Chapter 430: Chapter 73: Isn’t Life Good Enough, Crocodile?
"Sand... Is he a Devil Fruit user?" Tokikake asked, frowning.
Darren let out a low chuckle, cold amusement glinting in his eyes. "Does it matter?"
He took a step forward, his voice dropping with razor-edged disdain. "Whoever this bastard is, he’s not just taunting the Marines... he’s mocking me."
Tokikake blinked in disbelief. "Wait, you think this guy’s targeting you specifically?" He turned sharply, barking orders at the nearby Marines, though skepticism still creased his brow. "Isn’t that a bit of a reach?"
The warship veered on command, changing course in a swift arc.
Darren merely shrugged, then crooked a finger. With a sharp clang, two spectral blades—one dark as pitch, the other pale as bone—shot up through the deck like phantoms, hissing through the air before hovering steadily at his side.
"It’s been what, a few days since I tore through Totto Land?" Darren sneered. "The entire pirate world is lying low. So tell me—who else would dare challenge the Marines right now? Who else but someone looking for me?"
He stepped lightly onto the hilt of Enma.
"Wait! I’m coming too!" Tokikake shouted, stumbling after him, eyes alight.
Darren paused, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise.
Tokikake cracked his knuckles and flashed a grin filled with manic determination.
"Leave this guy to me," he declared.
Darren eyed him suspiciously. Now what kind of nonsense is this?
Tokikake straightened his back, planting his hands heroically on his hips. "I gave you my word, remember? I acknowledged you, Darren."
"If anyone dares lay a hand on you... I’ll make damn sure they regret it!"
Darren gave a dry snort. "Alright, then. Hop on. Hold tight."
Tokikake lit up, practically skipping toward Enma. He’d always been fascinated by Darren’s blade-riding technique—slicing through the skies on a longsword. Strength aside, it just looked impossibly cool.
But the moment he reached for Enma, a suffocating aura of killing intent exploded from the blade, washing over him like a wave of death. Every hair on his body stood on end. He froze mid-step, sweat beading at his temple. Enma’s black-purple flames danced ominously, its edge crackling with restrained malice.
He remembered vividly the day this sword carved an entire island in half.
"Not this one," Darren warned.
"R-right."
Gulping, Tokikake turned to Kariumi instead.
"Not that one either."
"Damn it! Then where the hell am I supposed to stand?!"
"Don’t you have your own saber?"
"..."
---
The New World.
An unnamed island swallowed by yellow sand and silence.
Wind swept through the crumbling skeleton of a once-thriving town. Buildings lay collapsed, half-consumed by dunes. Everything reeked of desolation—sun-bleached, cracked, and eroded by time.
Bodies lay strewn across the ruins—Marines, scattered like fallen leaves. Many looked mummified, their skin shrunken and dry, their breath shallow and ragged as though the very life had been sucked from them.
And atop a pile of broken stone, seated with one boot crushing the chest of a groaning Marine, was a boy.
No—a young man.
He looked perhaps seventeen or eighteen, his dark, slicked-back hair framing a face carved from malice and arrogance. He wore an orange checkered shirt and black trousers, with a fur-lined coat draped loosely over his shoulders.
Despite his youth, everything about him radiated the air of a cold-blooded don—a Mafia prince with a killer’s eyes.
"Damn pirates..." one of the wounded men rasped.
"Just finish us already..."
The words barely scraped past parched throats, burning with bitter defiance. But they were powerless. The entire unit—over two hundred Marines—had been crushed in less than three minutes.
And what infuriated them most wasn’t just the defeat.
It was how he’d done it.
He let them send distress calls. Let them cry for help. He could’ve wiped them out in a blink—but didn’t.
"Killing small fry like you?" The youth sneered, eyes half-lidded with boredom. "Too much effort."
Golden sand curled lazily from his fingertips, forming miniature sandstorms that danced and dispersed with eerie grace. Jewels glinted on his rings as his hands dissolved and reformed like flowing glass.
The Marines could only glare, red-faced with helpless rage.
"Arrogant... bastard..."
A cold voice cut through the haze.
"You talk too much."
In the blink of an eye, a streak of white light tore through the sky, ripping across the island like a bolt of divine judgment.
Crack!
The young man’s face shattered—literally—into grains of sand.
The next instant, a towering figure descended in a storm of black light, landing hard enough to shake the earth. His snow-white Marine coat flared behind him like wings.
"Vice Admiral Darren!"
"They sent him?!"
"Thank God!"
Relief exploded among the surviving Marines. Awe lit their faces. The Monster of Marine Headquarters had come.
The sand in the air twisted violently, spiraling inward. Within seconds, it reformed the man’s head with eerie precision. His expression flickered from shock to excitement, then settled into a wolfish grin.
"At first, I thought they’d send some second-stringer..." he said, voice crackling with delight. "Ah-ah-ah! But you came."
He stood slowly, dust falling from his shoulders like ash. The grin never left his face.
"Rogers Darren. ’The Monster.’ ’The Legend-Slayer.’ The so-called ’Uncrowned King of the North Blue’... Ah-ah-ah-ah! This is perfect. Before I take down Whitebeard, I’ll use you as a warm-up!"
Darren tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. The features, the voice—it clicked.
And then he smiled.
"Isn’t life good enough, Crocodile?"
The name hung in the air like a spark in dry grass.
The youth’s eyes gleamed. "You know me?"
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Ah-ah-ah! Even better! Saves me the trouble of an introduction!"
In the next breath, a roaring vortex of compressed sand and wind burst to life in his palm, expanding into a multi-meter storm front.
A hurricane of grit exploded outward, sand whipping into lethal projectiles. Craters burst open in the ground and on crumbling walls.
"Let’s cut the chatter," Crocodile snarled, drawing on his cigar. His smile widened as he lunged—
Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh—!!
A sudden, ear-splitting scream rang out overhead, like a dying pig tumbling from the sky.
To be continued...