"You don't need to know who I am for now,"
Mislanda said calmly, his eyes cold and sharp.
He lifted his head, staring toward the sky, as if he could see through the darkness to the colossal fortress beyond.
"I can't stand the existence of that prison either. If it turns into a pile of rubble tonight… I'll be pleased."
He turned his gaze back to Fisher Tiger, his tone carrying a faint challenge.
"Your goal is that same prison, isn't it? So—want to team up?"
Mislanda had absolute confidence in his own strength.
Even in the New World, few could match him now.
Even faced with monsters like Whitebeard, he was certain he could retreat alive.
A slave prison?
Hardly a problem.
If he didn't admire Fisher Tiger as a person, he would've gone alone long ago.
"I'll wait for your answer," Mislanda said, turning around. His voice dropped low.
"If you don't agree, that's fine too… you can just climb up there by yourself."
The arrogance and certainty in his tone made Fisher Tiger's chest tighten.
Just as Mislanda was about to leave, Tiger shouted,
"Wait—!"
Mislanda stopped, glancing back.
"What? You made up your mind?"
Fisher Tiger didn't answer right away. His piercing orange eyes locked tightly onto Mislanda.
After a long silence, he asked,
"Why would you help me? I'm a fish-man, and you're a human. You should know well the hatred between our two races."
There was suspicion—and pain—in his voice.
Mislanda gave a faint smirk.
"There are plenty of humans trapped in that prison too," he said softly.
"I'm saving them as well. That reason good enough for you?"
Before Tiger could respond, Mislanda grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out of the sea.
"No time to talk. Just follow me."
As soon as he finished speaking, thick black energy surged from his hand and wrapped around them both.
In the blink of an eye, their bodies were swallowed by darkness.
For Fisher Tiger, it was an utterly bizarre sensation.
No light.
No sound.
No sense of direction—just endless motion through pure darkness.
He tried to speak, but no voice came out.
He could only feel the pressure of the void rushing past him.
Ten minutes later—
Boom!
He was spat out violently. His body rolled to the ground—almost tumbling off a cliff.
When he looked up, his jaw nearly dropped.
They were at the top of the Red Line!
The very place he had planned to climb to with his bare hands—
They were already here.
Mislanda brushed off his coat.
"Don't look so surprised," he said evenly.
"Just a small trick with my fruit's power. Nothing impressive."
He pointed into the distance.
Not far away stood a massive stone fortress.
From afar, it looked like a castle.
But those who knew… understood this was the cruelest place in the world—
The Celestial Dragons' slave prison.
Fisher Tiger's fists clenched tight.
That building… was his nightmare.
He had suffered there—whipped, branded, humiliated.
Now he had returned—to destroy it.
"How do you plan to do it?" Mislanda asked.
"Nothing complicated," Tiger replied.
"I'll start a fire to draw their attention, then sneak inside to free the slaves.
Once enough of them are free, they'll fight for their lives.
Even if only half escape… that's enough."
Mislanda shook his head.
"Too troublesome."
"What?"
"We don't need to sneak around."
He grinned coldly, striding forward.
"We'll just crush them head-on."
Fisher Tiger hesitated a second, then followed.
Inside the Prison
The scene was pure hell.
The Celestial Dragons were the very image of "stupid rich tyrants."
They bought slaves constantly, and when bored, killed them—then bought new ones the next day.
Some of the captives here had been imprisoned for ten years or more.
Every new arrival had to undergo one thing first:
They would be branded with the mark of the Celestial Dragons—
The Hoof of the Soaring Dragon.
Fisher Tiger had one too.
Later, he branded over it with a larger mark—the future symbol of the Sun Pirates.
Chains and torture devices hung on every wall.
Hooks, whips, irons—
Everything screamed pain.
"Let me go! Please—ahhhh!"
A slave howled as hot iron touched his flesh.
The smell of burning skin filled the air.
"Next," a guard said flatly.
To them, this was routine.
Then—
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion shook the entire prison.
The massive front gate was blown off its hinges, flying across the room before landing in the central fire pit with a crash!
"What's going on?!"
The warden rushed out of his office, face pale.
When he saw the shattered gate and the two figures standing in the entrance, his pupils shrank to pinpoints.
"INTRUDERS! Prepare to engage!"
Guards poured in, rifles raised, aiming at Mislanda and Tiger.
Fisher Tiger was about to rush forward, but Mislanda stopped him with one hand.
"Let me handle this."
He spread his arms and walked ahead slowly.
"Stop right there! Hands up!" the warden shouted.
Mislanda ignored him, step by step closing the distance—his killing intent thick and suffocating.
"Damn you—open fire! Kill him!!"
Hundreds of bullets tore through the air.
"Hey! Watch out!" Tiger warned.
But the next instant—
A surreal sight unfolded.
Dozens of black vortices appeared around Mislanda's body.
Every bullet that came near was swallowed—disappearing without a trace.
"What the hell—?!" the warden gasped.
"Bring the cannons! Fire everything!!"
"Yes, sir!"
Ten cannons were rolled out and aimed directly at him.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Fire and thunder filled the prison, explosions lighting up the night sky.
But as the smoke cleared—
Mislanda was still standing there.
All the flames, rubble, and shockwaves were being drawn into his body, devoured by the darkness around him.
He looked like a living black hole.
The temperature dropped.
Silence fell.
Mislanda glanced down at his own hand, then at the terrified men before him.
"So this… is your defense?"
He raised his hand slightly—his voice calm and deadly:
"Then let me show you… what hell really looks like."
And with that, the darkness erupted.
~~--------------------------
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