impenetrable gelatinous barrier, the fragile user was virtually impervious to harm.
Furthermore, if an adversary made contact with even a microscopic droplet of [Yellow Temperance], the yellow slime would relentlessly digest and assimilate their flesh.
Though the assimilation process was gradual, scraping it off was near impossible; without the grim resolve to hack off your own flesh and bone, you could never purge the parasite.
Fortunately, even an invulnerable Stand harbored a fatal Achilles’ heel: the mortal user, Rubber Soul himself.
The man was a cowardly weakling, carried entirely by his broken Stand power, possessing neither unyielding willpower nor physical endurance.
As a biological mortal, he needed oxygen to survive, regardless of how impenetrable his Stand’s defenses were.
Dragged into the ocean depths, Rubber Soul had gasped in terror, prematurely expelling all the air from his lungs.
Jotaro pinned him firmly beneath the surface, denying him even a single breath of fresh air.
He flailed in panic, but Jotaro’s grip remained like an iron vice.
Until this bastard blacked out completely, Jotaro had no intention of releasing him.
Moments later, Jotaro dragged the limp, unconscious Rubber Soul back onto the sandy beach.
[Star Platinum] drove a heavy fist straight into his gut, the bone-crushing impact cracking his ribs and shocking him back to consciousness.
“Gough!”
Clutching his stomach, Rubber Soul violently coughed up salt water tinged with dark blood.
“Please!
Spare my life!
I swear I’ll never do evil again!!”
Rubber Soul groveled in the dirt, completely stripped of dignity, while Jotaro merely turned his back and pulled down his cap.
Yet a mangy dog never changes its habits; Rubber Soul immediately unleashed [Yellow Temperance] once more, shrinking its volume to stealthily latch onto Jotaro’s coat.
A clever scheme, but Jotaro had been baiting him all along.
“[Star Platinum]!!”
The instant the slime reached out, [Star Platinum]’s massive fists rained down upon Rubber Soul’s face like an apocalyptic tempest.
“ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!
ORA!”
Rubber Soul was battered into a bloody heap, permanently retired from combat.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Horne was deep in serious discussion with Old Joseph.
“Are you certain you want to go through with this?”
Joseph asked with a solemn frown.
“Yeah.
From what I’ve observed, the crew can reach Egypt safely even without my direct presence.
“My move now is to stage my own death during the upcoming skirmish against [The Emperor] and [The Hanged Man].
“In Dio’s eyes, the primary targets will always be the Joestar bloodline; I’m merely an unknown drifter who popped out of nowhere.
Faking my demise is the cleanest tactical play.
“I will link up with Lisa Lisa, secure the Red Stone of Super Aja, and beat you guys to Egypt to clear the minefield ahead.”
Horne laid out his strategic roadmap.
“Lisa Lisa wants to test my mettle, and I desperately need to learn authentic combat mastery from the greatest living Ripple master.
“My duel against Polnareff proved that my raw fighting technique is far too crude—I rely heavily on brute stats, primal instincts, and quick wit.
That path hits a brick wall eventually.
“You should know that better than anyone, Joseph.”
Horne was referencing Joseph’s own humbling struggle when he first confronted the Pillar Man, Wamuu, in his youth.
“You’re right.
You will face far stronger, far more cunning monsters down the road.
Without polished fundamentals, clever schemes fail when it counts, and even the greatest luck runs dry.”
Having fought his way from street brawls to hurling Kars into the void of space, Joseph was a brilliant tactician backed by formidable power.
Yet when he faced the Ultimate Lifeform Kars, after exhausting every scheme and trick in the book, he had been backed into an absolute dead end.
Had dumb luck not intervened at the final second, he never would have blasted Kars into orbit or lived to tell the tale.
Nobody understood better than Joseph how razor-thin the margin of error was when relying solely on wit and luck; without raw martial mastery, you were merely dancing on a tightrope over an endless abyss.
“Venice, Italy.
The very grounds where Caesar and I forged our Ripple in our youth.
Lisa Lisa will be waiting for you there.”