Gojo reached back and grasped the hilt of his sword, his expression calm but edged with annoyance. He looked directly at Nezumi. "Why did you have to fire at me? You could've just left—easy, no issues. I mean, sure, it's obvious I'll get a bounty someday… but I didn't want one this early."
He sighed lightly, almost disappointed. "Not to mention, I only came here to hunt Arlong. And if I kill you and end up with a bounty on my head, then I won't be able to claim his bounty. You're really making things difficult for me."
Gojo unsheathed his sword in a smooth motion, the blade pure black as it settled in his hand. His sunglasses caught the light as he tilted his head, his tone turning cold.
"But now that you've attacked me with intent to kill… you'll face the consequences."
The moment the words left his mouth, Gojo swung his sword in a wide, horizontal arc.
A powerful flying slash burst forth—fast, bright, and devastating. It tore across the ground, carving deep lines through the stone as it raced toward the Marines like a blade of compressed air.
Nezumi, standing at the front, was the first to be hit.
The impact launched him backward violently. The Marines behind him were flung into the air like scattered dolls, and even the Fish-men near them were caught in the blast—some thrown into the sea, others crashing onto the ground with painful thuds.
A massive cloud of dust erupted, swallowing the entire front line of Arlong Park.
Seconds passed.
When the dust finally lifted, the scene became clear.
Nezumi and all the Marines who had taken the slash head-on were lying on the ground—each of them bearing a deep, brutal cut across their bodies, groaning in pain or unconscious from the impact.
…
Watching the massive flying sword slash rip through the battlefield, Arlong finally understood—this boy was no rumour, no exaggeration. Everything written in the newspapers about Gojo destroying the Krieg Pirates… every line that Arlong had dismissed as overblown or fabricated… all of it was real. The sword slash he just witnessed left no room for doubt.
Arlong's expression hardened. "All of you! Don't give him a chance to breathe!" he roared. "Attack him relentlessly and make this human pay!"
The moment his order echoed through Arlong Park, the remaining Fish-men surged forward with furious shouts, weapons raised high as they charged at Gojo in a wave.
Gojo didn't move from his spot. His sword remained steady in his hand.
And when the first Fish-man swung at him, Gojo's body simply flowed out of the way—smooth, effortless. Then another attack came, and another, and another. But Gojo slipped between them with precise steps, every motion clean, efficient, and impossibly fast.
To him, their attacks were slow.
He could read every movement before it happened—the tightening of a shoulder, the shift of a foot, the arc of a weapon. With his Observation Haki combined with the clarity of the Six Eyes, each strike was visible long before it landed. It was as if the world around him moved in slow motion.
Gojo weaved through the chaos, blade cutting through the air in flash-like arcs, meeting every Fish-man's assault with perfect counters, never allowing even a single attack to touch him.
Gojo did exactly what he intended. With every swing, his blade carved deadly arcs through the air. Each strike was precise, clean, and fatal. One by one, the Fish-men fell—cut down before they even realized they'd been struck. Gojo made sure every wound was lethal.
He had his reasons.
The Marines at the front had taken the brunt of his flying slash; they were heavily injured, but alive. The Marines further behind were hurt, but not fatally. And Gojo had no intention of moving from body to body to stab each of them like some mindless killer. That wasn't his goal. That wasn't his style.
But the Fish-men… they were different.
Gojo couldn't afford to leave a single one of them alive.
If even one of them survives… they'll go straight back to Cocoyashi Village, he thought. They'll take revenge. They'll slaughter innocent people the moment I leave the island.
That wasn't something he would allow.
So his blade showed no mercy. Every slash ended a threat, every movement ensured the safety of the villagers he had decided—on a whim or by fate—to protect.
Not one Fish-man who attacked him would walk away alive.
Gojo moved like a storm through the battlefield, cutting down the Fish-men of the Arlong Pirates one after another. It wasn't a fight—it was a massacre. No resistance, no contest. Every slash found its mark, every opponent fell before they could even process what had happened.
Arlong's teeth ground together so hard his jaw trembled. Rage burned in his eyes as he watched his brethren die in heaps across his own park. But he forced himself to hold back. He wanted to rush forward, to tear Gojo apart with his own hands—but he wasn't foolish enough to ignore what he'd already seen.
He's too strong.
To defeat him, I need him worn down… exhausted… even slightly.
So Arlong waited, seething, looking for the smallest opening.
But Hachi had no patience for strategy.
He watched more and more Fish-men fall, and grief twisted into fury. Finally, he couldn't bear it anymore. "Human!!!" he screamed, leaping into the air. The six-armed swordsman landed and immediately thrust his head forward.
"Hachi Inkjet!"
A blast of thick black ink shot from his mouth straight toward Gojo like a dark tidal wave.
But Gojo, with Limitless already active, didn't even flinch.
The ink stopped inches away from his body—as if hitting an invisible sphere. It splattered outward, forming a dark, shifting bubble around him. For a moment, it clung and rippled, obscuring his figure completely.
Then the ink began to slide downward, falling off in thick drops and pooling on the ground.
When Gojo emerged, he was spotless. Untouched.
Hachi's eyes widened in shock. Everyone—Fish-men and Marines alike—had assumed Gojo's ability was some sort of magnetism, something that stopped metal bullets. But black ink wasn't metal.
Yet even that couldn't touch him.
Hachi realized, with a sinking feeling, that whatever Gojo's power was… it was far beyond what any of them had imagined.
Hachi didn't waste another second. Fueled by fury, he lunged at Gojo with all six arms raised, swords gleaming. "Six-Sword Style—Tentacle Sword Overload!" he roared, swinging wildly, his blades slashing in every direction.
To anyone else, the chaotic storm of blades would've been impossible to read.
But Gojo wasn't anyone else.
With calm, precise movements, Gojo met every strike. His sword flashed faster than Hachi's six combined arms. Clang—clang—clang! Metal rang out again and again as Gojo parried each random, unpredictable swing with relaxed confidence.
If Gojo wanted, he could have ended Hachi in a single exchange. He could have slaughtered every Fish-man here in the first minute. But he didn't.
Because Gojo wasn't just fighting—he was learning.
He wanted true experience in close-quarters combat. He wanted to refine the rhythm of activating and deactivating Limitless in perfect sync with his movement. He wanted to build the foundation of a fighter who could take on a thousand enemies without sweating.
To do that, he had to be efficient.
Use Limitless only when necessary. Turn it off when not. Strike with exactly enough force to kill or disable—no wasted motion, no wasted stamina.
Brute-forcing his way through everything with overwhelming power would exhaust him too fast. Against large numbers, even he could be overwhelmed if he wasn't careful. And Gojo refused to let numbers become his weakness.
So he fought deliberately—sharp, clean, controlled—testing his limits while dismantling the Arlong Pirates piece by piece.
Gojo fought with a single goal in mind—even alone, he wanted the power of an entire army. He wanted the strength to defeat a whole force even after cutting down their strongest warrior. And the only way to reach that level was through fights like this—clean, efficient, deliberate.
Steel clashed again and again as he exchanged blows with Hachi. After several ringing impacts, Gojo pushed off lightly and retreated a single step. He tilted his head, examining Hachi with calm eyes.
"Although you use six swords," Gojo said, voice steady, "your swordsmanship isn't that good. Let me show you what real swordsmanship is."
Hachi's eyes widened. Gojo's tone wasn't mocking—it was simply matter-of-fact, which somehow hurt even more.
Gojo shifted his stance.
Hachi, sensing danger, immediately crossed all six swords in front of his chest—his Octopus Pot Stance, the strongest defensive posture he had. The blades layered tightly together, forming a protective shield meant to block even heavy blows.
Gojo exhaled once, focused, and brought his sword down in a clean, perfect vertical slash.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Gojo continued walking past Hachi, his posture relaxed, as if the attack had been effortless. He didn't even look back.
A heartbeat later—
Clink… clink… clink…
All six of Hachi's swords split apart, falling to the ground in shattered pieces.
Hachi's eyes went wide as a deep vertical cut opened across his torso. The pain hit him a second later, and his body wavered.
Gojo never turned around. He didn't need to.
His swordsmanship had spoken for him.
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