"Boss, you're joking, right?" Muret's hands trembled as she pointed at the cannon.
Bellamy and his crew had pushed a large cart for three days to reach the Black Fish Waterfall. As soon as they arrived, Bellamy ripped off the tarp covering the cart, pulled out the cannon, and prepared to fire.
Fire at whom? At himself.
"Prepare the charge. Fire at me." Bellamy's expression was utterly savage as he said this. He was going all out. He had been unable make any headway with Paper Drawing, hindering his progress with the Six Powers, and that was unacceptable.
"Stop joking around! At this range, getting hit will kill you!"
Even with Iron Body mastered, taking a direct hit from a cannon would cause anyone to cough up three liters of blood. If the shell exploded in your stomach, your internal organs would be shredded. A headshot would be an instant, explosive death.
"Shut up, all of you." Bellamy patted the rusty cannon. Who knows where he'd found this antique.
"I'll go first, then Drake, then Ross."
"You two," he said, looking at Mia and Muret, "haven't even learned Iron Body yet, so you'll wait."
Hearing this, the two women breathed a sigh of relief.
Ross gulped hard. "Boss, maybe I should wait a bit too?"
"Shut up!" Bellamy glared at him fiercely, then pulled back the tarp to reveal a large crate of cannonballs.
"I spent every last Berry I had to buy this cannon and 300 rounds."
"Before we go back, every single one of these cannonballs must be fired!"
"If they're not, you'll eat the rest."
Then, Bellamy pointed at Drake. "You're in charge of firing. Start with three rounds, so I can get a feel for it."
"Yes, Captain."
If anyone in the group was calm, it was undoubtedly Drake. As an Ancient Zoan Devil Fruit user, his raw physical strength surpassed even Bellamy's. Moreover, Drake's Iron Body had reached an incredibly refined level; even a point-blank cannon blast wouldn't kill him.
But if Bellamy's guess about Paper Drawing was correct, then having too much defense wasn't necessarily a good thing.
Drake secured the old-fashioned cannon and expertly loaded a cannonball into the barrel. It was clear he'd used one of these before.
"Captain, this thing has some history."
Drake ran his hand along the cannon's body, which was covered in marks from swords and axes. Clearly, this cannon had seen many battles.
"Of course. The Marines wouldn't sell us new ones."
This cannon had been procured from the black market; its quality should be fine. After all, when he bought it, he'd nearly twisted the black market arms dealer's head off. He figured the dealer wouldn't risk his own life by selling him a dud.
While they were talking, Bellamy had walked to an open area about 100 meters away.
"Come on, fire at me!"
"Where should I aim?"
At such a close range, and on land, cannons were very accurate. Drake was asking because, once he aimed, he could actually hit the specified spot.
Bellamy pointed to his own head. "Aim here. Don't hold back."
The ammunition was already loaded. As soon as Bellamy finished speaking, Drake lit the fuse.
Fizz...
As the fuse burned, everyone couldn't help but swallow nervously.
BOOM!
With a deafening roar, a round cannonball shot out of the barrel.
A mere 100 meters – it took less than a breath for the cannonball to reach Bellamy.
Witnessing this terrifying scene, the onlookers held their breath, as if in the next moment, their captain's head would be blown to pieces. They couldn't imagine what Bellamy was thinking at this moment. Regret? Fear?
Regardless, the captain was truly insane. If he survived this, they absolutely had to talk him out of it. This time, they couldn't let him have his way.
As these thoughts raced through their minds, the cannonball finally collided with Bellamy's head.
BANG!
With a loud crash, Bellamy was sent flying, slamming into a large rock and raising a cloud of dust.
"Captain!" Ross's legs trembled, and he rushed over.
"Is the captain alright?" Mia and Muret exchanged worried glances.
Drake, standing behind the cannon, opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly shut it again.
"Cough, cough, cough."
Waving his arms to disperse the dust, Bellamy struggled to his feet, looking utterly wretched. His right cheek was badly bruised and swollen from the close-range impact. His entire face was blackened by gunpowder, and several of his teeth were missing.
He could feel a crack in his skull. If he hadn't been tensing his muscles and partially activating Iron Body, he might have died just now.
Bellamy knew this was probably the most pathetic state he'd been in since transmigrating. But he felt no discouragement whatsoever.
Because just now, just as the cannonball was about to smash into his nose, he'd grasped a sliver of a peculiar sensation.
This feeling was incredibly strange, and Bellamy couldn't describe it in words. It was a vague sensation, like a fish sensing the flow of water, or a bird sensing the air currents while flying.
In the instant before the cannonball hit, he clearly felt every cell in his body come alive. His skin seemed to breathe, and his body hair seemed to dance. This was a sensation he'd never experienced during ordinary training.
In that moment, time seemed to stop.
And so, he seized the opportunity to tilt his head, trying to dodge the cannonball. But it was his first time experiencing this feeling, and he was ultimately a step too slow. Just as his head tilted, the cannonball grazed his face and slammed into him.
"Almost, I almost had it." But Bellamy had found what he was looking for.
"Drake, don't stop. Keep going."
Bellamy covered his swollen cheek and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Still aim for the head. And be quick about it."
He'd finally grasped this feeling; he couldn't let it slip away.
"No way, Boss!" Bellamy's current state terrified Ross. One side of his face was completely swollen, blood was constantly flowing from his mouth, many of his teeth were gone, and his speech was slurred. He'd never seen his boss in such a sorry state.
"Get out of the way." Bellamy casually pushed his subordinate aside. "Don't hinder me, Ross."
"As my follower, all you need to do is keep up with me."
They wouldn't understand. From the very beginning, Bellamy had never felt regret, let alone fear.
Bellamy knew better than anyone what he was doing. He understood perfectly well that if he continued like this, he would one day die in pursuit of power.
But so what? He was deeply addicted to this feeling of chasing strength. This feeling was more addictive than any drug.
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