"Ugh!"

Jack the Drought spat out another mouthful of blood, his body wracked with pain in every fiber, his face twisting into a grimace. The agony was almost unbearable.

But Jack was no ordinary opponent. As a rare Ancient Zoan user of the Mammoth-Mammoth Fruit, and one who had achieved Awakening, his recovery rate was monstrous. Even after sustaining such severe injuries, within only a few breaths he still had the strength to claw his way out of the massive crater.

"D-Damn… you…" Jack growled, blood dribbling from his lips, his bloodshot eyes locking on Lance with murderous intent.

"Do you feel it now? The true weight of my power?"

Lance smirked. Despite being drenched in sweat and looking pale from exhaustion, strips of bandage suddenly came to life, wrapping around him until he resembled a humanoid mummy. At the same time, another bandage-wrapped figure nearby unraveled—revealing a completely unscathed, peak-condition Lance stepping out, his eyes filled with contempt for Jack.

"Boy… you've gotten arrogant in front of me!" Jack snarled. "Tell me—who the hell are you? Why are you here? What is your real goal?!"

Only now did Jack realize that Lance wasn't some reckless beast here to die, but a man with a carefully planned purpose, someone who had come here specifically for them.

Moments ago, Lance's strength had been weaker than his own. He'd even lost an arm to block one of Jack's strikes. But in the blink of an eye, this same man had slaughtered all of Jack's subordinate Devil Fruit users and risen to a level of power Jack himself found hard to comprehend.

"You don't need to know who I am, because you won't be leaving here alive."

"But I can tell you why I'm here," Lance continued coldly. "Do you remember a place called Angel Town?"

Jack frowned. "Angel Town? You mean that little village near Dressrosa? That poor place that couldn't scrape together even 100 million Berries? The kind of dump I could wipe out with a single stomp? What about it?!"

"Unfortunately for you," Lance said, his tone like ice, "that place you dismissed so easily… is my hometown."

"These men of yours? They're just the interest on the debt. You, Jack—you're the true culprit I came here to kill."

Jack's eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. He couldn't have imagined that from such a weak, insignificant town—one his men could have annihilated at will—would come someone so dangerous… someone now standing before him, beating him bloody and even making him cough up blood.

"Do you understand now?" Lance's voice was calm, almost conversational. "Destroy you? Has nothing to do with me? That's a good line. If you weren't Jack the Drought, I might never get to use it. But now, I'll return those exact words to you."

Lance flicked his fingers, and massive waves of white threads surged forward, wrapping tightly around Jack's battered form. The bindings held him immobile, no matter how he struggled.

"You bastard! What are you planning to do to me?!" Jack roared.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Lance's cold smile widened. "Little Blacks, gather up!"

At his command, eight IBMs appeared behind him, lining up from shortest to tallest, each hunched slightly in a gesture of respect.

"Give him exactly 123,600 wounds," Lance ordered. "Not one more. Not one less."

"The number of people killed in Angel Town was 1,236. We'll start with a hundred times that as repayment. If you're still alive after that, I might consider raising it to a billion times."

The eight IBMs nodded in unison.

"Will… complete… the mission… Master…" they rasped.

Then, in perfect synchronization, they lunged at Jack, their razor-sharp claws slashing into his flesh, tearing wound after wound into his body.

Angel Town's 1,236 dead—each one a silent weight on Lance's heart. He hadn't said much about it, but his mind had been made up long ago. Every drop of blood owed would be repaid, not tenfold, but a hundredfold, a thousandfold, a millionfold if necessary.

Time was something Lance had in abundance. He could afford to make Jack learn—slowly, painfully—what "Destroy you? Has nothing to do with me" truly meant.

"This guy… isn't he a bit too strong?" Cracker muttered, still in shock. Moments ago, Lance had seemed relatively weak. Now, seeing Jack helplessly bound and mauled by those bizarre bandaged monsters while unable to lift a finger, Cracker felt like he was watching a nightmare.

"Do we… still fight him?" Cracker swallowed hard.

Against Jack, he had at least a slim chance of wearing him down with his biscuit army. But against Lance? He couldn't see a single advantage. One punch from that giant thread-arm and his biscuit soldiers would likely be obliterated instantly—Jack had already demonstrated what that felt like.

"No, no… my goal isn't to fight him," Cracker told himself. "I'm here for Caesar. As long as I take Caesar back, that's enough. This troublesome monster? I'll leave him for Rebecca and the others to handle."

(End of Chapter)

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