Chapter Ninety-Nine: Crimson Flowers and the Moon (Part Two)

Many so-called "big shots" possess a quality that sounds mysterious, is often useless, and only in rare moments serves as a means to impress others—a quality known as "presence." It isn't something that can be deliberately cultivated; there's a natural suppression that those of higher status exert over those beneath them.

But Qiubai, at this moment, is far from capable of such a feat. Simply put, only those who can exert real dominance through strength can wield an oppressive presence. For now, he must force it—he must bluff.

Call it bluster, if you will.

Corpse abuse is not his interest, but he has no choice but to drag along the vice-captain, who may already be dead or merely in his final moments. The vice-captain, his blood-soaked body, is a passport.

Its purpose is clear: when the pirates consider making a move, their first sight will be Qiubai dragging the second-in-command of their crew.

It’s an intangible psychological pressure. Whether admitted or not, everyone harbors fear. Certain visual shocks stimulate other senses; with Qiubai’s current appearance as a banner, the air reeks so thickly of blood it seems impossible to dispel. Every step he takes, the pounding of his feet on the deck echoes suffocatingly.

Even the shadows cast by the flames upon him seem to flicker like bloodthirsty demons.

The pirates could strike at any moment—yet they cannot, and will not.

It’s not just because Qiubai is acting fierce; in truth, he is fierce. Blood still pours from him.

That last blow, though it missed vital organs, and to prevent further blood loss, he left the sword stuck in his back, so not only was he impaled moments ago, but he remains impaled even now.

This is no pleasant sensation. His entire abdomen blazes as if aflame. He has never endured such pain before, nor does he know what limits his endurance might reach, but for now—this is not the limit.

Compared to the foe he has dispatched, the price paid is already cheap enough.

The Komodo is a towering ship. After crossing the foredeck, Qiubai walks, watched by all, into the first deck. Inside, he sees those within the chamber.

At the same time, the pirates behind him block the entrance.

Upon seeing their captain, the pirates seem to regain their backbone instantly.

That’s right! Why were we afraid just now?

“Captain, this guy—”

But the captain raises a hand to halt them, a gesture to silence his crew. Some things require no report.

Thud.

Qiubai’s fingers loosen, and the object he holds falls naturally to the floor. By sight, this captain towers over even Don Quixote Doflamingo, nearly twice Qiubai’s height.

“Don Quixote Doflamingo’s... subordinate?” Captain Kuntukuka’s gaze lingers on the vice-captain’s corpse for barely a second before shifting to Qiubai himself.

Then, he seems to recognize Qiubai’s identity.

“For now, that’s not wrong,” Qiubai replies.

There’s no need to inquire about his identity—the captain’s words say enough.

“So it’s true? How did a Devil Fruit user survive in such circumstances?” The captain clearly hasn’t forgotten the previous events. The impression is too deep. Though they recovered the Devil Fruit, what followed was a tale of sorrow.

If so, then the intruder’s motives seem simple and childish—laughably so.

“The nobility of man lies in gaining experience, growth, and learning from failure. But... true failure leaves no such opportunity, young man.”

The captain has seen too many hot-headed youths rushing to their deaths.

From his previous attitude toward the Don Quixote Pirates, the captain seemed the arrogant sort, but now, faced with an unexpected intruder, and with the navy besieging outside, he is surprisingly calm.

“I understand—just like the vice-captain,” Qiubai’s gaze drops to the corpse at his side... he has a knack for provoking others with words.

“...You speak well.” The captain’s earlier words were a kind of mercy for the dying, but Qiubai places himself as an equal in conversation.

Yet the captain truly seems indifferent to the vice-captain’s fate... Perhaps the vice-captain was a figure like Hector Barbossa; after all, their professions and ranks are similar.

“Captain Kuntukuka... You wouldn’t be so kind as to persuade me to turn back, would you?”

Qiubai shifts his sword from left to right hand, then wipes his face with his sleeve. The blood on his face has dried, making his tightened skin uncomfortable.

“No, whoever chooses the wrong path must pay the price.”

“Is that so?”

“Captain, no need to speak so gravely... The matter is simple enough; I’m here merely to ask your guidance.”

With that, Qiubai steps back with his right foot, then grips his sword with both hands, point aimed steadily at the captain’s throat, knees relaxed and slightly bent, torso upright.

Attack within defense, defense within attack; attack is easy to seize, defense hard to breach.

This is the middle stance of kenjutsu—but Qiubai is no formal student, only an amateur. He can’t master rigorous dojo styles.

Still, it gives him the air of a challenger.

Truth be told, Qiubai has much simpler options. For instance, if he coordinated with the navy, he could easily destroy this pirate ship from afar. But he hasn’t done so.

It’s not merely that he wants trouble; it’s that such a method wouldn’t sit well with him.

Often, Qiubai’s reasoning is skewed. Rationally and logically, for his own safety, he should choose the safest, most efficient way: annihilate this pirate crew from a distance. He admits himself—compared to his ranged abilities, he’s worthless in close combat. Yet humans often act against reason; emotionally, it doesn’t feel right.

If someone wants him dead, he believes he ought to face them, to see what sort of person they are—otherwise his actions lack substance.

Call it naive, call it extreme; it’s exactly this that has led Qiubai to cut his way here, and he intends to keep going.

Whether pirate or navy, those who call themselves warriors don’t have to be honest or eschew tricks, but...

When it’s time for a frontal assault, the only choice is a frontal assault.

Even if there are other options, if those feel like evasion...

Then take it head-on, and see if his presence can swallow a criminal worth two hundred million.