Moren didn’t take the bait.
Explaining his abilities to an enemy in a life-or-death fight?
That was the kind of stupid thing villains in anime did.
He suddenly pushed off the ground.
His figure vanished from the spot.
When he reappeared, he was at Basti’s side.
The burning longsword slashed horizontally toward his neck.
Before the blade even reached him, the scorching flames had already singed his hair.
“What?!
Shave!
How do you know that?!
That’s impossible!” Basti’s pupils dilated in shock and disbelief.
The Marine Six Styles weren’t top-secret, but they were still the mark of Marine elites.
How could a criminal of unknown origin know them?
Was he a Marine traitor?
Fortunately, Basti still had his combat instincts.
At the critical moment, he used Shave himself to retreat backward while raising his sword to block.
CLANG!
Another fierce clash.
Basti’s arm went numb from the impact, and he retreated clumsily, putting distance between them.
“I told you, I’m not in the habit of reporting my abilities to my enemies.” Moren’s voice remained calm.
He flicked the flames, blood, and burnt residue off his blade, as if that ghostly swift attack had been nothing special.
Through his mask, he studied Basti—his ragged breathing, his wounds.
Moren’s tone carried undisguised disappointment.
“Besides, you’re…
much weaker than I expected.”
From their exchanges, Moren had already figured out Basti’s limits.
His strength was passable, but his explosive power and stamina were clearly lacking.
His speed had declined due to his injuries and his fat body.
The defensive power of his Tekkai was limited.
His Finger Gun was too slow, its intent too obvious, easily anticipated.
Most importantly, there was a clear disconnect between his mastery of these Six Styles techniques and his swordsmanship.
It was like mismatched building blocks crudely forced together, unable to form a coherent killing system.
This was obviously the result of prolonged detachment from life-and-death battles, indulging in pleasure, and neglecting training.
“Damn you!
Bastard!
Don’t underestimate me!” Basti was enraged by Moren’s undisguised look of disappointment.
That contempt was more wounding than any insult!
A mix of shame, unwillingness, and the madness of a cornered beast surged through him.
If this were 10 years ago…
no, even 5 years ago!
He wouldn’t be this pathetic!
He would make this masked, hiding coward pay!
But there were no “ifs.” Today, either he killed the other, or the other killed him.
Despair gave birth to a final, savage ferocity.
Basti roared, ignoring his injuries, and charged again—his blade flashing, his fingers striking—fighting like a cornered beast.
But the gap in strength and condition couldn’t be bridged by anger alone.
The rest of the fight was almost a one-sided rout.
Moren was faster, his stamina seemingly inexhaustible.
The burning blade and his unpredictable Shave kept him always one step ahead.
Basti’s wounds multiplied.
Blood soaked his tattered uniform.
His breathing grew heavier.
His blocking motions became sloppy.
Tekkai’s defense grew weaker.
Seeing that defeat was certain, that the shadow of death was already swallowing him, a look of ruthless desperation flashed in Basti’s eyes.
A few seconds later, when Moren used Shave to close in again, the burning blade thrusting toward his side, Basti made a shocking move.
He didn’t activate Tekkai to defend in advance.
Instead, he adjusted his posture slightly, as if offering his own flank to the blade!
SHLICK!
The burning blade tip plunged unimpeded into his side.
The agony twisted his face in an instant!
“Now!” Basti roared in his heart.
At the exact moment the blade pierced into his body, he activated Tekkai.
The muscles of his flank forcibly contracted and hardened, clamping down on the blade like iron pincers!
At the same time, he released his own sword with his right hand.
His fingers shot out like lightning, gripping Moren’s sword-wielding wrist with all his strength and body weight, pinning it down to prevent Moren from pulling the blade free and retreating!
“You’re finished!” Blood trickled from Basti’s mouth, but his face twisted into a mad, savage grin.
His free left hand formed a spear hand, fingers pressed together, carrying the force to pierce metal and stone, aimed straight at Moren’s exposed neck!
“Finger Gun: Piercing Execution!”
This was the opportunity he had gambled his life to create.
At such close range, Moren’s other hand couldn’t block in time.
His fingertips tore through the air, aimed straight for the kill!
But the anticipated scene of flesh being pierced and blood spraying did not come.
Just as Basti’s Finger Gun was about to touch Moren’s neck—
The skin on Moren’s neck suddenly took on a deep, restrained metallic luster.
Then it rapidly transformed into pure, solid black!
CLANG!!!
A sharp CLANG echoed through the corridor!
Basti’s Finger Gun—enough to pierce iron plates—stabbed into that blackened neck and was deflected, leaving only a shallow white mark.
“Th-This is…
Armament Haki?!” The grin on Basti’s face froze instantly, replaced by unparalleled shock, horror, and absurd disbelief!
“Y-You…
how can you…
that’s impossible!”
He had thought his opponent was just a freak with a bizarre Devil Fruit and some Six Styles techniques.
But Armament Haki…
that was a power on an entirely different level.
It was the ticket to the world of true strength.
Even the most basic hardening marked that the opponent had stepped into a different realm of physical combat and willpower.
Moren slowly turned his head.
His face was hidden behind the mask, but the look in his eyes carried undisguised mockery, as if enjoying Basti’s despair.
He even tilted his head slightly and said, “This?
I only learned it a few days ago.”
“What, you can’t do it?”
“Y-You…!” Basti was choked with rage.
But before he could say anything more, Moren raised his left hand.
His index finger pressed squarely against Basti’s forehead.
A sticker depicting a spinning lead bullet in the moment of firing glowed faintly.
“Time for you to ‘appreciate’ my Finger Gun,” Moren said softly.
As the words fell—
At point-blank range, his Finger Gun instantly pierced Basti’s forehead.
A faint whisper of air displaced.
All the complex emotions in Basti’s eyes froze, then rapidly faded.
Moren pulled his blade from Basti’s abdomen, drawing a spray of blood.
Basti’s fat body swayed for a moment… then slowly collapsed into the pool of blood on the floor, sending up a viscous crimson ripple.
Moren flicked the flames, blood, and burnt residue off his blade.
He glanced down at Basti’s wide, dull eyes and added softly:
“Tch.
Looks like you really didn’t.”
He sheathed his sword, no longer looking at the corpse.
He looked toward the end of the corridor, toward the thick, soundproof door that separated the auction hall’s revelry from the outside.
Inside, the feast of money and desire still raged at its peak.
Outside, blood and judgment continued without pause.
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