Chapter 133: Finale

Garen moved through the air with extraordinary agility and speed, his feet striking the ether with such grace that it seemed as if an eagle were soaring through the vast, open sky. No matter how the swirling sandstorm accelerated, it could not catch him.

Watching Garen’s retreating figure, Crocodile gritted his teeth and growled, "I’d like to see how much longer you can keep flapping about in the sky!"

Even those who had never seen the world beyond their own borders knew of the technique Garen was using to save his life; having even traveled to the New World, Crocodile recognized it as "Moonwalk," one of the Six Powers of the Navy. However, Moonwalk was an incredibly stamina-draining martial art. Even the most illustrious admirals in the Navy could not sustain it for long. It was fine for dodging attacks or launching surprise raids, but attempting to use it to evade the relentless pursuit of a Logia-type user for an extended period was pure fantasy. After all, for Crocodile, who possessed the powers of the Sand-Sand Fruit, flight was a basic, energy-efficient ability that cost him nothing.

Yet...

Crocodile had been eating Garen’s dust for nearly a minute, covering more than half the distance of the royal capital, and he saw no sign that Garen intended to stop. Not only was Garen not exhausted by the prolonged use of Moonwalk, but he seemed to be deepening his understanding of the technique through constant practice, leaping with increasing fluidity and speed.

Just as Crocodile began to sense that something was amiss, Garen suddenly stopped. Instinctively, Crocodile dropped back down to the ground. After their aerial chase, they had drifted far beyond the royal capital and landed upon a golden sand dune in the middle of the vast desert. The endless sands of the desert were at Crocodile’s disposal; this terrain was far better suited to his fruit’s abilities than the royal tomb.

However, Crocodile’s expression turned grim, for he finally understood Garen’s intent. Distracted by the intensity of the pursuit in the air, he had failed to notice what was now glaringly obvious: the once cloudless, azure sky above the desert was now gathering patches of dark, somber clouds. Unlike normal rain clouds, these were forming from intangible water vapor at a visible rate, expanding like rising dough to shroud the entire heavens.

Seeing the weather change so rapidly, Crocodile immediately thought of a tool he had once used: Dance Powder. Once the powder had absorbed sufficient moisture from the surrounding areas, it would cause heavy cumulonimbus clouds capable of producing a torrential downpour to form at an unnatural speed.

"So that's it." Crocodile glared at Garen, his eyes wide, the wounds on his face splitting open again from the intensity of his rage. "This was your goal all along! Using Dance Powder to set a death trap for me!"

"Exactly." Watching the sky darken, Garen felt a weight lift from his heart. Seeing the cloudless sky earlier, he had been prepared to rely on his long-neglected "regeneration and attrition" strategy to wear the Sand Crocodile down. Now that the rain promised by Nami had finally arrived, Garen, who had been dancing with a human sandstorm for so long, could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Looking at the stiff, twisted, and battered Crocodile, Garen could not help but tease lightly, "Crocodile, now it’s your turn to run."

Though the words were biting, Crocodile knew that Garen’s mockery was actually his best option. Garen’s abilities were uncanny, and he showed no signs of fatigue, while Crocodile himself had sustained significant injuries during the grueling battle; any sudden, violent movement threatened to reopen his fresh wounds. Most fatal of all, the cumulonimbus clouds were fully formed, and silver arcs of lightning danced within the mist—the raindrops that negated his Sand-Sand Fruit powers could fall at any moment. It was a desperate situation; turning and fleeing was the only sensible choice.

Yet, after a long silence, Crocodile let out a roar from his blood-choked throat.

"Run?!"

Sparks of fury ignited in Crocodile's eyes, his hoarse voice blending with the booming thunder. "Don't you dare look down on me!"

His emotions became wild, irritable, and irrational, but his aura grew domineering, sharp, and unstoppable.

"Garen!" Crocodile finally called his opponent by name with true gravity. "You were right about one thing: if I had dared to strike you directly from the very beginning, the situation certainly wouldn't have turned out this badly. Too much time has passed—I almost forgot that I am a pirate."

The successive failures and the brush with death had finally awakened the ambition and recklessness in this man who had long been accustomed to lurking in the shadows—the same courage he once had when he dared to swing his fist at Whitebeard. Accompanied by thunder that shook the earth, Crocodile’s voice echoed across the desert.

"Today, I will show you what a pirate is!"

"Desert Gold-Steel Blade!"

He slashed his hands through the air like blades, and each arm manifested a blade formed of concentrated yellow sand. As these sand blades took shape, they gathered the endless sand of the desert, becoming larger and denser, until they converged into a single, incomparable colossal sand blade.

At that moment, the torrential rain began to fall. Under Nami’s careful calculation and control, the scale of this downpour was comparable to a hurricane. Beans of rain fell densely from the clouds, soaking Crocodile’s sand and making it heavy and sluggish. Yet, Crocodile showed no sign of retreat; as the outer layer of sand was soaked by the rain, more was driven up to take its place. Finally, before the rain could render his powers completely ineffective, Crocodile exhausted every ounce of his strength to forge a peerless, massive sand blade.

The blade was not fast, but it was enormous and imposing, gathering all his momentum and power to a crescendo. It tore through the curtain of rain and split the earth, pressing down on Garen like a falling mountain. Facing this sand blade, it felt as if the entire desert were collapsing upon him. Garen was struck with shock and awe: after battling Crocodile for so long, this final outburst in the rain was the peak of power he had displayed.

However, for Garen, it was still in vain. During the grueling work of serving as Dracule Mihawk’s sparring partner, Garen had developed extraordinary reflexes, enough to push the short, invulnerable window of his "Courage" to its absolute limit.

"Courage!"

The greatsword collided violently with the sand blade, and in the end, it was the massive sand blade that dissipated. Like a surging wave crashing against a reef, the reef remained unmoved. Crocodile’s final trump card vanished into thin air.

The torrential rain soaked Crocodile’s body completely, and his pride—his fruit ability—could no longer be manifested. The rainwater licked the wounds covering his body, causing the clotted blood to melt away into a gruesome, dark red. Looking at the wretched state of Crocodile, Garen shook his head with a sigh.

"You’ve lost."

"No." Crocodile struggled to stand straight, then shouted with his remaining strength, "I told you, I will show you how a pirate fights!"

Even though his fruit powers had been sealed by the rain, and even though he had been pushed into a dead end, Crocodile let out a roar of defiance in the middle of the storm. His body suddenly erupted with fierce power, and he charged at Garen with his bare fists. Crocodile was not skilled in martial arts; the movements he displayed now were even clunkier than Garen’s had been when he first started training with the sword.

But even so, his fists and kicks, fueled by sheer audacity, pressed down like a tidal wave, forcing Garen to meet him with his blade. The two clashed once more. This time, there were no dazzling sandstorms or flames, only the raw, unadorned impact of limbs and the clashing of steel. Even with the thunder roaring and the rain pouring, it could not drown out the heavy thuds and the crisp ring of the sword.

But Crocodile was at the end of his rope; battered and broken, he could not defeat Garen—who remained at full strength—in a pure test of physical martial arts. Even so, Garen was inexplicably struck by Crocodile’s performance: he had unleashed countless unreserved attacks, shattering the man’s bones and tearing his muscles, yet he could not destroy Crocodile’s will. Even as his body staggered, Crocodile’s eyes remained filled with an indomitable fighting spirit.

But in the end, he fell to the ground, his eyes still burning with defiance.

"Hahaha..." Crocodile collapsed powerlessly into the pouring rain, the unwillingness in his heart suddenly turning into a sense of release. "I lost. I lost the moment I arrived in this country."

"The throne, the ancient weapon—take them all!"

Facing the dying Sand Crocodile, Garen shook his head and spoke his honest thoughts: "Believe it or not, I have no interest in those things at all." Garen added with a hint of melancholy, "To be honest, I don't even know why you were so obsessed with an elusive ancient weapon."

"Why?" Crocodile gasped, his mind drifting back to his original intentions. After a moment, he parted his blood-stained lips, forcing out an ugly smile. "To become the Pirate King."

"You?!" Hearing the answer, Garen couldn't help but laugh out loud in front of a dying man. "Your dream was to become the Pirate King?"

"Is it funny?" Crocodile no longer had the strength to silence Garen, but he reached out with a hand stained dark red with blood toward him with all his remaining might. "Let me teach you one last lesson, junior."

"Never, ever mock a person's dream!"

"..."

Garen wiped the smile from his face, his expression turning serious. After a moment of silence, he gently raised his blade to Crocodile’s neck.

"I respect your dream, but I do not respect you."

"No matter what name you hide behind..."

"What goes around comes around, Sand Crocodile."