Dalmatian was indeed planning something. Earlier, when he instructed everyone to switch to their weapons, he subtly glanced at Mosen.
Mosen, with his keen senses, immediately detected a hint of ill-intent.
So, what exactly did that unreliable Shuzo say to Dalmatian last night after Mosen left?
All the camaraderie they shared seems wasted.
At this moment,
Not only was Mosen surprised, but the other ten or so recruits were equally shocked.
Yes, Mosen was strong.
They acknowledged they couldn’t match him alone but felt they stood a chance as a group of ten or more against Mosen.
Seeing the eager expressions of his opponents, including Old Val, Mosen felt a bit exasperated.
Did they think they could prove their worth through this?
Did they underestimate him or think he couldn’t wield his blade?
Raising his hand, Mosen reported: “Vice Admiral Dalmatian, I think this is unfair.”
Dalmatian turned to Mosen, thinking, didn’t Shuzo say this kid loved to be the centre of attention?
But he couldn’t back down now, having devised this perfect plan. Besides, Mosen’s Devil Fruit ability should prevent any serious injuries.
Just as Dalmatian was about to speak, Mosen continued, almost causing Dalmatian to spit out blood in frustration.
“This is unfair to them, with ten or so of them against me. What if I accidentally hurt them? I suggest adding a few more people.
Mosen spoke calmly, but the hint of a smile on his lips was hard to hide. This act was quite satisfying.
The second-tier recruits were incensed. Though they admitted they couldn’t individually surpass Mosen, they were still elite training camp recruits.
“You’re too arrogant, Mosen!”
“I can’t ignore that remark.”
“He needs to be taught a lesson.”
“I’ve had enough of his smug face. It’s one thing to be good-looking, but to be so powerful too…” (Wait, was that a compliment?)
Dalmatian was pleased with the reaction. It matched Shuzo’s description of Mosen being… interesting.
Shuzo: Interesting, my foot, he’s just annoying!
This way, the others would not hesitate due to their pride. These were elite recruits, after all. They acknowledged strength but wouldn’t tolerate arrogance.
“Everyone, prepare!”
Seeing the heightened emotions, Dalmatian didn’t waste any more time.
“Begin!”
As soon as he spoke, two figures lunged at Mosen: Old Val from his dorm and another swordsmanship elite.
Both had mastered Soru, allowing them to reach Mosen first.
One came from the left, the other from the right, with three blades targeting Mosen: two aiming for his upper body and one sneakily going for his waist.
Mosen didn’t even unsheath his sword. He merely tapped their blades, pushing them back without moving from his spot.
“Just the two of you isn’t enough. My strength isn’t just in my looks. Although my looks might be better than my strength, you can’t compare. Come at me all at once!”
Mosen’s taunt was masterful, even making Dalmatians want to intervene.
Dalmatian thought inviting Mosen to his team might have been a mistake.
“Arrogant!” “You’ll pay for that!”
No one could stand this. The ten or so recruits abandoned their strategies.
Grouped in pairs or trios, they attacked Mosen from all directions, their blades aiming for every possible angle.
This wasn’t a haphazard assault like pirates but a coordinated effort by elite recruits.
Their strategy was clear: Mosen’s Devil Fruit ability might deflect attacks, but they could still break through if their attacks surpassed their limit.
Their imagination was full, but reality was harsh.
Mosen’s Kenbunshoku Haki might not be top-tier yet, but it was enough to predict their every move.
In his perception, their attacks seemed slow, as if they were in slow motion. Each attack was anticipated, and his body naturally evaded.
However,
Mosen had never faced such a skilled group, initially moving somewhat chaotically.
His back got slashed twice by Old Val and another sneaky recruit. Though his Devil Fruit ability deflected the attacks, his shirt was shredded.
After dodging and blocking several rounds, Mosen became more composed and started taunting.
“Hey, did you guys skip meals? Are you trying to tickle me with those weak attacks?”
With a flick of his sword, Mosen deflected two attacks and used Geppo to dodge an underhanded strike aimed at a vital spot.
“Trying to sneak a hit there, huh? That’s crossing the line!”
Mid-air, Mosen redirected his blade, targeting the sneak attacker’s head.
The sharp whistle and intense pressure made the assailant feel suffocated. His standard Navy-issue sword barely came up in time before it was cut in half, leaving him thinking, “I’m done for.”
Mosen’s sword paused, then struck the man’s face flatly, leaving a clear sword mark and a skewed mouth.
The man flew backwards, causing chaos.
Avoiding another slash from behind, Mosen’s sword hilt struck the assailant’s face, knocking him out instantly.
“Hitting faces feels great. No wonder the higher-ups are so fond of my looks.”
Mosen was in a good mood, feeling like he had found a new direction in life.
Suddenly, two swords attacked from his right side, aiming for his right arm and lower back.
Simultaneously, a long sword descended from the front while a thin, patterned blade silently approached from the left, its tip carrying a strange aura.
Just as Mosen evaded other attacks, a sense of danger came from the left. Barely in time, he used Kami-e, but not quickly enough.
A slight wound appeared from the Haki-infused blade.
It was Old Val’s sword.
“Yo, Val, you’ve improved. Warm-up’s over. Time to go on the offensive!”
The minor wound didn’t affect Mosen, but it was time to show Dalmatian the recruits’ swordsmanship level.
Now, it was his turn to perform.
Soru
Mosen no longer held back, charging into the crowd. His sword struck two opponents, sending them flying.
The others retreated, raising their swords to defend.
But.
“You’re too slow. All of you, fall!”
Mosen’s speed increased again, surpassing their visual limits.
“Bam… slap… clang… ow…”
A series of noises and screams filled the area. Everyone was sent flying, lying on the ground groaning, their faces swollen like pig heads but with no serious injuries.
Sheathing his sword, Mosen crossed his arms and looked at the sky at a 45-degree angle.
“Who’s next?!”
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