I collect everything in the One Piece world.

Chapter 17, Armament Haki, you don't know it?

However, Morsen completely ignored the question. Explaining one's abilities to an enemy during a life-or-death battle? That's the kind of stupid thing only villains in anime would do.

Mo Sen suddenly exerted force with his feet, and his figure disappeared from the spot in an instant.

When he reappeared, he was already beside Basti, his burning longsword slashing horizontally towards his neck. Before the blade even reached him, the scorching flames had already singed his hair.

"What?! Shave! How could you do that?! That's impossible!" Basti's pupils dilated in shock.

While the Six Styles of the Navy aren't top secret, they are still a mark of the Navy's elite. How could a criminal of unknown origin know how to use them?! Could he be a traitor to the Navy?!

Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, but thankfully Basty's fighting instincts remained. At the critical moment, he also used "Shave" to retreat quickly, while raising his sword to block.

Clang! Another violent collision. Basty's arm went numb from the impact, and he awkwardly created some distance.

"I told you, I don't have the habit of reporting my abilities to the enemy." Mosen's voice remained calm as he flicked the flames off his blade, as if his swift, ghostly strike was nothing out of the ordinary.

He peered through the mask at Basty, whose breathing was erratic and who was wounded, and his tone carried an undisguised disappointment:

"And you are much weaker than I thought... "

After the exchange just now, Mosen had basically figured out Basti's background.

Although his strength is decent, his explosiveness and endurance are clearly insufficient; his speed has also declined considerably due to injuries and obesity.

The "Iron Block" has limited defensive strength, and the "Finger Gun" moves too slowly with obvious intentions, making it easy to detect.

Most importantly, there is a clear disconnect and stagnation between the six moves he has mastered and his swordsmanship, like awkwardly pieced-together building blocks that cannot form a smooth and deadly combat system.

This is clearly the result of being away from the brink of death for a long time, indulging in pleasure, and thus neglecting physical training.

"Damn it! Bastard! Don't underestimate me!" Basty was completely enraged by Morsen's undisguised look of disappointment, a contempt that was more hurtful than mockery!

A surge of madness, a mixture of shame, indignation, resentment, and the feeling of being on the verge of despair, welled up inside me.

If it were ten years ago... no, even five years ago! He would never be in such a sorry state! He would definitely make this cowardly bastard pay the price!

But unfortunately, there are no "what ifs." Today, he either kills the other party or is killed by the other party.

Despair fueled a final ferocity. Basti roared, ignoring his injuries, and lunged again, blade flashing, fighting like a cornered beast.

However, the gap in strength and the difference in condition could not be made up for by anger, and the ensuing battle was almost a one-sided crushing defeat.

Mosen was faster and seemed to have inexhaustible stamina. His burning longsword and unpredictable "Shave" gave him a significant advantage.

Basti's wounds continued to multiply, blood staining his tattered uniform. His breathing grew heavier, his parrying movements became distorted, and the iron block's defense weakened.

With defeat looming and the shadow of death beginning to engulf him, a ruthless and resolute glint flashed in Basti's eyes.

Seconds later, as Mosen closed in again with "Shave," his burning blade aimed straight at his waist, Basti made a startling move.

He didn't activate the "iron block" defense in advance; he even slightly adjusted his posture, as if he were actively facing the blade with his waist and ribs!

puff!

The burning blade pierced his abdomen without any resistance, and the excruciating pain instantly contorted his face!

"Now!" Basti roared inwardly! Just as the long sword pierced his body, he suddenly activated the "Iron Block," forcibly contracting and hardening his abdominal muscles, which clamped down on the blade like iron pincers!

At the same time, he decisively released his sword with his right hand, his five fingers flashing out to grab Mosen's right wrist, which was holding the sword. He used all his strength and weight to press down, preventing Mosen from pulling the sword back!

"You're finished!" Blood trickled from the corner of Basti's mouth, but a crazed and ferocious smile appeared on his face.

His free left hand, fingers together, with an aura that seemed to pierce through metal and stone, was aimed at Mosen's neck!

"Finger-Piercing Kill!"

This was an opportunity he risked his life to create; at such close range, Mosen didn't have time to block with his other hand.

Fingertips tear through the air, striking directly at the vital point!

However, the anticipated scene of a fingertip piercing flesh and blood spurting out did not occur.

Just as Basti's "finger gun" was about to touch Mosen's neck skin...

Mosen's neck skin suddenly shone with a deep, restrained metallic sheen, which then quickly transformed into a pure, solid black!

clang!!!

A crisp, resounding clang of clashing metal echoed through the corridor!

Basty's finger gun, powerful enough to pierce iron plates, struck the dark neck, leaving only a faint white dot before being forcefully deflected.

"This...this is...Armament Haki?!" The sneer on Basti's face froze instantly, replaced by unparalleled shock and horror, as well as a feeling of utter absurdity!

"You...you bastard, how could you...this is impossible!..."

He initially thought the other party was just a freak who had mastered a strange fruit and part of the Six Powers, but Armament Haki... that's a power on a completely different level. This is the real ticket to the world of the strong!

Even the most basic hardening signifies that the other party has entered a different realm in the cultivation of physical skills and willpower.

Mosen slowly turned his head. His expression was obscured by the mask, but the empty gaze he emanated carried an undisguised mockery, as if he were savoring Basti's final shock and despair.

He even tilted his head slightly and asked in a flat tone, "This? I just learned it a couple of days ago. What, you don't know it?"

“You…!” Basty was so enraged by this extreme mockery that his blood boiled.

However, before he could say anything more, Morsen raised his left hand, his index fingertip pressing precisely against Basti's forehead.

A sticker depicting the moment a spinning lead bullet is fired is shimmering.

“It’s time for you to experience my finger gun,” Morsen said softly.

The moment the words fell.

Whoosh! A faint sound of air being cut rang out!

The bullet pierced Basty's forehead instantly, and all the complex emotions in his eyes froze for a moment before quickly dissipating.

Mosen withdrew the long knife that had pierced his abdomen, drawing a trail of blood. Basti's obese body swayed before crashing heavily into the pool of blood on the ground, creating a thick, crimson ripple.

Mosen flicked the sticky blood and charred oil stains off the knife, glanced down at Basti's wide, gray eyes, and softly added the last sentence:

"Tsk, looks like you really don't know how."

He sheathed his long sword, no longer looking at the corpse on the ground, and turned to look at the heavy, soundproof door at the end of the corridor, which isolated the noise and joy of the auction house.

Inside the gate, the feast of money and desire continues to its climax; outside, the bloody purge and trial continue.

Chapter 18, Hell of Flames

Inside the auction hall, the atmosphere was reaching an unprecedented climax.

One by one, "rare items" were sold at prices several times higher than usual, with Horn's seductive sales pitches mingling with the excited chatter and competitive chatter of the buyers.

The crystal chandelier cast its light evenly onto every face flushed with greed and possessiveness, the air thick with the scent of cigars and perfume, and an indescribable excitement.

No one noticed that a figure had quietly entered through the door at some point.

Wearing a navy cap pulled low and a navy cloak, he strolled unhurriedly along the edge of the crowded venue, even brushing past several wealthy men who were arguing heatedly over the bids.

In this frenzied atmosphere, the appearance of a "naval officer" was so normal that no one gave him a second glance, assuming he was just a soldier maintaining order on a routine patrol.

He paused briefly at several key locations in the venue before continuing on his way, like a silent ghost weaving a web of death.

It wasn't until he walked up the side steps, step by step, toward the auction stage where the lights were focused, that Horn on the stage finally realized something was wrong.

Just as Horn frowned and was about to ask a question, the "Navy" stopped in the center of the auction stage, only a few meters away from Horn.

He raised his hand and unbuttoned his cloak, letting the cloak, a symbol of "justice," slide to the ground, revealing a dark, practical outfit underneath. He casually removed his naval cap and tossed it behind him.

Only then did everyone see the cow-cat mask that had been hidden under the brim of the hat and had become a nightmare in Chambord.

The mask reflected a cold light under the spotlight of the auction stage, its empty, indifferent eyes sweeping detachedly over the crowd below.

"?!"

"!!!"

Time seemed to freeze at that moment; Horn's smile froze, and he forgot to close his open mouth.

The buyers in the audience, who had been spending money like water just a moment ago, suddenly stopped their noise and were left only with heavy, terrified breathing.

Countless gazes focused on that comical yet chilling mask, and fear and shock quickly spread, replacing all greed and enthusiasm.

"Black...Black Cat Sheriff?!" Someone gasped in surprise, their voice distorted.

"Enemy attack! Protect the guests! Guards! Navy! Shoot! Kill him!" Horn on the stage finally reacted, shouting as he backed away.

The guards and naval soldiers throughout the venue seemed to awaken from a dream, raising their muskets and drawing their swords, the dark muzzles of their guns and the gleaming blades all aimed at Mosen on the stage.

However, faced with the scene before him, Mo Sen on the stage simply tilted his head slightly and then snapped his fingers.

Snapped!

The next instant, the stickers that Mosen had just left in various places all lit up with a faint glow.

The dual states of [viscous and flammable whale oil] and [raging flames] are released in a superimposed manner!

The blazing flames, originating from the stickers, swept and connected wildly, and in just an instant, the space below the auction stage was completely transformed into a raging sea of ​​fire!

The viscous flames, with their explosive and adhesive properties characteristic of grease, mercilessly engulfed the terrified crowd.

"what!!!"

"Fire! Help!"

"My clothes! Help me!"

"Do not!!!"

The piercing screams and wails, so shrill they were inhuman, instantly replaced the previous clamor, coalescing into a hellish symphony.

The buyers, who were just moments ago impeccably dressed and aloof, along with the guards and naval soldiers protecting them, are now writhing and tumbling in the inferno.

The air was thick with the horrible stench of burning flesh and the smoke from burning wooden furniture. In just a few breaths, the magnificent auction house had been transformed into a furnace for burning sins and lives.

At this moment, only the auction platform, which was above the ground, was temporarily spared thanks to Mosen's deliberate control, becoming a safe zone surrounded by a sea of ​​fire.

On the stage were only Mosen, wearing a mask, and Horn, who was terrified, as well as the slaves huddled in their cages, equally stunned by the sudden scene of destruction.

Ignoring the horrific scene below, Mosen turned around and raised his hand, revealing several stickers depicting artillery shells in his palm.

"Go, you are free now," he said softly to the slaves in the cage.