Madman's Armor—the first major item!!
Rosinante's eyes lit up instantly.
His very first major equipment synthesis—he could hardly wait!
Synthesize!
There was no hesitation.
He confirmed the command without a second thought, and the familiar system chime echoed in his mind:
Ding! Equipment synthesis successful. Congratulations, Host, on obtaining your first Divine Gear: Madman's Armor.
(Origin: League of Legends Equipment System)
Base Attributes: +800 HP, +200% Base HP Regeneration.
Passive Skill: Heart of the Madman.
When out of combat for 6 seconds and not taking any damage, the wearer heals for 5% of max HP per second.
"+800 HP… that's practically doubling my base vitality. My stamina scales with it, too—meaning my Devil Fruit powers will last longer, and my Room range will expand."
Murmuring to himself, Rosinante snapped his fingers. In the next instant, his Room expanded outward, swelling to a massive 120-meter diameter.
That was over double its previous range—and this was only the base stat bonus.
Once his body matured further and his training intensified, Rosinante imagined a day when a single snap of his fingers could make his Room cover all of Marineford.
Then there was the +200% to base health regeneration—an incredible recovery bonus. Normally, after intense training, it took him about two hours to restore his stamina fully. Now, with this buff, he'd need just one hour.
For someone like Rosinante—a hardworking prodigy obsessed with self-improvement, this was nothing short of a god-tier ability.
And that was just the base stats. The real reason Madman's Armor was labeled as divine gear lay in its passive skill: Heart of the Madman.
It was, frankly, broken.
He reread the description carefully.
"As long as you're out of combat and avoid taking damage for 6 seconds, you heal 5% HP per second."
The implications were wild.
As long as he wasn't killed outright, he could recover completely in just 26 seconds—a near-immortal ability!
And note: the condition wasn't "after combat," but "while out of combat."
Meaning even mid-battle, if he just stopped attacking and dodged enemy hits for half a minute, he'd return to full health and jump right back in.
How was that not divine-tier?
He recalled that swordsman from Demacia—the one who hid in the bushes clutching his oversized greatsword. In battle, he'd always get beaten to a sliver of HP, then retreat. Assassins would chase him down relentlessly… but before long, the guy's health would mysteriously refill.
Then he'd turn around with a smirk, unleash a Decisive Strike (Silence), buff his armor, spin in a deadly Judgment, and finish with Demacian Justice—one-shotting his pursuer in a glorious comeback.
That was the terror of a swordsman wearing Madman's Armor.
And now… Rosinante owned it.
He could hardly contain his excitement when he heard a voice from the rowboat beside him.
"Boss! Boss!" Called out Turkey.
"Hm? What is it?"
Rosinante snapped out of his thoughts.
"Boss, there's an island up ahead. Should we make a landfall? I counted roughly forty ships chasing us—at least three to four hundred men!"
Turkey's tone wavered with unease.
Rosinante shot him a calm look. "Don't worry. Hardly any real fighters among them—just a rabble of amateurs. Stick to the plan: you and Duck take ten each for practice. I'll handle the rest."
Turkey gulped. "Uh… Boss, these bounty hunters aren't exactly Navy targets. Why're we going after them again?"
Rosinante chuckled. "Going after them? No, they're the ones chasing us. And besides—there's no room on this sea for two armed factions. They claim to 'hunt pirates for justice,' but many are worse than the pirates themselves."
"Think of it this way: pirates are open villains—their evil is plain to see.
Bounty hunters? Hypocrites. They hide their rot beneath a mask of virtue. Just like the trash chasing us right now."
Turkey and Water Duck both glanced back at the swarm of ships in pursuit. They sighed.
Heaven may forgive fate's mischief—but not self-made folly.
They thought to themselves: You think you're chasing fortune… but you're really chasing death itself.
Before long, the rowboat reached the island—if it could even be called that.
It was tiny, more a massive slab of reef than land—barren, lifeless, nothing but rock. Not a single tree or blade of grass.
Rosinante surveyed it, satisfied.
"Perfect. Makes for a fine burial ground."
He strode toward the island's center.
Turkey and Water Duck followed, each lugging a huge chest of Berries.
"Quick! After them—they've landed!"
The bounty hunters' shouts filled the air as over forty ships surrounded the isle. Hundreds of men disembarked, forming a tightening ring around the island's center.
Rosinante sat calmly atop a massive boulder, arms crossed, Blood Slash resting casually in his lap.
Turkey and Water Duck stood like sentinels at his sides, the two treasure chests placed neatly at the foot of the stone.
The sea breeze howled.
Seagulls scattered in panic as the bounty hunters' killing intent spread across the island.
Three to four hundred men, armed to the teeth, glared at the three figures in the middle—murder in their eyes.
Blood for treasure. That was the law of the sea.
"Hahahaha… Young Master, we meet again."
From within the encircling crowd, Scarface stepped forward, grinning.
Rosinante, still seated, rubbed his chin. "Yeah. Last time on Bounty Island, you tried to sign up as my underling. Didn't make the cut, huh? Now you've brought all these people for a group interview? I told you already—I don't hire trash."
"You little brat—tired of living, are you?!"
A short bounty hunter in the crowd drew his blade, eyes burning with rage. Even facing death, this kid dared to mock them!
"Hey, hey—don't rush."
Scarface held up a hand, stopping his comrade. Then, his grin widened.
"Young Master, we know your standards are high, so we won't apply again. Business has been rough lately, though… so how about you lend us a bit of cash, eh? Surely you wouldn't refuse us that much, right?"
(To be continued...)
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