Whiskey Peak's cheerful façade had shattered.
The same square that had overflowed with laughter and music now rang with the clash of steel and the groans of broken ambition. Wooden tables lay in splinters, lanterns flickered in the smoky air, and dozens of Baroque Works agents encircled a single man.
Zoro moved like a shadow stitched to the wind.
One agent lunged with twin blades—Zoro ducked low, swiping his foot out. The man flipped, slammed into a barrel, and didn't get up. Another came from the right with a chain whip. Zoro spun, catching the links on his sword before twisting them out of his opponent's hand and hurling them back.
The crowd closed again.
A net dropped from above.
Zoro side-stepped, sliced the net mid-fall, and lunged upward. His sandal hit the edge of a vendor's stall—he used the momentum to backflip into an alleyway.
They followed.
The agents weren't fools.
They moved in coordinated waves now—some flanked from the rooftops, others laid traps in the narrow streets. Arrows sailed past him. Explosives flashed at corners. Chains snapped from both ends of the street.
But Zoro wasn't their prey.
He was the storm they were trapped in.
He leapt to a rooftop, drove one sword into the wood to anchor himself, then used the angle to propel into a group of attackers. His slash tore a roofbeam free, collapsing the building front. Plaster and dust exploded outward.
A man with a dagger jumped from the smoke.
Zoro didn't look.
He raised his third sword and twisted midair—blocking behind him without turning.
The attacker's eyes widened before blacking out.
Zoro landed again—boots skidding on blood-slick stone.
"I expected more from people who trap pirates for a living," he muttered.
Inside the inn, Luffy drooled on his pillow.
"More meat... no bones… hoist the chicken sail," he mumbled.
Usopp murmured something about "King Usopp's hidden cannon."
Sanji slept on his side, hand on his chest, a rose still clutched to his heart like a treasured relic.
Only Nami stirred.
Her eyes opened slowly.
The candle beside her flickered oddly.
She sat up, heart suddenly pounding.
There was no noise.
Not a single note of music. No cheering. No chatter.
Only the faint hum of steel and the heavy silence of held breath.
She slid from bed and crept to the window.
In the distance, under a crooked lamplight, she saw silhouettes moving with blades drawn.
And at the center—gleaming steel, dancing like a whirlwind.
Zoro.
Her breath caught.
Back in the square, smoke blanketed the battlefield.
Carts were overturned. Pavement cracked. Oil dripped from broken lanterns.
Bodies littered the ground—moaning, unconscious, groaning in disbelief.
Zoro walked through the smoke, steady, blades bloodied but his stance unshaken.
"They say I'm worth sixty million," an agent hissed from behind a crate, bleeding from the forehead. "But that guy… he's not even human…"
"Why hasn't he slowed down?" another murmured, crawling backward. "Is he a demon?"
A third fumbled for a flare. "We need backup… We need the officers—"
The flare was never lit.
A piece of fractured cobblestone flew through the air and knocked it from his hand.
Zoro hadn't even looked back.
Then, a hush.
A weight entered the air, thicker than smoke or blood.
Zoro's eyes narrowed.
From the alley behind the clocktower, two figures emerged through the fog.
The man walked slowly, his steps sharp. He wore a black suit, dark sunglasses, and held a glowing orb that pulsed with contained destruction.
The woman floated beside him, descending with an umbrella in one hand and a playful grin on her face. Her dress swayed with every twirl.
"Did we miss all the fun?" she asked.
"Seems the small fry weren't enough," said the man, catching the glowing orb between two fingers.
Zoro straightened slightly.
Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine.
Baroque Works Officer Agents.
Real threats.
Zoro didn't flinch.
The wind stirred dust between them.
Mr. 5's smile twisted.
"You're bleeding," he said.
Zoro cracked his neck.
"So are they."
[End of Chapter 105]
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