The culprit behind all this was now stepping unhurriedly onto the gangplank to return to the Treasure Ship.
On deck, the sailors lowered their heads in unison upon seeing his return, hardly daring to breathe.
Stussy hurried forward to meet him, her lake-blue eyes quickly sweeping over Saint Dio’s bare upper body.
Though the wounds on his chest were no longer bleeding profusely, the hideous gash remained a shocking sight, surrounded by several cuts of varying depths.
“Master, did you encounter a powerful enemy?” Saint Dio nodded slightly without further explanation.
Stussy didn’t press him further.
She simply supported his arm gently and guided him to a chair inside the cabin.
Then, she moved behind him, leaned down, and opened her cherry-red lips to reveal two sharp fangs.
She bit down gently on the junction of Saint Dio’s neck and shoulder.
But she didn’t drink his blood.
As the fangs pierced his skin, a warm, gentle surge of life energy slowly flowed into Saint Dio’s body.
This was a special ability Stussy had developed through the Vampire form of the Bat Bat Fruit—she could reverse-feed the life energy she had stored by drinking blood to heal others’ wounds.
The healing effect of this ability far surpassed conventional medical treatments, capable of closing wounds that exposed bone in a remarkably short time.
The edges of the hideous gash on Saint Dio’s chest began to writhe, draw tight, and heal at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The newly formed skin was smooth and flat, as if it had never been injured.
The other shallower cuts vanished without a trace in the blink of an eye.
After about a dozen seconds, Stussy withdrew her fangs.
She extended the tip of her pink tongue to gently lick the two small puncture marks, which faded away, leaving the skin restored to its original state.
Saint Dio rolled his shoulders, feeling his body fully recovered, and let out a satisfied hum.
“Where are they?” he asked.
Stussy stepped back, pointing toward a cabin inside the ship.
A meaningful smile played on her lips.
“They’re locked in there.” Saint Dio nodded slightly and strode into the cabin.
The light inside was dim, with only a few streaks of the setting sun filtering through the portholes to faintly illuminate the space.
Three girls cowered in the corner, their necks bound by chains that hung from iron rings on the wall, severely restricting their movements.
They huddled together like three frightened animals, all shrinking back in unison as the white-clad figure entered the room.
That was a World Noble.
Ever since they were young on Amazon Lily, the girls had heard legends of the “Descendants of God”—the monsters who lived atop the Red Line, wore bubble-like helmets, and viewed the common people below as ants.
What kind of fate awaited them now that they had been captured by one of these people?
Fear coiled around their hearts like icy vines, making it difficult to even breathe.
Saint Dio sat in a chair in the center of the room, propping his cheek with one hand as he calmly observed the three shivering girls.
Stussy followed him in, walking straight to the three girls.
She knelt down, her fingers deftly fumbling with the collars around their necks.
After a few crisp clicks, the three explosive collars—each powerful enough to blow off a head—detached and clattered to the floor.
The girls froze, but before they could even catch their breath, Stussy’s next words sent their hearts racing into their throats again.
“Take off your clothes.” The two younger sisters looked at Hancock in terror.
Hancock bit her lip, her eyes filled with humiliation and resentment.
But she also knew that any resistance now would only bring worse consequences.
She could only close her eyes, take a deep breath, and tremblingly reach out to unfasten her crude animal-skin garment.
Their clothes slid to the floor.
Three youthful, underdeveloped bodies were exposed in the dim light.
Stussy’s gaze swept over the three sisters, finally settling on Hancock.
She stepped forward, grabbed Hancock’s wrist, and brought her before Saint Dio, forcing her to kneel with her back to him.
Hancock gritted her teeth and knelt obediently.
She kept her back straight, as if to maintain her last shred of dignity with this final act of defiance.
Her body already possessed the elegant curves of an adolescent girl; the contours of her shoulder blades resembled butterfly wings, and the line of her spine extended down to her slender waist.
Below that was the curve of her hips, still youthful but already well-defined.
Because of her young age, her skin was as smooth as jade, clean and without a single stray hair.
Stussy reached out, sweeping the long black hair that cascaded down her back to one side, revealing a pristine expanse of bare skin.
Saint Dio raised his right hand.
On his right middle finger, he wore an ancient-style silver ring.
This ring was no ordinary ornament.
It was a product of his own ability, through which he had extracted and sealed a Devil Fruit power within it.
The Stamp-Stamp Fruit—the Devil Fruit contained within the ring.
The fruit’s power allowed him to carve an indelible mark into any surface.
The ring’s face began to glow with an orange-red light, radiating a scorching heat like a branding iron heated in a forge.
Hancock couldn’t see behind her, but she could feel the approaching heat wave.
Her body trembled uncontrollably, her fingers digging hard into the floor.
Saint Dio didn’t hesitate.
He pressed his glowing hand firmly against Hancock’s smooth back.
“AAAAAAAAAH—!” A shrill scream tore from Hancock’s throat.
The pain was far beyond any ordinary burn.
It felt as if a red-hot iron was being seared directly into her soul.
The burning agony surged through her nerves to every limb and bone, leaving her mind blank, consumed by pure pain.
Her body convulsed violently, and tears streamed uncontrollably from her eyes.
Yet she bit her lip hard, refusing to let herself lose consciousness.
After a few seconds, Saint Dio withdrew his hand.
The orange glow faded.
A clear mark remained on Hancock’s beautiful back.
It was not the hoof-print brand typically used by the World Nobles.
Instead, it was a more mysterious design: a black dragon, its body rendered in clean lines, biting its own tail to form a perfect circle—a symbol of eternal cycle and bondage.
The Ouroboros.
That was Saint Dio’s personal mark.