Buggy D Clown

Chapter 172: Chapter 171 Final Showdown



After hearing Buggy's words, Shanks blinked, surprised.

"You mean... You really don't know?"

Buggy frowned. "Should I?"

Their eyes met. Shanks opened his mouth, hesitated, then let out a sigh.

Before he could answer, the four Five Elders across the battlefield burst into laughter. The bearded elder, Warcury, stepped forward and pointed toward the clone of Rocks.

"Buggy the clown," he sneered, "it seems Roger and his crew kept the truth from you. Not surprising. It was all for your protection. Your madness is what you inherited from your father!"

His voice carried, echoing across the battlefield.

"After all, if the world had learned you were one of the sons of Rocks D. Xebec, the biggest scum of the previous era, you would've been hunted before you could ever crawl. With how many enemies Rocks made, you would have died long before Roger disbanded his crew."

The words landed like thunder. Buggy's body stiffened.

Warcury continued, almost amused. "To be honest, we only uncovered your identity after cloning Rocks. You caught our attention once you rose to infamy."

He smiled with condescension.

"So... how does it feel, Buggy? Knowing the man we cloned, the man you're staring at right now, is your own father?"

The other elders chuckled, clearly entertained. With Imu standing behind them, their confidence had returned. They believed the game was already over, and Buggy was a pawn trapped on the board.

The reactions from the watching world were instant.

"What? Buggy is Rocks' son?"

"This is insane!"

"First, we find out Shanks is Celestial Dragon royalty, and now Buggy is Rocks' kid? This war is blowing my mind!"

Even those standing behind Buggy were left in stunned silence. Two earth-shattering revelations had come in just moments, and every member of the alliance looked as though they had swallowed dynamite.

If the timing were any less dire, they would've exploded into questions.

Buggy was just as bewildered.

"I'm... the son of Rocks? Shanks, how do you even know that?"

He turned toward the red-haired pirate, clearly confused. "Is this seriously happening?"

Shanks scratched his head and let out a dry chuckle. "I overheard Captain Roger talking once. He never meant to tell me, but I think he wanted someone to know, just in case your identity ever came out."

He lowered his voice, eyes hardening. "I never expected the World Government to go this far. Cloning Rocks... I still can't believe it."

Buggy's brows furrowed as he thought aloud. "So... that must mean Vegapunk's cloning tech leaked. There's no way they could've made Seraphim or a clone of Rocks without it."

He looked toward the opposing side, lips curling in curiosity.

"Still, I wonder... does this Rocks clone have the power of the Dark-Dark Fruit?"

The question clearly annoyed the elders. Nusjuro clicked his tongue.

"That's your first question? Not shock, not grief? That man is your father."

Buggy shrugged. "If I never knew him as my father, then he isn't. Family isn't blood. I'm doing just fine on my own."

He smiled wickedly and added with a theatrical bow. "If you're that desperate to assign someone a father, why not just pick me? Go ahead, Nusjuro. Say it. Call me Papa."

Laughter erupted across the battlefield and echoed through the live broadcast.

Redfield gave Buggy a sharp grin and raised a thumbs-up.

"Now that's the Buggy I know."

The Five Elders had assumed that Buggy would be shaken by the revelation of his connection to Rocks D. Xebec. But now, it was clear. He didn't care in the slightest.

Shanks hesitated, unsure if he should explain further, but before he could speak again, Mihawk stepped forward with a calm, cutting voice.

"If Rocks cast Buggy aside, then it's no surprise he refuses to acknowledge him. There's nothing more to be said."

Shanks blinked, startled by the bluntness, but then nodded. His own past wasn't so different, and he understood exactly what Mihawk meant.

"You people really don't know when to shut up," Nusjuro snapped, his glasses slipping slightly in his fury.

But before he could say more, the air above split with the sound of high-velocity descent.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Three powerful figures landed with a thunderous crash.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

It was Tesoro, Katakuri, and Stussy. They appeared behind Buggy, their presence radiating confidence.

"Captain Buggy!" Tesoro called out, his gold cloak fluttering in the wind. "We're here to back you up. We'll hold off the extras so you can focus on the real threats!"

He cast a glance toward the distant skyline. "Also, the Red Hair Pirates are inbound. I saw Beckman and Lucky Roo not far behind."

Shanks raised his eyebrows, then smiled. "So they're coming too? That's a relief. Looks like we've got some backup after all."

Buggy, however, remained stoic.

"Whether they come or not doesn't change anything for me. Pick your opponents and stay clear of the main clash. Tesoro, Katakuri, Stussy, Sun Juan, you're not ready for what's about to happen."

The statement sent a wave of disbelief across both camps.

One against four? And that was without even considering Imu, the figure who had stilled time itself with a single word. Her presence was a looming enigma, an ancient force that had watched the world from behind the curtain for over eight centuries. That kind of existence was not to be taken lightly.

Even now, Shanks' divine departure remained frozen mid-air, suspended in time. It hadn't faded, hadn't dulled. Just… stopped.

An ability that dangerous could only come from something beyond comprehension.

"Are you sure about this, Buggy?" Mihawk asked, his tone composed but sharp.

Buggy met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm sure."

"Good," Mihawk replied. "Then I'll handle my opponent."

He reached behind him and drew the black blade Yoru with a clear, ringing note. His eyes locked onto one of the Five Elders.

"You," he said, pointing the tip of the sword at Nasrujo. "I've heard you wield a cursed blade. They say you're a master of the sword. Let's see what your title as a world ruler means on the battlefield."

Nasrujo's eye twitched. He gripped the Shodai Kitetsu tightly, the ancient cursed blade humming with dark energy.

"Mihawk... what did I ever do to earn such disrespect?"

"Does it matter?" Mihawk replied coldly. "Your head will be enough."

Without another word, Nusjura stepped forward and slashed with his blade. A gray arc of energy howled toward Mihawk, carving the air in its path.

Mihawk didn't move.

He simply waited.

When the slash came within striking range, he lifted Yoru in a single fluid motion. With almost no effort, he cut the attack in half.

The two halves of Nusjura's energy slash shattered behind him like glass.

Mihawk tilted his head.

"If that's all you can do... then your head is mine."

Shanks leaned in, voice low and serious.

"Mihawk, be careful. That one's definitely a Devil Fruit user."

Mihawk gave a subtle nod, lifting his sword with effortless grace. With a single motion, he swung.

Buzz!

A blinding cyan slash tore through the air, howling toward Nusjuro. The sheer force behind it caused a shift in pressure. Though the blade itself hadn't touched the ground, the wind from the strike was so intense that it peeled up earth in its wake, carving a trench over a meter deep.

The wave of sword energy barreled toward Nusjuro with terrifying momentum.

Seeing this, Nusjuro's expression darkened. He had miscalculated.

The force behind Mihawk's slash was far greater than anticipated. The sheer pressure carved deep into the battlefield and split the air like a thunderclap. The power difference was no longer speculation. It was a fact.

With a quiet exhale, Nusjuro stepped forward. His shadow twisted unnaturally, tendrils of black smoke unfurling from his shoulders like writhing serpents. Then, without a word, his transformation began.

His body elongated, bones creaking and stretching as the Bakotsu took form. Pale, skeletal limbs extended, fusing with an equine lower half. Ice began to crystallize under his hooves. His upper torso remained humanoid, cloaked in dark, tattered robes now adorned with flickering embers of cursed flame-smoke, the mark of an awakened Mythical Zoan. From his back, the skeletal horse spine arched upward, every joint steaming with ghostly frost.

The Shodai Kitetsu glowed a pale, frozen blue in his hand, mist trailing from the cursed blade's edge.

He was no beast. He was death on hooves.

"You're bold, Mihawk," Nusjuro said coolly, voice echoing with a spectral undertone. "But you are not the first swordsman to think power lies in discipline alone."

He raised his sword.

"You will end here. Cold and forgotten."

As Mihawk's cyan slash thundered forward, Nusjuro did not flinch. He drew the cursed blade across the air with a single diagonal stroke.

A glacial arc of frozen energy surged forward, crackling and whistling with a wind that turned the air brittle. The two slashes collided with an earsplitting crack.

Boom.

The explosion sent out shockwaves that rippled through the battlefield. A wave of frost spread across the scorched land where the clash had detonated, while the pressure from Mihawk's strike flattened the terrain around it. Yet somehow, Nusjuro remained standing.

Frost steamed from his hooves. His blade quivered slightly from the force.

Shanks narrowed his eyes. "Mythical Zoan… the Bakotsu. Horse of the Underworld."

Nusjuro gave a rare smirk. "So you've heard of it."

He turned his head toward Mihawk. "Not that it matters. Strength will always choose the one who dares to wield it. And I," he said, lifting the blade now coated in black ice, "have never let fate decide my battles."

Mihawk stared at the skeletal centaur form, unmoved.

"Power doesn't decide the swordsman. The sword does."

He tilted Yoru slightly. "And mine says you're worth cutting."

That line struck something in Nusjuro. He gritted his teeth.

"Then try," he snarled.

A sudden burst of wind kicked up as he vanished. The skeletal centaur form exploded forward at impossible speed, tearing across the frost-hardened ground with hooves that barely touched the earth. Ice cracked beneath him, and the cursed blade of the Shodai screamed with dark energy.

Mihawk vanished just as swiftly.

Two blurs crossed mid-air, black steel and cursed ice, and the sky lit up with the fury of the world's strongest blades.

Clang!

A moment later, both figures reappeared a hundred meters apart, blades clashing in a brilliant flash. The ring of steel cracked like thunder, and each strike unleashed waves of compressed air and Haki-laced sword energy that carved deep, jagged gouges across the land. The battlefield, once level, was now a war-torn scar of ice-rimed canyons and shattered stone.

Nusjuro's strikes came like an avalanche. His cursed blade, the Shodai Kitetsu, pulsed with frigid light. With every swing, ice bloomed beneath his hooves, spreading frost over the torn earth. His movements were merciless, his blade howling with a spectral chill. Each slash brought freezing winds that twisted the air, while black flame-smoke coiled behind his awakened form like a mantle of death.

He moved like a spectral warhorse galloping through a battlefield of shadows. His centaur-like Bakotsu form, half-man and half-skeletal horse, created tremors with every strike. His hind legs could crush boulders. His hooves left steaming craters. And yet, against this tempest, Mihawk stood unshaken.

Every attack that should have split him apart was parried by the barest edge of Yoru. He flowed like water through chaos, always a half-second ahead of catastrophe. His footing remained light, his expression unreadable.

After ten seconds of relentless combat, Mihawk calmly exhaled and tilted his head.

"Is that all?" His voice cut through the frost like a scalpel. "Buggy was right. You've ruled from the shadows for too long. No one dares to challenge you, so you've stagnated."

He stepped forward, blade raised at ease.

"And this form of yours, the Bakotsu, is impressive for overwhelming weaklings. But for a swordsman? It is nothing special."

Nusjuro's jaw clenched, steam hissing through his sharp teeth.

"You dare mock the will of a Mythical Beast?"

"Not mock. Dismiss."

With a snarl, Nusjuro lunged. His cursed blade shimmered blue with ice as he swung violently, sending frozen arcs slicing toward Mihawk like glacial crescents. But Mihawk now pressed the offense. Every swing he met, every frozen shockwave he dispersed. His counters grew faster, sharper.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

A rising rhythm of strikes crescendoed with a clash that blasted them apart, frost and debris trailing through the air. Nusjuro skidded back, hooves gouging trenches in the ground, breath misting from his nose.

Across from him, Mihawk stood with Yoru at his side, barely winded.

Then his Haki surged.

A thunderous woooom echoed across the field as black lightning erupted around him, tendrils of Conqueror's Haki lashing out like whips. The air twisted. The sky groaned.

Nusjuro narrowed his eyes. "So this is your boast? Conqueror's Haki?"

He sneered and stamped his hoof.

"Fine. You are not the only one."

His own Haki burst forth, dark and suffocating, sending a cold ripple through the area. But the moment their Haki collided, Nusjuro's face faltered.

Mihawk's Conqueror did not just meet his. It buried it.

It was not overwhelming through brute force, but through control. Precision. It was like being suffocated not by a storm, but by a scalpel pressed slowly against his throat.

"Ridiculous..." Nusjuro muttered, beads of sweat forming at his temple despite the cold. "This level of Haki…"

"A frog in a well," Mihawk said coldly, his blade glowing with spirals of cyan and black lightning. "Let me show you what exists outside your cave."

He raised Yoru once more.

The sky split.

A wave of condensed sword energy shot forth. The slash tore across the battlefield like a death sentence. It howled toward Nusjuro, wrapped in spiraling frostfire and raw Haki, the sheer pressure collapsing the air in its path.

Nusjuro's instincts screamed. His Observation Haki flared, and told him he could not dodge.

The strike was locked on him. Tracked him. Absolute.

"Tch…"

He dropped to one knee, slamming a clawed palm into the ice-caked earth.

"Icefang Bastion."

From the ground, jagged pillars of cursed ice erupted upward, forming a massive barrier shaped like a skeletal warhorse's skull. Dark mist coiled through the structure, and the cursed aura of the Shodai Kitetsu echoed through it. It was not mere defense, but a manifestation of the Bakotsu's wrath, born of both myth and blood.

The slash struck.

In the next instant, Nusjuro slammed his clawed hand into the ground. Ice cracked beneath his hooves as a surge of power erupted from his palm. The frost spread outward in jagged patterns, and from the heart of the blast, a massive slab of glacial stone tore itself free from the ground, easily ten meters wide.

It twisted as it rose, reshaping into a towering shield sculpted from blackened ice and spectral bone. It pulsed with ghostly blue fire and crackled with shards of freezing mist. In the center of the shield, carved deep into the frozen core, was the hoof-shaped crest of the Celestial Dragons.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

But before the barrier had fully stabilized, Hawkeye's hundredfold slash came down in a roaring wave. Each blow crashed into the shield with the force of a collapsing mountain, the battlefield shaking beneath the weight of the assault.

The glacial shield groaned, splintered, and then shattered with a thunderous crack, shards of ice and bone shooting skyward. The last of Mihawk's strikes crashed through what remained of the defense and slammed Nusjuro into the ridge behind him like a comet.

His hybrid Bakotsu form. Half-skeletal horse, half-warrior smashed into the red rock with a seismic crack. Frost and flame scattered from the point of impact. For a heartbeat, the battlefield held its breath.

Every spectator, from pirates to kings to Marines, stared in disbelief. Even the remaining Elders exchanged stiff glances, their faces shadowed with tension.

The truth was undeniable now.

Hawkeye's strength was far beyond what many had dared to believe.

Back during the Summit War, when he had halted his blade before striking Buggy, whispers had circled the world. Some said Mihawk had hesitated. That his reputation was exaggerated. That he was more name than power.

But here and now, those whispers turned to ash.

Before the eyes of the world, Mihawk had delivered a storm of slashes that sent one of the Five Elders hurtling through rock and ice. Just pure, unrelenting swordsmanship.

And as if to remind everyone of Buggy's peculiar greatness, memories surfaced of the Chop-Chop Fruit. How it rendered Mihawk's blades useless, not from weakness, but from sheer incompatibility.

Even then, Buggy had stood against Sengoku and Kizaru at the height of their power. Though outmatched, he survived where others would have fallen. Even Whitebeard might have thought twice before taking on two Admirals at once.

Buggy's strength, even two years ago, had not been a joke.

Watching Nusjuro reel from Mihawk's onslaught, Redfield gave a derisive snort.

"Tch. What a waste of a powerful Devil Fruit," he muttered. "I thought the Five Elders would be monsters. Turns out they've just been sitting in their ivory tower too long, forgetting how to fight."

He shook his head in disappointment and then turned, smirking at Garp.

"Hey, Garp. Feel like reliving the old days? I wouldn't mind seeing if the Hero of the Marines still has his edge."

Garp cracked a grin, his eyes gleaming.

"Oh, I'm more than ready. But don't expect mercy, Redfield. Young or old, I've always hit hard."

Sengoku folded his arms and spoke dryly, "You two want a rematch that badly? Don't cry to me when your backs give out."

Puff ha ha ha!

Garp let out his trademark laugh.

"Relax, Sengoku. I'll warm him up. Been itching to see how strong Redfield really is with that Devil Fruit of his. Let's go, Red!"

Whoosh!

Garp shot into the sky like a cannonball, fist pulled back.

In the same instant, Redfield vanished from the ground, reappearing mid-air. His coat fluttered as he met Garp's charge with a punch of his own, without hesitation.

Boom!

Before their fists even collided, tendrils of Conqueror's Haki burst forth from both of them, crackling like thunder and splitting the sky above them in two. The sheer force of their clashing wills carved through the heavens.

One blow and the sky was torn apart.

---

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