High above the shattered volcanic archipelago, the floating cosmos answered the command of its sovereign.
Dracule Mihawk did not look away.
His yellow raptor eyes remained locked upon the six-meter draconic titan suspended in the center of the gravitational maelstrom.
The air did not merely hum; it vibrated with a deep, subsonic drone that caused the seawater below to foam and froth as if being boiled by an underwater volcano.
Around Arthur, dozens of four-hundred-foot basalt pillars, jagged coral shelves, and spiraling serpents of ocean water continued their slow, unnatural orbit.
The golden-crimson dragon scales armoring his chest and shoulders rose and fell with slow, rhythmic precision, each breath exhaling wisps of incandescent draconic vapor that dissolved into the high-altitude chill.
‘He does not merely hold two fruits,’ Mihawk observed with cold, razor-sharp clarity, his fingers feeling the familiar leather wrap of Yoru’s hilt.
‘He has interwoven them into his combat doctrine.
The physical mass and resilience of an ancient apex predator, combined with the zero-gravity mobility of the Golden Lion.
An opponent who can alter his momentum in midair without bracing against the earth or kicking the wind.’
A lesser swordsman would have succumbed to despair.
When the fundamental laws of nature are bent against a warrior, ordinary logic collapses.
Mihawk, however, felt the ancient embers in his chest roar into an unquenchable furnace.
“Show me, then,” Mihawk’s voice cut through the whistling gale, cold, steady, and razor-sharp.
“Show me how the Golden Lion’s sky answers the dragon’s call!”
Arthur’s vertical reptilian pupils contracted.
“With pleasure, Hawkeye.”
Arthur’s massive, golden-clawed right hand swept horizontally across the void.
WUUUUUUM—!
The floating archipelago violently responded.
Four colossal basalt spires—each weighing hundreds of thousands of tons—fractured under an invisible, crushing gravitational press.
The ancient stone groaned, shattered, and melted together in midair, reshaped by Arthur’s telekinetic will.
Within the span of a single heartbeat, four monstrous, leonine constructs emerged from the rubble, their stone jaws yawning wide, their fangs formed from serrated volcanic glass!
Golden Lion Shiki’s signature art.
Elevated by the volcanic fury of an Imperial Dragon.
“Shiki Style Secret Art: Shishi Odoshi — Gosho Chimaki (Imperial Palace Mille-Feuille)!”
Arthur snapped his claw downward.
ROAAAAAAR—!
The four colossal basalt lions roared with the concussive force of erupting volcanoes as they plunged through the sky.
They descended upon Mihawk from four cardinal angles, their massive stone bodies blotting out the sun, dragging atmospheric shockwaves in their wake!
Mihawk did not retreat.
His boots remained rooted to the floating stone platform.
In the face of falling continents, the World’s Strongest Swordsman merely sank an inch deeper into his stance, bringing the Black Blade Yoru across his chest.
Shing!
Mihawk moved with the blinding, surgical economy of an executioner.
“Black Blade: Thousand Flashes!”
The massive cross-blade blurred into an emerald void.
In a fraction of a millisecond, Mihawk unleashed four intersecting, crescent-shaped flying slashes of compressed energy.
Each emerald arc measured eighty paces in length, vibrating at a frequency so extreme that it didn’t merely cut matter—it severed the molecular bonds holding the stone together.
CRASH!
CRASH!
CRASH!
CRASH!
The four colossal basalt lions were cleanly bifurcated down their centers.
The severed halves tumbled past Mihawk’s floating platform, plunging into the ocean below and throwing up towering geysers of white water that drenched the sky.
Yet, as the last slab of stone fell away, Mihawk’s Observation Haki flared with an urgent, violent premonition.
Arthur was no longer above him.
Bypassing gravity entirely, Arthur had severed his own spatial mass, accelerating along an impossible ninety-degree vector to appear directly beneath Mihawk’s floating stone, his six-meter frame moving with the velocity of an artillery shell!
BOOM!
The floating basalt slab beneath Mihawk pulverized into dust as Arthur erupted upward from the blind angle.
The six-meter dragon sovereign held Oto and Kogarashi in a reverse cross-grip, both master blades drenched in thick, writhing serpents of black-and-crimson Conqueror’s lightning!
“Dragon King Secret Art: Crimson Talon — World Pierce!”
A dual-blade thrust of catastrophic proportions shot toward Mihawk’s ribcage.
The air before the blades imploded, generating a localized vacuum that sought to drag Mihawk onto the points of the twin Meito.
Mihawk’s combat genius shone like polished diamond.
Knowing that attempting to parry the raw physical weight of a six-meter dragon infused with Conqueror’s lightning head-on would shatter his footing, Mihawk pivoted on his heel in midair.
He allowed the twin Meito to pass within millimeters of his ribs, the scorching dragon heat singing the fine fabric of his shirt.
In the same fluid motion, Mihawk brought the pommel of Yoru down with devastating, bone-jarring precision against the flat collar of Oto, deflecting Arthur’s kinetic line, while sweeping the razor edge of his Black Blade horizontally toward Arthur’s throat!
CLAAANG!
Sparks brighter than a solar flare cascaded across the heavens.
Arthur tilted his head, catching the edge of Yoru against one of his massive, serrated obsidian horns!
The impact produced a concussive shockwave that blew the surrounding clouds into ribbons.
A thin crack formed along the outer edge of Arthur’s horn, but the ancient draconic bone held firm.
Using the momentary lock, Arthur whipped his armored, bladed tail around with the speed of a guillotine, aiming to bisect Mihawk at the waist!
Mihawk pushed off the horn with Yoru, somersaulting backward through the empty air with aristocratic grace.
The tail sliced through empty space, the sonic boom generated by the strike cleaving a floating stone spire fifty yards behind him into pebble dust.
Both combatants landed upon separate floating islands of rock, suspended three hundred feet above the churning ocean.
Far across the open sea, eight nautical miles away, the floating restaurant Baratie was rocking violently against its heavy sea anchors.
The chefs, pirates, and Straw Hats clung to the wooden railings for dear life.
Even across this immense distance, the duel between Arthur and Mihawk was warping the regional climate of the East Blue.
On the distant horizon, the sky was tearing itself to pieces.
Towering spires of stone and colossal lion heads made of rock could be seen through spyglasses, rising into the stratosphere before being cleaved by flashes of emerald blade-light.
Every few seconds, a dull, rolling concussive boom washed over the ocean like distant thunder, rattling the Baratie’s windows and sending tremors through the wooden hulls of the ships.
“Look at the sky…” Usopp whimpered, his teeth chattering so violently he nearly bit his tongue.
“Those…
those are islands!
There are floating islands fighting in the clouds!”
Sanji stood beside the mainmast, his brass lighter trembling in his fingers as he tried—and repeatedly failed—to ignite another cigarette.
His sharp blue eyes were wide with an existential shock he had never known.
“Who is that guy?” Sanji muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind.
“The man in the black coat…
what kind of monster can fight Hawkeye to a standstill?!”
Chef Zeff leaned heavily on his peg leg, his solitary eye dilated in complete, unadulterated awe.
Having sailed the Grand Line during the golden era of the legendary three—Roger, Whitebeard, and Shiki—Zeff recognized the shapes rising above the horizon.
“The stone lions…” Zeff breathed, his gravelly voice hoarse with reverence.
“Those are the roaring lions of Merveille!
That is the signature technique of the Golden Lion!
But Shiki is dead…
How can a dragon beast wield the gravity of the heavens?!
What kind of sovereign has entered our sea?!”
Zeff turned his gaze toward Monkey D.
Luffy.
The straw-hatted youth was standing atop the Baratie’s fish-head prow, his hands gripping his hat, his face split into a wild, ecstatic grin.
“Arthur is going all out!” Luffy shouted over the roaring gale, his eyes shining with pure inspiration.
“He’s really fighting Hawkeye on equal footing!
Shishishi!
That guy really is the craziest monster in the whole wide world!”
Beside Luffy, Roronoa Zoro leaned against the shattered rail, his hand clamped tightly over his bleeding chest wound.
His body was racked with excruciating pain, but his spirit was on fire.
Watching the black lightning fracture the horizon and seeing the titanic scale of Arthur’s strikes against Mihawk’s absolute blade, the young swordsman felt something fundamental shatter within his worldview.
He had thought the world was small.
He had thought that reaching Mihawk was simply a matter of swinging three swords harder, faster, and longer.
Now, he saw the truth.
The summit of the world was populated by sovereigns who commanded heaven, earth, and spirit.
To stand at that peak, he couldn’t merely be a good swordsman; he had to forge himself into a monster worthy of standing among kings.
“Arthur Pendragon…” Zoro whispered, his knuckles bleeding as he gripped the hilt of Wado Ichimonji.
“I won’t forget that name.
Not as long as I draw breath.”
Back at the volcanic archipelago, the intensity of the duel had reached a suffocating precipice.
Mihawk landed upon a floating basalt spire, his breathing heavy, his burgundy cloak torn in half a dozen places.
A thin, crimson cut trailed down his left collarbone, the searing heat of Arthur’s dragon aura having singed the skin beneath.
His yellow raptor eyes, however, had never burned with greater brilliance.
“Your dual fruits are formidable, Arthur,” Mihawk spoke, his voice piercing through the howling wind.
“You have mass, you have flight, and you have the spatial domain of Shiki.
But you are relying on the environment to crush me.
In a duel between swordsmen, the battlefield does not decide victory—the edge does!”
BOOM!
Mihawk launched himself from the stone platform, his boots displacing the air with such force that the basalt shattered behind him.
He arrived before Arthur in an imperceptible instant.
The Black Blade Yoru did not swing with wide, theatrical arcs.
It became a vortex of microscopic cuts, thrusts, and directional parries that dismantled Arthur’s defenses.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Arthur parried furiously with Oto and Kogarashi, but for the first time in the battle, he felt himself being systematically backed into a corner.
Mihawk’s Observation Haki was reading the subtle shifts in Arthur’s shoulder muscles, the minute displacement of the air currents, and the slight lag between Arthur’s dual-fruit commands.
Every time Arthur attempted to alter his gravitational vector, Mihawk’s blade was already waiting at the arrival point, forcing Arthur to abort the maneuver or risk losing a limb!
Slash!
The Black Blade sliced cleanly through the crimson scales of Arthur’s left forearm, drawing a spray of golden-crimson blood.
Slash!
A second strike grazed Arthur’s thigh, severing his dragon armor and biting into the dense muscle beneath.
Arthur was pushed backward across the floating stones, his six-meter mass suddenly feeling cumbersome against the absolute, razor-sharp efficiency of the world’s greatest master.
‘He is reading me,’ Arthur’s mind analyzed the sensation with cold, analytical detachment, even as his blood splattered across the stone.
‘My techniques are Shiki’s.
My gravity is Shiki’s.
Mihawk has studied the legends of the old era for decades—he knows the cadence of the Golden Lion’s style better than I do!
To defeat perfection with borrowed clothes is an impossible dream!’
Mihawk stepped forward, his eyes cold and pitiless as he brought Yoru up for a clean, decisive decapitation strike:
“You have reached your ceiling, Arthur Pendragon!
Fall!”
At that exact, razor-thin boundary between life and death, time began to distort.
Arthur’s golden reptilian pupils dilated until they mirrored the eternal expanse of the cosmos.
Within his chest, the dragon core roared—not with external fury, but with an internal, spiritual awakening.
The two-year crucible on Merveille, the brutal lessons of Golden Lion Shiki, the countless days of meditating on the breath of all things, and the sovereign ambition burning within his soul converged into a single, incandescent point of enlightenment.
‘I am not Shiki’s shadow.’
‘I am Arthur Pendragon.’
BZZZZZZZZZT—!
Arthur’s Observation Haki, which had hovered at an incomplete one-to-two seconds of precognition, shattered its mortal shackles.
His consciousness expanded outward.
The rushing wind, the falling stone fragments, the sweat dripping from Mihawk’s jaw—everything slowed to an absolute, frozen crawl.
Arthur saw it.
He saw the next three seconds of reality with crystalline, unyielding clarity.
He saw the exact arc Yoru would trace through the air.
He saw the microscopic angle of Mihawk’s wrist, the precise moment the emerald vacuum would erupt from the edge, and the exact path of the fatal strike.
True Future Sight Awakened.
Simultaneously, within the deep spiritual channels of his soul, the two Devil Fruit cores did something unprecedented.
They resonated.
The primordial, volcanic heat of the Ryu Ryu no Mi and the spatial gravitational compression of the Fuwa Fuwa no Mi ceased operating as two separate tools.
They collapsed inward, fusing into the marrow of Arthur’s spirit.
‘Gravitational Singularity…
Draconic Fire…
fuse into my steel!’
CRACKLE—BOOM!
The twin Meito Oto and Kogarashi erupted with a visual phenomenon that caused Mihawk’s breath to catch in his throat.
The blades did not merely glow with Conqueror’s lightning.
The crimson dragon-fire and the spatial gravity compressed around the steel, forming a deep, pitch-black event horizon along the edges—a nascent, terrifying Black Blade sheen that bent both light and gravity around the blades!
Arthur shifted his stance by three inches.
The lethal arc of Yoru swept through the exact spot where Arthur’s neck had been a millisecond prior, slicing through empty air!
Mihawk’s eyes widened in profound astonishment.
“Future Sight…?!”
Before Mihawk could retract his blade, Arthur’s counterattack arrived.
It was not Shiki’s style.
It was not the wide, theatrical cleave of the Golden Lion.
It was Arthur’s own, original imperial sword realm.
“Pendragon Style Secret Art: Sovereign Singularity — EXCALIBUR’S ECLIPSE!”
Arthur stepped inside Mihawk’s guard, his twin Meito executing a simultaneous, intersecting cross-slash wrapped in black lightning, draconic fire, and gravitational implosion!
CLAAAAAAANG—!
The collision produced a sound so loud it deafened every creature within a five-mile radius.
Mihawk was forced to bring Yoru’s broad spine up to block.
The impact of the newly forged imperial strike hit Mihawk like the descent of a falling moon.
Crack!
For the first time in the duel, Dracule Mihawk was violently hurled backward through the air!
His boots carved deep furrows across two floating basalt spires, cleaving them in half as he tumbled across the sky before catching himself three hundred yards away, his knees trembling under the sheer, ungodly kinetic weight of Arthur’s breakthrough strike!
Mihawk stood tall on the shattered stone, blood dripping steadily from the corner of his mouth.
His shirt was completely shredded across his chest, revealing a shallow, cross-shaped burn where the radiant heat of Arthur’s singularity strike had grazed his skin.
Yet, as Mihawk wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his glove, he did not look angry.
His chest rose and fell in ragged, ecstatic draughts of air.
A wild, unbridled laughter broke from the solitary warlord’s throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated martial joy that echoed across the desolate ocean.
“Magnificent…!” Mihawk roared, his yellow raptor eyes blazing with a brilliance that outshone the sun.
“You broke through your own limits in the middle of my blade!
You cast away Shiki’s ghost and forged your own sovereign path!
Arthur Pendragon…
you truly are a monster worthy of the heavens!”
Mihawk lowered his center of gravity.
Both hands locked onto the hilt of Yoru with absolute, final resolve.
Every drop of his world-class Armament Haki, every ounce of his thirty years of undefeated swordsmanship, and the entirety of his razor-sharp soul flooded into the Black Blade.
The obsidian steel vanished beneath an emerald-black void of pure, cutting intent that began to fissure the very space surrounding his boots.
“Let this strike decide our discourse, Sovereign of the Round Table!” Mihawk’s voice rang like an executioner’s bell.
Fifty yards away, Arthur hovered in the sky, his six-meter draconic frame fully harmonized with his two awakened cores.
His Future Sight mapped the impending strike.
He saw the path of the world-severing slash.
He knew there was no dodging, no parrying, and no trickery that could survive what Mihawk was about to unleash.
There was only absolute, head-on collision.
Arthur crossed Oto and Kogarashi before his chest.
The black lightning of Conqueror’s Infusion surged to its absolute maximum, thick tendrils of crimson and black arching ten yards into the sky.
Behind him, his twenty-five-meter wings flared wide, crackling with incandescent dragon flame.
Through the Fuwa Fuwa no Mi, Arthur gathered the entirety of the remaining volcanic archipelago—thousands of tons of stone and ocean water—collapsing them into his descent vector like an orbital meteor strike!
Dual Fruit Singularity.
True Future Sight.
Advanced Conqueror’s Coating.
The absolute pinnacle of Arthur Pendragon.
“PENDRAGON STYLE ULTIMATE SECRET ART…” Arthur’s voice boomed across the four seas, shaking the heavens.
“…SOVEREIGN DRAGON CLEAVER: HEAVEN’S RUIN!”
“BLACK BLADE ULTIMATE TECHNIQUE…” Mihawk roared in unison, stepping into the void.
“…NIGHT’S HORIZON: WORLD SEVERANCE!”
Arthur plunged from the heavens like a falling star; Mihawk slashed upward like an ascending void!
KAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM—!
The collision did not produce an explosion of sound.
It produced an absolute, blinding sphere of pure white silence that swallowed the ocean, the sky, and reality itself.
For one eternal, agonizing heartbeat, the East Blue ceased to exist.
Then, the world split.
CRACK—!
The cloud ceiling above the Sambas region, stretching for over fifty nautical miles across the sky, was cleanly severed in two along an unbroken line, exposing the deep violet void of the upper stratosphere to the midday sun.
Beneath their blades, the ocean did not merely part—it was annihilated.
A dry, cavernous chasm five miles long and hundreds of feet deep opened in the water, exposing the ancient volcanic bedrock of the sea floor before the ocean could comprehend its own division.
The concussive shockwave hurled walls of displaced water across the horizon, generating towering tsunamis that shook the distant Baratie ten miles away and caused the coastal cliffs of the Gecko Islands to groan.
For ten terrifying seconds, the Black Blade of the World’s Strongest Swordsman and the Dragon-Infused Meito of the Sovereign fought for absolute dominion over matter.
Black lightning pulverized the floating stones into atomic dust.
Emerald blade-light cleaved through the water spouts.
Then, the kinetic threshold shattered.
BOOM!
The explosive detonation of pure, compressed spiritual energy blasted both warriors backward across the sky like artillery rounds.
Splash—!
The gravitational field collapsed.
The remaining thousands of tons of stone, coral, and water spires crashed back into the ocean, sending colossal waves roaring in all directions as the sea rushed furiously back to fill the dry abyss.
Through the dense, drifting curtain of hissing white steam, boiling sea foam, and settling mist, the world slowly returned to silence.
Neither man had fallen.
Neither blade was broken.
Dracule Mihawk stood tall upon the jagged, waterlogged remains of a basalt reef, his boots dug deeply into the wet stone.
His breathing was heavy and ragged, his chest heaving under his torn shirt.
A thin line of crimson trickled from his lips, dripping onto his collar, and his forearms vibrated with dull, bone-deep exhaustion.
Yet, as he looked across the mist, his yellow eyes held a profound, undisturbed majesty.
Fifty paces away, Arthur stood upon an identical slab of rock.
His six-meter draconic transformation was smoothly receding.
The massive wings folded and dissolved into his shoulder blades; the diamond-hard crimson scales melted back beneath his skin, his obsidian horns retracting into his forehead as his height settled back to his natural two meters.
His black greatcoat was shredded at the cuffs, and a narrow cut along his left shoulder leaked a trickle of crimson blood that stained his lapel before his draconic vitality sealed the flesh.
The duel was concluded.
An absolute, mutual draw.
In pure swordsmanship, Dracule Mihawk remained the undisputed king.
His technical precision, his economy of motion, and his mastery over Yoru were an impenetrable summit that Arthur could not pierce with steel alone.
In overall destructive combat power, Arthur’s dual-fruit synthesis, his six-meter draconic mass, his newly awakened Future Sight, and his terrifying Conqueror’s Infusion had matched the World’s Strongest Swordsman blow for blow, bringing the warlord to a standstill.
And in future potential…
Arthur was an uncapped leviathan whose reign had barely dawned.
Mihawk stood tall.
With a slow, deliberate, and ceremonial motion, he reversed the Black Blade Yoru in his grip, sliding the massive sword smoothly into the scabbard across his back.
Click.
The lock engaged with a clean, metallic snap.
Mihawk looked through the drifting sea spray, his yellow raptor eyes boring directly into Arthur’s golden pupils.
“Arthur Pendragon,” Mihawk said, his voice calm, steady, and filled with a solemn respect he had not granted to another man in over a decade.
“Your power is monstrous.
Your vitality defies the boundaries of nature.
But in the domain of the blade…
you are not yet the king.”
Arthur sheathed Oto and Kogarashi simultaneously.
Snap.
The twin Meito locked into their scabbards with quiet finality.
Arthur reached up with a casual swipe of his thumb, wiping the blood from his shoulder, his golden eyes glowing with the serene, unyielding poise of an absolute monarch.
“I have no interest in being the king of swords, Hawkeye,” Arthur replied smoothly, his lips curving into an aristocratic smile.
Mihawk raised an eyebrow, the sea breeze whipping his dark hair.
“Then what is it that you seek?”
Arthur stepped toward the edge of the stone slab, his gaze looking past Mihawk, looking past the horizon of the East Blue, toward the Grand Line, toward Mariejois, and toward the empty throne that had governed the world in shadow for eight hundred years.
“The world.”
The silence that followed was heavy and profound.
Arthur looked directly at Mihawk, his tone turning formal and commanding.
“Dracule Mihawk.
I am assembling the twelve seats of the Round Table.
Men who do not serve as subordinates, but as peers beneath my sovereign banner.
The First Seat—the seat of the absolute blade—stands open for you.”
Mihawk stared at Arthur for three long heartbeats.
Then, from the chest of the solitary warlord, a deep, genuine chuckle broke forth—a sound that none of his fellow Warlords of the Sea had ever heard.
“The First Seat of the Round Table…” Mihawk murmured, shaking his head with a rare, fierce grin.
“You are arrogant, Arthur Pendragon.
You cross blades with me to a standstill, and your immediate instinct is to offer me a chair in your court.”
Mihawk turned on his heel, stepping lightly across the water toward his solitary coffin boat, which had drifted faithfully into the calm waters of the cove.
“A tempting proposal,” Mihawk called over his shoulder, his tattered burgundy cloak fluttering behind him.
“But I do not bend my knee to words, nor do I pledge my blade to an incomplete dream.
Build your empire.
Cross into the Grand Line.
Prove that you can survive the slaughterhouse of the New World.”
Mihawk stepped aboard the small boat, taking his seat as the single green candle flickered to life upon the bow.
He looked back one final time, his raptor eyes burning with clear, unyielding anticipation.
“I shall be waiting for you in the New World, Arthur.
If your banner can truly cast its shadow over that graveyard of kings…
I may yet pull up a chair.”
With a single, effortless stroke of an oar, the coffin boat glided into the mist, drifting toward the open sea until it vanished into the distant horizon.
Arthur stood upon the basalt reef, watching the hawk depart.
A deep, quiet satisfaction settled into his chest.
The touchstone had fulfilled its purpose.
The World’s Strongest Swordsman had not bent the knee, nor had he accepted Arthur’s banner.
But he had acknowledged something far more valuable: Arthur Pendragon possessed the strength to pursue his ambition.
The pact for the New World was sealed.
Arthur turned his gaze upward toward the heavens.
With a single, powerful leap, his crimson draconic wings burst from his back, propelling him upward into the sky with the speed of an arrow, soaring past the clouds and returning to the floating continent of Merveille.
[Status Panel]Name: Arthur PendragonAge: 22 | Height: 2.00 m | Origin: Great Britain / Pendragon LineageBase of Operations: Merveille (Stationed at 2,000m above the Sambas Region)Tier: Mid Admiral Class | Rank: Great Swordsman (Daikengou)Devil Fruits:Core 1: Ryu Ryu no Mi, Model: Imperial Pendragon (Zoan, 80% Mastery — 6-Meter Hybrid Form Unlocked)Core 2: Fuwa Fuwa no Mi (Paramecia, 60% Mastery — Shiki Arts Fully Integrated)Core 3: [Locked — Target: Undisclosed]Haki:Armament Haki: Advanced (Internal Destruction)Observation Haki: Awakened True Future Sight (3–4s Precognition)Conqueror’s Haki: Advanced (Conqueror’s Infusion / Coating)Weapons: Twin Meito Oto and Kogarashi (Supreme Grade Swordsmanship / Nascent Singularity Coating)Combat Record:vs.
Golden Lion Shiki: Victory (Inherited Legacy & Meito)vs.
Buggy the Clown: Victory (Recruited as 12th Seat)vs.
Dracule Mihawk: DRAW (Formally Invited to 1st Seat; Awaits in the New World)Retainers & Assets:Makino: Lady of the Citadel (Logistics & Vitality Cleansed)Buggy: 12th Seat of the Round Table (Artillery / Advanced Split Control)Kaya: Chief Medical Officer (Dragon-Marked / Reborn Health)Merry: Household Steward (Managing Relocated Estate)Citadel Vault: Smilodon Fruit, Iron-Iron Fruit, Shock-Shock Fruit, Captain John’s Treasure Map, Buggy Ball Formula, Roger’s Navigation Notes.5:35 PM