Chapter 304: Chaos at the Harbor

At a time like this, silence was their only option. If anyone discovered them, everything they’d worked for would go up in smoke.

None of them wanted to see that happen.

Failing the mission their superiors assigned? No need to spell out those consequences.

They were just disposable pawns to begin with. If they couldn’t prove their worth, it was only natural they’d be tossed aside.

To be safe, they communicated only through hand signals and meaningful glances.

Their movements mirrored one another perfectly, proof they’d trained together for a long time.

As they shifted the supplies, one by one they slipped daggers from their belts.

Each man gripped a razor-sharp blade, keeping it tucked close and poised to strike at the slightest signal.

“Hey, you lot! Move this stuff over there, now!”

“Those in the back, pick up the pace!”

A Fishman posted at the edge of the harbor finally lent them a hand, letting them pile the supplies not far from Aokiji.

This spot was crowded with people—fighters whose strength didn’t measure up, recovering after taking hits in battle.

Among them were Oven, Brown, Smith and a few others.

Oven was young and, after picking up the Wushan Fiery template, his curiosity—and a good test subject—got the better of him. He went all out, leaving no room for holding back and ended up, like Aokiji before him, retreating from exhaustion.

Brown and Smith, though, were a different story. Jabba’s brutal attacks had left them badly wounded, their injuries too severe to let them fight any longer.

As the assassins drew closer, Aokiji’s senses sharpened, tension gathering in his mind.

Aokiji might have looked relaxed but was ready for anything. In his right palm, a tiny blade of ice shimmered, barely the size of his hand, radiating cold air.

He was ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

But while Aokiji waited for them to make their move, these men waited for chaos.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The harbor erupted in a series of thunderous blasts, dozens in quick succession. The entire island shook as lines of fire, hundreds of meters long, tore across the shoreline.

These massive explosions came from explosives the World Government had specially gathered—planted every five hundred meters by certain infiltrators blending in with the crowd.

The blasts shattered nearly five kilometers of coastline, leaving it ruined.

Fishmen on both flanks were killed or wounded in staggering numbers.

“Medic! Quick, get the doctors!”

“Ahhhh!”

“My leg!”

Endless cries of pain echoed along the shore.

Seeing the disaster unfold, Krell rushed forward to lead the rescue effort.

Roger, perched atop a tree trunk, looked down at the carnage—and still couldn’t resist cracking a joke.

“Karl, is this supposed to be your welcome party?”

“It’s certainly lively. Looks like trouble sticks to you like glue.”

Karl’s face was a storm cloud. He said nothing.

Something had gone wrong—otherwise, the World Government never would’ve managed to smuggle explosives this powerful onto the island.

Whatever defenses they’d set up along the shore were now shattered.

With so many people around, things get messy. The World Government’s scheming was sharper than they’d thought.

Fishmen swarmed the harbor, fighting the blaze with buckets of river water, but order was lost in the chaos. Even so, the assassins knew this confusion wouldn’t last forever.

There were more players in this operation than just these five—others were already stationed around the island, ready with explosives of their own.

The original plan was to create a distraction to sneak in. Now, though, all of this was just to give these five a shot at a clean kill.

Under cover of the explosions, they slipped within a meter of Aokiji.

There was a wide-backed bench right in front of them. With lightning speed, they drove their deadly daggers at the back from five directions.

Each blade glinted with a ghostly blue, clear proof they’d been dusted with poison.

Even if they didn’t kill, a wound from those blades would leave someone in agony.

The dagger tips were even a different color, forged from rare seastone.

Everyone knew Aokiji wielded the power of the Ice-Ice Devil Fruit; turning to mist and ice was second nature to him. Blades laced with seastone were the only chance for a fatal blow.

In these seas—where Devil Fruit users were everywhere—World Government agents never left home without a blade tipped with seastone. No exceptions.

Aokiji had been waiting for this. Feeling the attack close in behind him, he scoffed. “If you’d come a little earlier, you might’ve actually pulled this off.”

“For now, just stand there and behave.”

The delay had bought him precious time.

The medicine moving through his system had already begun to take effect. He wasn’t at his peak, but even half his strength was more than enough.

These assassins were nothing special. Even at half power, he could wipe the floor with them.

With a flick, he tossed the ice blade at the ground. Frost shot from Aokiji’s feet, spreading outward and freezing the five men solid in an instant.

Biting cold rolled off the scene in wisps of white. On such a sunny day, it made for a rare and striking sight.

As the medicine surged in his veins, Aokiji rose, pushing up his eyepatch.

He opened his mouth, icy breath swirling out. “Frozen Time Capsule!”

From the frozen men, vast sheets of ice spread, sealing every flame along the shore in shimmering blue.

Aokiji didn’t spare a glance at the five government agents he’d turned into ice statues.

He strode toward the center of the battlefield, every step leaving a trail of frost behind him.

Davis, who’d been ready to jump in, quietly dropped back and crossed his arms. “Not bad at all!”

“Looks like someone kept his guard up—even off the field. Good work!”

The better Aokiji performed, the prouder they were of their own training.

After all, Davis and the others had once taught Aokiji, Borsalino and their peers.

Watching your students ace the test—it’s a feeling like no other.

Notty couldn’t hide his envy. “No fun at all. I can’t even get a proper match with these powerhouses.”

“Who knows what Lord Karl is really thinking?”

There was a hint of complaint in his voice—he’d been itching to show off, to see if the Roger Pirates really lived up to the hype.

They’d never actually fought the Roger Pirates before.

But as they fought, it gradually morphed into sparring—both sides holding back, careful not to go too far.

For Notty, a fight like this was pointless.

He preferred bare-knuckle brawls, where life and death hung by a thread. This was nothing more than kids playing house.

“So boring, so boring. I’m out,” Notty called, waving as he strolled away.

Better, he thought, to spend his time gambling at the club or training his fistwork.

He had no interest in watching others kid around anymore.

Sunset crept over the sky. The clash between Karl and Roger took on a palpable rhythm.

Watching from outside, Garp felt something was off. Clearly, there was more going on than he’d been told.