"After you get out, fight over territory with other pirates, cause trouble for the Marines, or even strike the World Government itself — I'll have no opinion. That's your freedom," Ashveil said calmly.
"But if you harm innocents, I will come for you myself," he added, voice even, the warning wrapped in an unshakable certainty.
As a transmigrator, Ashveil felt the weight of being an outsider in this world. If his plan spilled suffering onto ordinary people, especially the civilians who had nothing to do with the endless power struggles of pirates and Marines, he would not forgive himself. That conviction was why he had no choice but to free the criminals: they were necessary tools to pry open the balance of power. Still, they needed explicit limits.
Ordinarily Ashveil's tone might have seemed casual, but the air around him pressed with the force of his Conqueror's Haki. It was an authority that did not demand obedience so much as impose the certainty that he meant what he said.
"Hmph, don't worry, I'm not interested in that kind of thing right now," Crocodile said, calm and composed, a cigar smoked lazily between his fingers. Time in the Underwater Great Prison had carved new priorities into him; the world had changed and so had his aims.
Red Count and Byrnndi World showed no objections. Men of their caliber looked down on preying upon the weak; their ambitions were toward greater targets. Shiryu of the Rain may not have agreed with every principle Ashveil set, but he kept silent for the moment, content to study the young man's methods.
Big Barrel, Nine-tailed Fox, Sajuan Wolf, Avalo Pizarro exchanged glances, displeasure twitching along their features. For them, the raw joy of crushing those weaker than themselves was part of what made piracy intoxicating. If Ashveil forbade violence against civilians, then his philosophy was foreign to them — and potentially limiting.
Their dissatisfaction did not last long. They sprinted straight for the prison exit, newly freed limbs carrying them toward the world outside.
"Ashveil, thanks for letting us out. Now we can do as we please, hah!" Big Barrel bellowed, a wild laugh that reverberated in the corridor.
"Going after the Marines? Too risky. We're not foolish enough to be cannon fodder," Devon snickered, showing her teeth. Avalo Pizarro fell into step, all swagger and bravado as they slipped into the dimness beyond the cellblock.
Douglas Bullet, Crocodile, and Red Count watched these theatrics with cool disdain; they had seen too many pirates melt at the first sign of real risk. Shiryu, meanwhile, absently stroked the edge of his sword, Rayu, one corner of his mouth lifting as he evaluated Ashveil. He was curious how far the young man's ambition would reach.
Ashveil allowed himself a small, knowing smile. "I expected this wouldn't be entirely smooth. You criminal dogs are predictable."
"Have you ever seen the speed of light?" he asked, his lips teasing, though his tone made clear this was no idle question.
A pale, luminous tide rose along Ashveil's skin, focused and bright. Four streaks of yellow Conqueror's Haki — compact and blinding — braided together and shot toward the fleeing quartet with such velocity that the air itself seemed to ripple in their wake. The movement carried an echo of the light-wielding techniques of the Admirals, yet there was a different intent underlying the display; Ashveil's version was deliberate, precise, and weaponized in a manner unfamiliar even to the hardened veterans in the room.
Shiryu's eyes narrowed at once. Someone with knowledge of the Marines' power would have noted a similarity to Admiral Kizaru's light abilities; still, the execution was faster and more surgical. Magellan watched from behind, admiration and tension unreadable on his face.
The four beams struck the fugitives. Confusion broke across Big Barrel's face before his limbs betrayed him.
"What is this… I just took two steps and I—" he gasped, disbelief and fear warring across his expression.
An overwhelming dread rooted them in place. Their bodies seized, muscles refusing to obey; each foot felt as if driven into resin. Devon's eyes widened as the idea formed in her mind: could Conqueror's Haki be channeled into light itself and used to strike from afar? The concept was terrible and immediate.
Nearby, Red Count and Douglas Bullet regarded the scene with hard, fascinated looks. Ashveil's repertoire had already displayed a string of wild talents — an invisible defensive field, techniques that had frozen even Magellan, and the fiery Conqueror's Haki that had shattered Sea Stone shackles — and now this. The scope of his abilities made them question everything they thought they knew about the fruit he had eaten and the paths his power could take.
Ashveil watched the four Criminals struggle, expression composed as he spoke with quiet finality. "Explode."
The yellow Conqueror's Haki compacted into sharp, light-infused projectiles that detonated within the bodies of the four pirates. The blasts were not Kizaru's ordinary light shots; they were Haki-laced charges that punished from the inside, designed explicitly to incapacitate rather than to kill. The sound of the explosions rolled through the Sixth Floor like distant thunder.
When the smoke cleared, the four culprits lay prostrate and broken — unconscious, gravely injured, but alive. Their chests heaved unevenly, blood darkening the cold stone beneath them. The damage had been brutal, clinical — enough to ensure they would be neutralized without needlessly adding corpses to the tally.
Fire Fist Ace, watching close by, felt the cold sweat prick at his neck. He had seen the ferocity of Zero Division captains and other infamous warriors, but the scale and originality of Ashveil's techniques gave him pause. This was not merely raw power; it was creative, efficient, terrifying.
Ashveil's voice was soft as he addressed the remaining prisoners and onlookers. "This is how you deal with untrustworthy men. They took the freedom I offered and betrayed it. That is their fate."
He paused, letting the words hang. "They will not die. They will not be allowed to harm others again. If they cannot handle the responsibility of the freedom I grant, then they will remain here — disabled, barred from the world that so many of you crave."
A tension, half warning and half promise, eased into the cellblock. Some scowled, others looked away; a few measured him anew. Ashveil did not seek adoration. He sought only what his mission required: leverage, order where needed, and the restraint to avoid becoming the same kind of monster he sought to dismantle.
Outside the smoke and the sound of collapsing dreams, the Sixth Floor settled into a new balance — one established by the will of a man with strange abilities and stranger purposes, a man who would walk the blurred line between savior and threat the world insisted on drawing around those powerful enough to change it.
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