On the Rear Flank of the Battlefield.
Robin stood blankly behind a broken wall, her thoughts tangled like a knotted rope.
She had been brought from the West Blue by Crocodile not long ago, thinking this powerful new employer might offer her some stability.
Who could have imagined that life here would prove even more turbulent than in the West Blue?
A city-destroying natural disaster, cleaved apart by Sig's sword.
That man suddenly and inexplicably declaring he wanted to adopt her as his daughter... then clashing violently with Crocodile.
And further away, one of the destroyers of Ohara watched with predatory intent.
Robin was at a loss, unsure whether to seize this chance to flee or simply wait to see who emerged victorious.
As she hesitated, a gust of wind surged—Crocodile, his body half-transformed into sand, flew through the air toward her, his golden hook raised and radiating killing intent.
Sig's heart stirred slightly, and he immediately broke into a sprint, his legs becoming a blur of motion.
With Tom's card active, Sig's running naturally took on this wind-kicking aesthetic, and coupled with the still-operating Emperor's Engine, his speed was nothing to scoff at.
Robin had originally been hiding far behind Sig, closer to him. Sig's sprint quickly positioned him between her and the charging Crocodile.
Sig swung his sword again, a vast arc of light flashing out and scattering Crocodile's sandy form into drifting grains.
This scene burned itself into Robin's eyes.
But at the same time...
Behind Sig, a wisp of sand subtly rode the wind, friction sparking faint embers as it streaked toward Sig's waist.
Sand under Crocodile's control could pulverize stone with ease.
Though this airborne grain was small, its force was nothing to underestimate.
With a clang, the liquor bottle at Sig's waist shattered completely.
Broken glass scattered across the ground, murky alcohol spilling out and seeping into the parched earth beneath Sig's feet.
Sig's heart clenched.
Had Crocodile just feinted to destroy his bottle?
The sand reformed into Crocodile's body some distance away, his lips curling into a cold smirk as he eyed Sig.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice something as obvious as that bottle?"
Sig's expression darkened.
In the original story, hadn't Luffy waltzed in with a tiny water barrel and wrecked Crocodile?
So why was he getting preemptive natural disasters and bottle-sniping?
This was the only bottle Sig had brought.
He didn't have some fourth-dimensional pocket to stash endless supplies.
The detergent for his spiked sword had been handed off to his crew, leaving him empty-handed.
"What other liquids do I have on me? Spit?"
Sig was starting to panic.
As he scrambled for ideas, Crocodile sneered and surged forward again, riding the sandstorm straight for Sig.
No sooner had he launched himself than another sword flash split him apart, scattering his form once more.
But this time, instead of reforming at a distance, Crocodile let his half-destroyed body continue its charge, grains of sand rapidly reassembling as he closed in.
Sig's eyes narrowed. He swung his sword repeatedly, blade after blade of light slicing through Crocodile's body.
Yet Crocodile persisted, inching closer despite the onslaught.
A sword, no matter how fierce its slashes, could cleave a storm but couldn't erase an entire desert.
Even with Li Ting's card, Sig couldn't possibly sever every grain of sand in the air.
Determined, Crocodile weathered the storm of blades, slowly narrowing the gap.
The tide seemed to be turning.
Crocodile had seized the initiative, while Sig was forced on the defensive.
"Was Crocodile keeping his distance earlier because he feared the bottle?"
Sig's heartbeat quickened as the situation grew dire.
At range, if Crocodile attacked with sand blades or similar techniques, Sig could react and counter with his sword.
But in close quarters... given their speed disparity, Sig had no confidence.
Take Crocodile's earlier bottle-shattering strike—had it been aimed at Sig's body, he doubted he could have dodged.
Now, he watched helplessly as Crocodile closed in.
Crocodile was right in front of him!
His body, though repeatedly torn apart, had regenerated to just his upper half.
Yet his smirk remained, eyes glinting coldly as his golden hook gleamed, filling Sig's vision.
But Sig's expression didn't waver.
He quietly swapped his longsword for an ordinary-looking short blade.
The Sword of Self-Harm!
This blade inflicted minor wounds on Sig while making them appear grievous, but against others, it was just a plain dagger.
In this moment, Sig raised the short sword and drove it into his own abdomen.
The blade slid in effortlessly, splitting flesh and drawing a fountain of blood.
White steel in, red steel out.
Despite having just stabbed himself, Sig's face betrayed no pain, his movements uninterrupted.
He withdrew the blade, now slick with his own blood, and swung it at Crocodile's descending hook.
Metal rang against metal as the short sword pierced clean through the golden hook, Crocodile's arm erupting in a spray of crimson.
Crocodile recoiled violently, putting dozens of meters between them before glaring at his left arm.
His signature hook had been skewered entirely, now lying on the ground.
His forearm bore a deep, penetrating wound, blood soaking his sleeve.
Sig and Crocodile faced off once more across the distance, both now wounded.
Though by appearances, Sig's injuries seemed far worse.
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