Chapter 57: Trump Card

At this moment, A-Long was radiant, glorious. For the second time in his life, he "actively" charged fearlessly toward a man of general-level strength. Every inch of muscle on his body was taut and connected, blood rushing hotly through his veins; as he strode forward, his steps tore the earth asunder like twin plows leaving chaos in their wake.

His three-meter tall frame swept forward, enveloped in a surging wave of force, charging at Garen like a tiger descending from the mountain or an eagle diving for its prey—there was truly an air of desperation and self-sacrifice about him, a resolve to burn his bridges and risk his life.

Garen, however, remained calm, unmoved by the tempestuous assault. He simply stood, sword in hand, with a composure as if strolling through a garden, utterly relaxed.

Suddenly, a thunderous crash erupted, the shockwave rippling outward in all directions.

The figure of "Garen" was sent flying, raising a tidal wave of earth, sliding through the soil until he came to an intimate stop against the cement steps of a nearby house.

A-Long, just halting his attack, stared blankly at his own fist, dazed and motionless.

The crowd was thrown into uproar.

"Deadly Strike!"

A sword, gleaming with dazzling golden light, abruptly materialized from the transparent void, striking straight at A-Long’s spine from behind.

A-Long cried out in pain; his back was slashed open, flesh turned outward in a gruesome wound.

Blood gushed out like a spring, his body trembling uncontrollably from the agony, sweat beading on his brow from the pain.

Yet despite it all, A-Long did not fall.

His fish skin was clearly much thicker than Crooby’s.

A-Long gasped loudly, struggling to ease the pain, hunched over in effort, then turned with fury blazing in his eyes.

He saw the knight behind him, sword in hand, who had struck him from behind.

Garen, meanwhile, looked awkwardly at the towering fish-man who had withstood his full-force blow, offering a hollow, insincere laugh.

"You..."

A-Long wiped the bloody smear from his lips, his eyes filled with barely contained rage and humiliation:

"You have the nerve to claim you’re equal to Karp?!"

"Uh..."

Garen quietly put a few safe paces between himself and the enraged fish-man, replying sheepishly:

"I was just joking."

"Who knew it would be printed word-for-word in the paper?"

"Damned fools!"

A-Long’s chest heaved, his eyes bloodshot, his voice laden with inexpressible anger:

"Trash reporters, unscrupulous media!"

"Ahem..."

A strange voice came from the distant crowd.

It was Wallace, the embedded reporter, who, thanks to his gift for running fast, had kept up with the navy soldiers all the way to Cocoyashi Village.

Wallace explained earnestly:

"Our media simply records the truth as it happens. As for whether readers misunderstand the news, that’s beyond our control..."

He truly hadn’t distorted anything about Garen’s strength in his article.

Wallace had faithfully reported Garen and Karp’s mutual feats of knocking each other flying, as well as Garen’s boast to Nami that he was "equal to Karp," all printed in the news.

A-Long’s face flushed with anger.

He remembered his own earlier disgrace, and felt all the more mortified.

"Damned fools!"

Infuriated, A-Long struck out again, launching a straight punch at Garen.

This punch was no weaker than his previous effort; in fact, anger and shame drove him to unleash power beyond his limits.

Faced with this attack, swift as a white rainbow piercing the sun, Garen—his invisibility still on cooldown—had no time to dodge and braced himself:

"Courage!"

He activated a skill that reduced incoming damage by forty percent and used his broad sword to block A-Long’s punch head-on.

But the force was ferocious; both the external shockwave and the internal strength were immense.

In that moment, Garen felt as if he’d been struck by a battering ram, the huge force transmitted through the sword, forcing him to stagger back several meters before regaining his footing.

By then, his feet were deeply embedded in the soil like iron plows, and the earth before him had been gouged into a wide trench.

"This guy is strong..."

Garen looked at A-Long with newfound gravity.

He could tell from the change in his own health bar that this opponent was stronger than Major Hammer from Loguetown.

Even at level five, his physique was still noticeably inferior to A-Long, the shark-fish-man, and he gained nothing from a head-on clash.

A-Long possessed both natural talent as a shark-fish-man and mastery of martial arts, his recovery abilities formidable; the wide wound inflicted by Garen’s sneak attack had already healed enough to stop bleeding.

Against such a high-damage, high-health melee warrior, Garen, with insufficient offensive power, could only rely on his bug-like regeneration to outlast him.

"Equal to Karp?!"

A-Long cursed angrily, but gave Garen no chance to catch his breath, charging again like an arrow released from the bowstring.

His salted-fish strike was so fast Garen had no hope of dodging.

So Garen steadied himself, relying on his generous health bar to face A-Long head-on, unleashing his skill, "Judgment."

A-Long, undaunted by the whirling sword, crashed straight into the blade tornado, tanking the slashing blows with his thick fish skin and, in a rage, landed a perfect right hook on Garen’s chest plate.

Two new sword wounds appeared on A-Long, while Garen, hit squarely by the punch, was sent flying once more.

"I’ll show you equal to Karp!"

Savoring the sight of Garen being thrashed, A-Long felt some of the pent-up frustration finally dissipate.

Still, his expression didn’t improve much—

Because the knight stood up once again, "completely unharmed."

A-Long sensed something amiss; he knew the force behind his two full-strength punches was nothing trivial, yet the opponent’s skin remained unbroken.

"Haha..."

Garen brushed off the dirt, looking relaxed:

"I underestimated your strength before!"

Seeing Garen’s easy manner, A-Long became all the more cautious.

He recalled what the newspaper said—

Even if this man wasn’t truly equal to Karp, he could still exchange blows with him, and perhaps he really did have some strange trump card up his sleeve.

"In that case—"

Garen, picking up on A-Long’s thoughts, assumed a serious expression:

"I’ll have to use my secret weapon..."

"What?"

A-Long’s face froze, his muscles tensed, his brow furrowed with gravity.

Garen focused, drawing up energy from his core, channeling it through his meridians, then let out a loud roar:

"Smoker!"

"This fellow is tough—let’s take him on together!"

"Eh?"

A-Long’s face darkened.

Smoker, murderous intent thick on his face, was already approaching with his ten-hand staff, surrounded by dense white smoke.

"You—you can’t call for help!"

A-Long pointed at Garen, nearly bursting with anger:

"Didn’t you say I could fight you, and if I won, you’d let me go?!"

"Huh?"

Garen ignored the accusation, feigning innocence:

"You didn’t agree just now, did you?"

"You..."

A-Long’s blue face flushed red again, his voice brimming with rage and resentment: "Shameless!"

Garen gripped his giant sword tightly, righteous determination in his eyes:

"Against monsters like you, there’s no need to talk about honor!"