Elegance and politeness alike were merely carefully crafted disguises Valentine had draped over himself.
He didn’t care at all about the lives of his crew; the only thing he ever calculated was how to achieve his own goal.
Up to this point, everything that had happened was still within his expectations.
He did not believe anything had gone beyond his control.
Because of this, whether it was Nereus appearing before him or the crew being killed, Valentine still remained calm and relaxed.
However, once Valentine brought Nereus into the water, the situation gradually began to slip out of his control, giving him an uneasy feeling.
“No way!
Impossible!
Devil Fruit users are hated by the sea—no matter how strong they are, they lose their strength once fully submerged!
It’s fake!
All of it is fake!
Right… that’s it… vampires can hypnotize people.
I must have fallen under your illusion… as long as I break free from your hypnosis, the victor will still be me!”
Valentine’s expression shifted from calm composure at the start to something increasingly unhinged, bordering on madness.
Cold sweat continued to bead and drip from his forehead.
The surrounding seawater, which had once felt refreshing and comfortable, now felt like it was seeping into his bones as an unbearable chill.
This loss of control made Valentine feel deeply unsettled, forcing him to rely on constant self-persuasion just to suppress his panic.
If Nereus, as a Devil Fruit user, truly did not fear the sea’s curse—
Then, as a human, deliberately moving the battlefield into the depths of the ocean while fully aware that the opponent was a fish-man, would be an act so foolish that even “stupid” wouldn’t be enough to describe it.
Bang!
Bang!
Valentine swung his fists with force, ruthlessly striking his own face, as if trying to use pain to forcibly wake himself from what he believed was a hypnotic illusion.
His utterly unhinged behavior caused Nereus to completely lose interest in him.
“What’s wrong?
The moment you see something beyond your understanding, does your brain just shut down and you lose the ability to accept reality?”
Nereus made no dramatic or exaggerated movement.
He simply raised his arm casually and, with steady precision, clamped his hand around Valentine’s throat.
“I’m a fish-man too.
My species grants me an innate ability—my body naturally produces a special thin membrane that isolates me from seawater’s effects.
And you claim to worship me, yet you didn’t even bother to find that out?”
Nereus even considered Valentine’s behavior to be the kind of “fake fan” obsession—worse than outright stalkers.
At least those people, when they lost it, were capable of actually accomplishing things.
Every fish-man race possesses its own inherent traits.
For many, these abilities are not particularly noticeable—at most, they can breathe underwater or have enhanced strength.
But those with special abilities can make full use of these natural physiological traits.
Nanamo could release strong acid; Nereus himself could use a thin, body-adhering bubble membrane to form a protective layer, allowing him to maintain combat capability even underwater.
Moreover, this membrane was not an artificially made resin bubble that could easily be damaged in battle.
As long as Nereus was alive and had not exhausted his stamina, he could continuously replenish and repair it, making it function like a second skin capable of sustaining high-intensity combat.
And the energy consumption required for this ability was, for Nereus, no different from breathing.
For ordinary fish-men, this ability might not mean much—but for a Devil Fruit user like him, it was uniquely valuable.
“It’s fake… all of it is fake!
How could my meticulously planned scheme possibly go so wrong… cough… what… is… going… on…”
Valentine suddenly realized that his strength was draining away at an alarming rate.
His body was becoming stiff and numb, his legs and feet no longer responding to his commands.
His well-tailored suit now hung loosely on him.
Soaked completely by the freezing seawater, his sleeves slipped down as he weakly struggled, leaving his arms fully exposed.
Though Valentine was not a massively muscular man, he was at least lean and strong—but at this moment, his arms looked like withered wood.
His muscles had atrophied, his skin sagged and wrinkled, as though he had aged several decades in an instant.
“You said it yourself, didn’t you?
My Devil Fruit allows me to steal life span.
I’ve taken your lifespan.
I’ve left you about five minutes.
No need to thank me—go and savor your final moments.”
Extracting lifespan through physical contact is the most basic ability of this Devil Fruit.
As long as the user isn’t completely incompetent, they can master this power the moment they consume it.
In the original timeline, after eating this Devil Fruit, Ledfield used it to steal others’ lifespans and restore his youth.
If the user wished, they could even return the time they had taken.
Nereus had long since consumed this Devil Fruit, and by now this basic ability was second nature to him.
Moreover, to Nereus, stealing lifespan and draining blood were entirely different things.
A self-absorbed man like Valentine didn’t even make him feel inclined to drink his blood.
Someone like Valentine—who completely lost composure the moment events went beyond his expectations—could not possibly possess strong Haki.
He had no ability to resist Nereus’ extraction of his lifespan.
“No… my youth… my ambition… how can it… just disappear like this…”
A powerful sense of unwillingness and despair surged through Valentine like a tidal wave.
He struggled with all his remaining strength in the seawater.
However, this body—already stripped of its time by Nereus—could no longer support any meaningful resistance.
As a wave rolled over him, freezing seawater flooded Valentine’s already weakened lungs.
He tried desperately to cough it out, but each convulsive attempt only drew in more water.
A suffocating pressure, mixed with the icy despair of death, completely engulfed his aging body.
Valentine’s vision gradually blurred and dimmed.
He watched helplessly as the surface of the sea—the symbol of life—grew ever more distant above him.
In his final moment, all he could do was weakly reach upward with a trembling hand.
That once-close, easily reachable distance had become an insurmountable chasm.
In the end, Valentine never surfaced again.
He remained forever in the dark, frigid depths of the West Sea.
Only the empty, silent pirate ship of the Valentine Pirates remained, a mute testament that such a crew had ever existed in this world.