Thinking about it, Daren couldn't help but roughly gauge his current strength.
Maybe he was still some distance away from legends like Roger and Whitebeard, who stood atop the seas, but at least now he wouldn't be completely outclassed in a fight.
As for Kaidou-sensei, since he hadn't yet reached his peak at this point in time, Daren figured he could probably fight him to a draw.
"Hey! Daren, are you even listening to me?!"
Seeing this brat zoning out with a weird little smirk on his lips, Zephyr-sensei yelled irritably.
"Don't worry, Zephyr-sensei. My butt's a little sore, but overall, I'm doing great."
Daren snapped out of it and grinned. Thɪs chapter is updated by ɴovelfire.net
Zephyr looked at his hollowed-out, tired face and couldn't help but roll his eyes.
But before he could say anything, a vast and overwhelming aura suddenly burst out from the Vice Admiral in front of him, surging like a tidal wave.
Zephyr's face changed slightly, his pupils shrinking sharply.
He stared in disbelief at the man before him, who was now freely releasing his powerful presence.
A slender crack suddenly stretched across the wall. The coffee table splintered with countless cracks, and the water in the glass rippled outward in circles.
"Now you understand, right, Zephyr-sensei?"
Daren smiled, his black hair lifting slightly, his entire presence rising like a mountain, vast and unstoppable.
As he spoke, the massive aura receded like a tide, and the room became as calm as a still lake.
If not for the visible cracks on the wall and the shattered coffee table, Zephyr might have thought the suffocating pressure earlier was just a hallucination.
Zephyr swallowed dryly.
He stared at Daren for a long moment, a trace of emptiness flashing across his expression.
"It's... actually real..."
He took a heavy drag of his cigar, slumped onto the sofa, and muttered blankly,
"I'm really getting old..."
He never would've imagined that Daren's absurd training method would actually work.
It completely shattered all the experience and judgment he had built up over the years.
The most frustrating part was that this insane method couldn't even be generalized—it only worked on this damned brat!
Anyone else, forget inhaling it like a storm, even brushing against that poison would probably leave them dead on the spot...
"It's okay, Zephyr-sensei. In my heart, you'll always be one of the greatest teachers in this sea."
Daren patted Zephyr's shoulder, speaking earnestly.
He understood that kind of feeling all too well.
Zephyr's face twitched. He smacked Daren's hand away in disgust, stood up stiffly, and headed for the door.
"Zephyr-sensei, where are you going?"
"None of your business!"
Zephyr turned and glared fiercely at him.
"I need some time alone!"
With that, he pushed open the door and left, his retreating figure carrying a strange sense of melancholy.
"Sheesh, why's he throwing a fit? I was just being honest."
He muttered under his breath.
At that moment, the military Den Den Mushi in his pocket started ringing.
Daren pulled it out and answered.
"Godfather-sama, we've found him..."
A hoarse, low voice came through the Den Den Mushi.
"Turns out he's become a slave, currently being kept on an island by the Celestial Dragons as part of their hunting games."
Hearing this, Daren's eyes narrowed slightly, and an amused smirk crept onto his face.
New World, a certain island.
The thorn-covered iron whip tore through the air with a shrill sound, adding another bloody gash to the already battered body of the sea bream fishman.
Fisher Tiger gritted his teeth, his tall, shackled frame trembling slightly from the searing pain, but he didn't make a sound.
He knew that screaming would only further excite these madmen.
The crack of whips echoed all around. A group of equally battered slaves, driven by guards, staggered forward with numb expressions, slowly heading toward the center of the barren island.
"The lord is waiting for you filthy scum!"
"Damn it! Pick up the pace!!"
Curses, shouts, mocking laughter... All kinds of voices filled the air. The guards, gripping bloodstained iron whips, sneered cruelly at the slaves, looking at them not as people, but like livestock ready for slaughter.
Noticing their looks, Fisher Tiger's heart burned with fury.
At that moment, another heavy lash struck, slicing open the throat of a slave beside him, sending a spray of blood into the air.
The man dropped like a felled tree, clutching desperately at his torn throat, chains rattling as he struggled instinctively.
Blood gushed out between his fingers, dyeing the cold steel shackles crimson.
Fisher Tiger's eyes reddened instantly. He rushed forward, his bloodied, calloused hands fumbling to try and stem the bleeding.
Half a year of captivity had forged deep bonds between him and his fellow captives.
Ross's throat gurgled blood, his eyes locking onto Fisher Tiger's, struggling to get out broken words.
"You... must... escape..."
Before he could finish, his pupils lost their light, his body going completely still.
The other slaves watched with deadened eyes, a flicker of sorrow breaking through their numbness.
A guard spat a glob of pus onto the ground and swung his whip again.
The whip cracked across Fisher Tiger's back, blood spraying outward.
"Move it! Don't waste my time! You want to end up like him!?"
Fisher Tiger's whole body trembled. He clenched his fists tight enough that blood seeped from his palms, shutting his eyes until tears of blood oozed from the corners.
He took a painful breath, Ross's unfinished words echoing in his mind.
When he opened his eyes again, they burned red with fury.
The line of slaves continued onward.
Soon, they reached a dense jungle.
Fisher Tiger didn't know how far they had walked before the view finally opened up.
Deep within the dead, desolate forest stood a grand, gilded palace.
It was hard to imagine such a luxurious building hidden away on a forsaken island .
The guards ordered the slaves to line up on the open ground in front of the palace.
Before long, under the escort of several figures in white silk robes, a middle-aged man wearing noble attire and a glass hood slowly walked out.
The World Nobles—the Celestial Dragons.
Fisher Tiger's pupils shrank sharply. He immediately recognized who this was.
"Greetings, Saint Phepros!"
The once unruly guards and slave traders instantly dropped to their knees, trembling with fear, not daring to lift their heads.
"Hmph, so, are they ready?"
The Celestial Dragon, Saint Phepros, had blond hair, a face pocked with scars, and hideous features, yet he looked down on them all with arrogant disdain.
"Yes, they have lived together day and night for six months," a slave trader said obsequiously.
For some reason, unease gnawed at Fisher Tiger's heart at those words.
A crazed, perverse grin twisted Saint Phepros's face.
"Listen up, you foolish slaves... You were born to be lower than dirt, but today, I, your great master, have decided to give you a chance."
He grinned grotesquely, thick saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, his expression deranged.
"Kill each other... The last one standing..."
The Celestial Dragon spread his arms wide, laughing wildly.
"I will grant freedom!"
As his words fell, Fisher Tiger's face changed dramatically.
He could suddenly hear the rapid, panicked breathing of those around him.
Fisher Tiger looked up in disbelief.
He saw them—the comrades who had spent six months enduring hell together, caring for each other—one by one, as if drawn by an invisible thread, slowly turning to face him, their eyes blank and hollow, but filled with a desperate madness.
Because among them all...he, a fishman, was the strongest.
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