A figure staggered backward out of a dense cloud of black smoke, his entire body scorched, arms mangled and bloodied. But the massive greatsword still clutched in his hands left no doubt.
It was Iman.
"Even his physical durability, perception, and reaction time have improved significantly…" muttered Gilbert Arlan, scowling as he kicked Iman away. He wasn't pleased—in fact, his expression darkened.
Because that kick had barely done any real damage. The wounds on Iman were only flesh-deep—nothing critical.
Suddenly, a dazzling slash tore through the air, screaming like the sky itself was being ripped apart. The brilliant arc slashed toward Iman with merciless precision.
Oliver had made his move.
Two-Sword Style: Skycleaver!
"I'm a man destined to reign! What are two little officers of some pirate crew to me?!"
With eyes burning crimson and steam hissing from every breath, Iman's muscles swelled unnaturally as he tensed, gripping his greatsword in both hands. He took a step forward and thrust toward Oliver's incoming slash.
Sword Technique: Dragon Piercer!
The air itself screamed as it was pierced—a violent, swirling stream of compressed force erupted forward, taking the form of a furious dragon, clashing head-on with the radiant arc slicing toward him.
CLANG!
The two massive slashes collided, tip versus tip, fang against fang. The impact rang out like metal screaming, blinding light flashing between them as if raw power was about to explode.
Shhhhk! Shhhhk! Shhhhk!
There was no deafening blast. Instead, the two forces clashed in a frozen deadlock for a heartbeat… and then exploded outward in a violent burst. The resulting shockwave twisted the very air itself, creating a ripple that surged in all directions. Dozens of razor-sharp mini-slashes exploded outward, carving jagged gouges across the surrounding desert. Deep scars, some seven or eight meters deep, scored the sand in every direction.
"Tch. That kind of power... is seriously terrifying." Arlan barely dodged two of the slashes. A pit of dread coiled tighter in his chest.
Iman's strength had surged to an unbelievable degree after injecting himself with that drug. He was more than twice as powerful as before. Twice. It was unnatural. Terrifying. Who the hell developed something like this?
As the residual power from their clashing slashes faded, both Iman and Oliver moved in the same breath, turning into two blur-fast shadows racing toward each other.
CLANG!
Blades met in midair. Sparks flew. The ringing of metal-on-metal echoed across the battlefield.
CLANG-CLANG! CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
In the scarred sands below, Oliver and Iman clashed violently, bodies a blur, every strike aimed to kill. There was no holding back, only death in their eyes.
Amid the flurry of steel, sparks flashed continuously. Towering slashes lashed through the desert, leaving terrifying gashes wherever they struck. Oliver's twin blades danced with vicious grace, his attacks fast, ruthless, each one a deadly execution meant to kill.
Iman countered with brute force and brutal precision. Despite wielding an enormous greatsword, he moved with impossible ease, as if it were no heavier than straw. He met Oliver's lightning-quick strikes with iron defense, and when pushed, he simply powered through them, trading blows, ignoring pain, focused solely on breaking through Oliver's kill-zone.
And it worked.
Though he took wounds, Iman seemed not to care. The drug coursing through him gave him rapid regeneration, his wounds sealed up in moments, skin knitting together as if time itself bent for him.
Circling around the battlefield, Arlan watched Iman's every move, eyes narrowing.
"This drug definitely has side effects. There's no such thing as a perfect enhancer…"
It wasn't that Arlan didn't want to join the fight. Quite the opposite. But right now, Oliver and Iman were in the heat of a deathmatch. If he barged in without the right opening, he'd only get caught in the crossfire, and those wild slashes didn't care who they hit.
But Arlan's suspicion wasn't without reason.
On the black market, there were drugs like this, rampant combat stimulants that functioned like supercharged adrenaline shots. They drastically boosted strength, pain tolerance, and aggression. But their cost was steep.
The mildest side effects included full-body fatigue within a day, torn muscles, broken bones. The worst? Nerve death, paralysis, cellular breakdown, reduced lifespan, even instant death.
One of the most notorious variants was HRA-11, a so-called "Body Activation Drug" sold at five million Berries for just two milliliters. Created by a deranged scientist, HRA-11 was designed to hyperstimulate cellular activity and neural response. Users would see dramatic boosts in strength, speed, and durability, but at a price. The drug's harsh effects would drive users into a berserk state, unable to distinguish friend from foe. Once the drug wore off, it left behind massive cellular and nerve damage, aging the user's body or rendering them partially paralyzed.
But Iman's drug was different.
His entire system had been enhanced—strength, speed, reaction time, durability, all more than doubled. Even more disturbing was the hyperactivity of his cells. They split rapidly, fueling a terrifying regenerative ability. That was something no known black-market stimulant could replicate.
CLANG!
Oliver's dual swords locked against Iman's downward smash. Blood trickled from the corners of Oliver's mouth—internal injuries. His body was drenched in crimson. Deep sword wounds marred his frame.
"Even his mind's starting to slip…" Oliver muttered through clenched teeth, face pale.
Iman stood before him, soaked in blood but seemingly unhurt, every wound closed. Yet his condition wasn't stable. His aura flickered wildly, his breath ragged. His crimson eyes now glowed so red they seemed ready to bleed. His movements grew wilder. Sloppier. Mindless.
Oliver gritted his teeth, summoned all his strength, and shoved the berserk Iman back a dozen paces. His twin swords sliced the air, carving twin trenches into the sand.
"Now!" Arlan's eyes flashed. He'd been waiting. The moment Iman lost control and his guard—this was it.
In the blink of an eye, Arlan stepped.
In truth, his feet had already struck the ground more than a dozen times in that instant.
He vanished.
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