Weiwei's voice was not loud. Because of her throbbing headache, it came out hoarse and dry. But that small sound was enough—it was the will behind it that mattered. Her unyielding resolve condensed into an invisible wave of pressure: Haoshoku Haki.
The wave didn't hesitate. It burst from her like a storm centered on her fragile frame and rolled out across the square. The five men harassing her were the first to drop. Then the wave swept further. Civilians, Marines, and pirates alike were struck down as their eyes rolled back, limbs twitching, all collapsing into unconsciousness.
This shockwave wasn't mere pressure—it was a surge of Conqueror's Haki, a terrifying power that only one in several million possess, born not of training but of will. Even Van Augur, who had set up his rifle "Senriku" from two blocks away, aiming precisely through the narrowest of gaps, felt its crushing presence.
As one of the world's top snipers—his senses honed on the edge of death—Van Augur was not felled like the others. But even his honed instincts stalled for a moment. The coin he was flipping clinked against the cobblestone and rolled away, forgotten, as he stared at the girl in the square with narrowed eyes.
"Impossible… That's Haoshoku no Haki…? The royal qualification? It should be something bestowed by destiny, by lineage… Why am I seeing it here, from someone I've never even heard of?"
Van Augur's thoughts scattered. If this wasn't random chance, it was fate manifest. As a loyal sniper of Blackbeard, he wasn't one to cower from fate—he danced with it.
"Let destiny guide this game... Madam, I await the bloom of your light. Our third meeting won't be far off." He gently lifted his rifle, holstered it on his back, and disappeared into a nearby alley without a sound, his cape fluttering faintly in the wind.
"Eh?? What just happened?" Three big question marks practically floated above Weiwei's head.
She blinked around in disbelief. Roguetown's streets—usually bustling with life—were now littered with unconscious bodies. Old men, women, children, even burly Marines were sprawled out cold. Trees and stones whispered to her in panic. The buildings around the square almost seemed to shudder, aware of what had occurred.
"I did this?! Holy crap! I'm... kinda amazing!"
She pulled up her system interface—yes, the strange interface that had only appeared after she absorbed that fragment of ancient chakra in Alabasta. In the "Haki" tab, a new line glowed:
> Haoshoku Haki – Conqueror's Haki – (Passive)
There was no level meter next to it—just that lone line, set apart, as though the system itself didn't quite know how to quantify it.
"No time to admire myself! Gotta run!" Weiwei's eyes darted around. Hundreds were down. There were bound to be more unconscious beyond her line of sight. And—damn it—Smoker was stationed here. If she didn't want a bounty slapped on her head by sundown, she had to vanish!
She darted two steps away… then froze. Her eyes widened. She spun on her heel and returned to the scene.
Unconscious didn't mean dead. And unconscious didn't mean amnesiac. Those five men who attacked her? They'd seen her face. If they woke up and squealed to the Marines…
And what then? The World Government might not have laws against Haoshoku Haki, but Weiwei knew how they worked. They feared anything they couldn't control. And her identity—as the former princess of Alabasta, technically "missing" since the incident with Baroque Works—was too politically volatile to let her run around awakening legendary powers.
The moment Crocodile found out she had this potential, he'd come for her personally. And he wouldn't miss.
Everyone who saw her face had to die.
Her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade—Hana no Tsuyu, the famed sword she'd pulled from the desert shrine.
No hesitation. No mercy.
Shk—shk—shk—shk—shk.
Five silent flashes of steel, and five men would never speak again.
Weiwei wiped the blade clean. "Whew... Haoshoku Haki sure drains a lot. Legs feel like jelly." Her body blurred as she rushed into a side alley. Two sharp turns, three minutes of sprinting, and she was gone—so thoroughly lost that even she didn't know where she'd ended up.
Meanwhile, the square began to stir again.
Within two minutes of the incident, a thick swirl of smoke surged into the square, cloaking the area in fog. At its center floated a white-jacketed Marine with wild white hair, twin cigars clenched between gritted teeth.
Colonel Smoker, also known as The White Hunter, had arrived.
His imposing two-meter-tall frame landed with a puff of smoke. His bare chest gleamed under his open coat, muscles rippling with tension. His lower half was tightly clad, the boots laced with military precision.
Rough on top. Precise below. That was Smoker: contradictions bound in nicotine and justice.
As the Navy's top officer stationed in Loguetown, Smoker had sensed the Haoshoku Haki eruption immediately. His body shifted into smoke and flew from the east port, but he'd still arrived moments too late.
Cautiously, he examined the five corpses—throats slit with surgical precision. No clues. No witnesses. Then he hovered above the square, scanning.
"Oi! Tashigi?! What the hell are you doing lying down like some rookie? You're making the Navy look like fools! Get up!"
Behind a low wall to the south, Tashigi groaned. Her uniform was rumpled, her katana clutched in trembling hands.
"I-I'm okay, Colonel…"
As a swordswoman trained personally by Smoker and taught in the same style once revered by Zoro's old master, Tashigi's willpower was no joke. She hadn't fainted, but she was clearly shaken, the aura still rattling her bones.
"Report. What happened? That… that wasn't just some illusion. That was Haoshoku, wasn't it?" Smoker's eyes narrowed. Though only Sengoku had openly displayed the Conqueror's Haki in Marine ranks, Smoker had studied under Zehpyr and served under Aokiji. He knew what he felt.
Tashigi fumbled for her glasses. They'd flown across the square when the wave hit. She retrieved them with trembling fingers and recalled the scene.
"There… there were a few men harassing a civilian woman. I was about to step in. But then the woman… said something. I didn't hear what. And then… everyone dropped."
Smoker stepped forward, cigar smoke curling around him.
"Did you see her face? Her clothes? Anything?"
"I-I'm sorry, sir…" Tashigi lowered her gaze. "My glasses had fallen off… I couldn't see clearly…"
Smoker's jaw tightened. Whoever did this wasn't just strong—they were a ghost. No trace. No trail. No name.
But that kind of power didn't stay hidden for long.