Chapter Thirty-Three: The Five-Day, Five-Night Battle

Just as Buffon had “predicted,” these two irreconcilable men fought endlessly, as if the battle would never end. Members of the Spade Pirate Crew watched the fight closely, worried that Ace might come to harm.

Buffon and Saul, both pure outsiders, sat eating sea king meat and drinking beer, settling in as proper spectators.

After the first day of fighting, Buffon, the expert, felt a bit shaken. Ace’s mastery of the Flame-Flame Fruit was not yet perfect, but he was not far from it. Ace pointed his index and middle fingers at Jinbe like pistols, shooting a series of small flames from his fingertips at him. Jinbe dodged nimbly, then responded with a fierce Karakusa Water Straight Punch. Ace didn’t dodge; instead, he used Yang Flame, turning his arm into fire and shooting a column of flame from his palm to block Jinbe’s attack.

Jinbe switched tactics, using Shark Skin Palm Base to leap into the air with powerful leg strength, then launched a seven-thousand-tile spinning kick straight at Ace’s head. Ace was forced to leap back to avoid the heavy blow, then unleashed Fire Fist, transforming his arm into an enormous, superheated flame, stretching it out to strike Jinbe with a fiery punch.

“Is this what a true Warlord-level battle looks like?” Buffon sighed inwardly, starting to assess the gap between his strength and theirs. This was his first time seeing such a high-level fight with his own eyes; no amount of data in his head could compare to witnessing it directly. Their battle awareness, the timing of their moves and counters, gave Buffon much enlightenment, and showed him clearly where his own weaknesses lay.

Battle awareness could only be honed by fighting opponents of similar strength. As for pure power, Jinbe’s seven-thousand-tile spinning kick—Buffon judged that, at full strength, he might reach seventy or eighty percent of Jinbe’s power.

The fight went on. Jinbe again used Shark Skin Palm Base to leap, then poured all his strength into a Shark Tile Straight Punch aimed at Ace.

At that moment, Buffon suddenly thought of Moria. Wasn’t it these very moves during the Summit War that left Moria defeated? Seeing Ace dodge now, Buffon realized Jinbe truly was Moria’s nemesis.

Three days passed, and the battle continued, with no sign that either would lose. Saul, gnawing on sea king meat, sighed, “Looks like I, a former Vice Admiral, am no longer worth much!”

As he spoke, a missed Fire Fist from Ace shot straight toward the two. Buffon used the Six Powers’ Shave to dodge, but Saul, slower to react, took the hit squarely.

Fortunately, his giant body was tough, and he activated Iron Body in an instant, suffering only a superficial wound. However, his shirt was left with a large hole from the residual heat, and his skin was split open.

Buffon frowned slightly at the sight, his fingers flying with needle and thread, swiftly stitching Saul’s wound closed. Saul’s previous injuries had been stitched up by Buffon while he was unconscious; he’d watched Buffon work on corpses, but experiencing it firsthand was far more impressive. Touching his chest, now smooth as new, Saul exclaimed sincerely, “Ha-ha-ha! Buffon, your stitching skills are truly extraordinary. If word of this gets out, all those beautiful lady pirates will flock to our ship!”

Buffon didn’t reply, only reaffirming that the D family truly had no normal members. He glanced at the gaping hole in Saul’s shirt, pulled out spider silk with a flourish, and began weaving a new garment for him.

It took about twenty minutes for Buffon to finish Saul’s new shirt. It wasn’t that his hands were slower, but Saul was simply so enormous—Buffon couldn’t even guess how many pairs of gloves he could sew from the same material.

Saul put on the new shirt Buffon had woven for him, tugged at it firmly, and declared with satisfaction, “Ha-ha-ha! Captain, even if you retired from piracy, you’d be the best tailor around!” He gave Buffon a thumbs-up.

Quietly, Saul thought, “Following Captain Buffon really was the best decision. For someone like me, a big target on the battlefield, having him around means there’s nothing to worry about. I can charge ahead as the meat shield, and Captain Buffon will instantly restore me!”

By the fifth day, Buffon and Saul, as spectators, had devoured a total of thirteen sea kings, and nearly finished off the Spade Crew’s supply of alcohol. Yet Ace and Jinbe showed no sign of stopping. Both were severely drained, their movements less swift than before. After each round, they paused briefly to catch their breath.

The Spade Crew, who hadn’t slept for five days, watched anxiously. They wanted to persuade Ace to stop, but didn’t want the proud captain to withdraw before victory was decided.

After another two hours, both fighters began to stagger. Jinbe, voice broken, said to Ace, “Kid... as long as I’m here, you’ll never...” But before he finished, Jinbe collapsed to the ground.

The Spade Crew barely had time to cheer before Ace dropped as well.

“Ace!”

“Captain!”

Everyone rushed forward to check on Ace. Buffon tossed aside his food and hurried to Jinbe’s side, examining his injuries. Though Jinbe was covered in wounds, they were all superficial; his collapse was purely from extreme exhaustion.

Buffon could have revived Jinbe instantly with a shot of hormones, but decided against it. Jinbe’s life wasn’t in danger, and there was no need to use such drastic methods; it was better to let him recover naturally. Treating the wounds was a trivial matter.

Seeing Jinbe was fine, Buffon turned his attention to Ace. “How’s your captain?” he called to the crowd.

Someone replied, “He’s alright, just needs a few days to rest.”

But then, someone approached with a blade toward Jinbe. “Buffon, step aside! I’m going to kill this Warlord!”

Buffon made no move, nor said anything, simply staring steadily at the approaching pirate.

Just then, a shadow appeared on the distant sea. Someone spotted it and shouted, “Look, something’s coming from the water!”

The cry focused everyone’s attention on the nearby sea. As the shadow drew closer, its size grew—it was clearly a ship.

The shadow stopped at the shore, and through the layers of mist, everyone finally saw its true form.

When the ship’s massive prow, like a blue whale’s head, came into view, Buffon instantly understood—it was the Moby Dick, the flagship of the Whitebeard Pirates.

On the giant prow stood a tall, burly figure. In his right hand he held a huge blade, taller than himself by a third; his left hand was clenched into a fist as he roared, “Who’s trying to take my head? Well, as you wish. Come, let’s play!”