At this moment, Arlong was glorious—radiant with honor.
For the second time in his life, he "voluntarily" launched a fearless charge at a man of "Admiral-level" strength.
Every muscle in his body tensed into one seamless whole, blood surging hotly through his veins. His every stride plowed the earth beneath him like a pair of heavy iron plows, leaving devastation in his wake.
His three-meter-tall body roared forward with a surge of air pressure, like a tiger descending the mountain or a falcon diving for prey. He charged toward Garen with the ferocity of one burning his bridges behind him, prepared to give his life if needed.
But Garen's expression remained unchanged. He stood tall and motionless with his sword in hand, utterly calm in the face of the stormy onslaught—like a man strolling leisurely through a garden.
Then came a thunderclap of impact, exploding at the center of the field. The shockwave rippled outward in every direction.
The figure of "Garen" was sent flying, trailing a wave of dust and dirt. He skidded through the earth like a human missile before colliding with the concrete steps of someone's house.
Arlong, having just ended his charge, stared blankly at his fist in disbelief, dazed and unmoving.
The onlookers erupted in an uproar.
"Decisive Strike!"
A greatsword, shimmering with dazzling golden light, suddenly materialized from thin air and came crashing down on Arlong's spine from behind.
With a cry of pain, Arlong staggered as a gruesome wound split open across his back, flesh peeled back and blood gushing like a fountain. His body trembled violently from the agony, and his forehead quickly broke out in a cold sweat.
Yet despite the searing pain, Arlong did not fall.
His skin was clearly thicker than Kuroobi's.
Panting heavily to endure the pain, he hunched over and slowly, furiously turned his head—eyes wide with rage.
There stood the knight who had smacked him from behind with a sneak attack.
Garen looked back awkwardly at the towering fish-man who hadn't been felled even by his full-force ambush. He gave a sheepish, insincere chuckle.
"You…"
Arlong wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, eyes burning with fury and humiliation.
"You've got the nerve to say you're on par with Garp?!"
"Uh…"
Garen subtly took a few steps back, putting a bit more distance between himself and the angry fish-man. Embarrassed, he mumbled:
"It was just a joke…"
"How was I supposed to know it'd be printed word-for-word in the paper?"
"You bastard!"
Arlong's chest heaved with rage, his eyes bloodshot. His voice quivered with sheer indignation.
"What kind of trash journalists—what kind of unscrupulous report!"
"Ahem…"
A voice called out from the crowd.
It was Wallace, the embedded journalist. Using his talent for running fast, he had followed the Navy soldiers all the way to Cocoyasi Village.
Wallace spoke with a solemn tone:
"We journalists simply report the truth as it is. Whether or not readers misunderstand the content is beyond our control…"
He hadn't twisted any facts in his article. He'd faithfully reported both Garen and Garp knocking each other back in their clash and also included Garen's boastful claim in front of Nami that he could "go toe-to-toe with Garp."
Arlong's face turned red with anger.
Recalling how he had made a fool of himself earlier only deepened his shame.
"Damn you!"
Enraged beyond reason, Arlong lashed out again with a punch aimed straight at Garen.
This punch was no weaker than the last—it might have been even stronger, fueled by rage and humiliation that pushed Arlong beyond his limits.
Garen, whose stealth skill was still on cooldown, had no time to dodge. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself.
"Courage!"
He activated a skill that reduced damage taken by 40% and raised his broad sword to block the incoming blow.
But the punch was overwhelmingly powerful. The force it carried—both from the surging air pressure and the hidden might behind it—was immense.
Garen felt as if he had been smashed by a battering ram. The impact traveled through the sword, forcing him back several meters before he managed to regain his footing.
His feet dug deep furrows into the ground like iron plows, and the earth before him was carved into a wide trench.
"This guy is strong…"
Garen's gaze toward Arlong grew serious.
From the change in his health bar, Garen could tell that this fish-man was even stronger than Lieutenant Hammer from Loguetown.
Even after leveling up to five, Garen's physical strength still lagged behind Arlong's. In direct melee combat, he held no real advantage.
Arlong was not only a gifted shark fish-man, but also a fighter who specialized in close combat. His body's regenerative abilities were formidable. The wide gash Garen had inflicted earlier was already no longer bleeding.
For a tanky melee bruiser with high damage and health like Arlong, Garen—who still lacked damage output—could only rely on his bugged healing ability to grind him down slowly.
"I'm going to kill you!"
Arlong roared furiously and didn't give Garen a moment to catch his breath. Once again, he shot forward like an arrow from a bow.
His Salted Fish Rush was incredibly fast—far too fast for Garen to dodge.
So Garen simply steeled himself and, with a full health bar, activated his offensive skill: "Judgment."
Arlong, however, didn't flinch at all. He charged straight into the whirling blade tornado with thick fish skin, tanking the spinning greatsword's blows head-on, and smashed a perfect right hook into Garen's chest plate.
Two more bloody gashes appeared on Arlong, courtesy of the spinning blade. But Garen was once again sent flying through the air with no suspense.
Watching Garen get beat down so easily was oddly satisfying for Arlong. The frustration in his chest finally began to subside a little.
But his expression didn't ease much—
Because that damn knight had stood up again. Completely unharmed.
Arlong started to feel something was wrong.
He knew just how powerful those last two full-force punches had been. Yet the guy hadn't even broken the skin.
"Haha…"
Garen patted the dust off himself, his tone casual:
"I really underestimated you earlier!"
Seeing that relaxed look on Garen's face made Arlong even more cautious.
He couldn't help but recall the newspaper article—
Even if Garen wasn't on par with Garp, he was still someone who had traded blows with the man. There might really be some kind of strange trump card hidden up his sleeve.
"If that's the case—"
Garen nodded seriously, his tone solemn:
"Then I have no choice but to use that move… my trump card."
"What?"
Arlong's face froze. His muscles tensed, his brow furrowed in deep caution.
Garen's expression sharpened. He drew in energy from his core, let it flow up his viens, and then shouted from his throat:
"Smoker!"
"This one's a tough nut—we're going in together!"
"…Huh?"
Arlong's face went black.
And there came Smoker, full of killing intent, carrying his jitte as he walked over slowly, thick white smoke coiling around him.
"Y-You're calling for backup?!"
Arlong pointed at Garen, eyes wide with disbelief:
"Didn't you say if I beat you, you'd let me go?!"
"Huh?"
Garen acted like he hadn't heard the accusation, his expression innocent:
"You never agreed to that, remember?"
"You…"
Arlong's blue face turned crimson once again. His voice cracked with rage and frustration:
"You shameless bastard!"
Garen gripped his greatsword tightly, righteousness shining in his eyes.
"Against villains like you, there's no need for honorable duels!"
(End of Chapter)