Even among the mighty Demon Kings who stood at the pinnacle of their hierarchy, not a single one dared to stake their lives on fighting Imu.

After all, Imu was still fundamentally human—bound by the laws of aging, sickness, and eventual death. All they had to do was wait. Sooner or later, Imu would naturally fall to time.

Why risk everything now?

What fool would choose to gamble with eternity against a mortal?

And yet—none of them could have predicted it.

Imu, as if chosen by the very fate of this world, discovered something extraordinary hidden inside the alien spacecraft that the demons once used to invade this planet.

A weapon unlike any other.

A weapon designed specifically to destroy their kind—a device capable of transforming demons into fruit-like objects. That was how the massacre unfolded. The demon race was annihilated before the eyes of the world.

In hindsight, the ancient prophecy once whispered by Hakutaku had already come true over eight hundred years ago.

And Imu… was a member of the D Clan all along.

Though the truth of Joy Boy’s role remained partially hidden, Azazel had always believed in one thing:

If Joy Boy—the wielder of the Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Nika—was indeed from the D Clan, then he would be the one fated to overturn the world.

— — —

Azazel shook his head, casting off those lingering thoughts.

Now wasn’t the time for memories or regrets.

He focused completely on the man standing before him—Tachibana Kyūjō.

Out of respect for his opponent—and to ensure he wouldn’t fall prey to overconfidence—Azazel began drawing forth his full demonic power, merging it with the purest form of Colorless Haki.

Bit by bit, the demonic essence sealed within his human vessel began to unravel.

The once-human hands morphed into razor-sharp claws. Golden scales spread across his limbs like interlocked armor, gleaming with an unnatural sheen. A sleek, thorned tail sprouted from his back, swaying ominously in the air.

And within seconds, a monstrous figure over five meters tall—half-demon, half-human—stood before Kyūjō, a single burning eye glaring in silence.

He stared, watching as Kyūjō began his own transformation.

— — —

But even as Azazel’s aura radiated menace, Kyūjō didn’t flinch.

Azazel didn’t see him as a threat.

But Kyūjō had long outgrown the version of himself that would’ve cowered under that gaze.

He wasn’t some helpless lamb awaiting judgment.

And just as the convergence of the three Haki types completed within him, Kyūjō closed his eyes, slipping into a state of focused meditation.

His consciousness reached into Infinity.

His instant perception field surged to 47%, now encompassing all of Mariejois—the Holy Land of the Celestial Dragons—spanning thousands of kilometers. Even his predictive simulations and mental processing speed jumped by a third.

But what truly caught his attention…

Out of the thousands of possible future battle outcomes his mind processed, his probability of victory against Azazel was only…

Thirty-one percent.

“…Only thirty-one percent?” Kyūjō murmured.

It was… low.

He understood. If he truly wanted to survive this fight, he might have no choice but to use his final card—something he’d always tried to avoid.

Once played, that card would guarantee victory… but it would also trigger a new cycle of reincarnation.

He exhaled softly. He wasn’t ready for that yet.

At least… not now.

— — —

And then—

The three colors of Haki within him—Haoshoku, Busoshoku, Kenbunshoku—vanished, replaced by something new.

A single force.

It had no color, yet carried substance.

A fusion of the Three Haki, retaining the individuality of each, while birthing a fourth characteristic that had never existed before.

Like a Paramecia-type Devil Fruit, this new Haki wielded the property of Absolute Destruction.

It could erase anything it touched—even energy itself.

Just like what had happened in the previous battle, when Kyūjō’s slash had been utterly destroyed by Imu’s barehanded strike.

But more than anything, what stood out now… was Kyūjō’s appearance.

His skin, once human, now glowed with a soft, pearlescent radiance—marble-like, shimmering under the sunlight.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at his arms, now appearing like a sculpture of divine artistry.

A faint smile formed on his lips.

Hina would probably love how he looked right now.

Heh…

As her image flickered in his mind, Kyūjō’s eyes softened with affection.

He had to end this fight quickly.

Because… he was starting to miss her.

And he didn’t want to make Hina worry any longer.

— — —

Wrapped in the aura of Colorless Haki, Kyūjō clenched his fists.

The new energy flowed naturally across his limbs, merging seamlessly with his body and his weapon.

Rairyūken, his faithful blade, slid free from its sheath with a whistle that cut through the sky.

Bathed in new power, the sword’s sharp cry echoed across the heavens of Mariejois.

But then… something strange happened.

The dark-black coating on Rairyūken’s surface began to peel.

From base to tip, the deep Busoshoku layer—formed after years of training—flaked away like rust, removed by the purity of Colorless Haki.

And beneath that shell—

Rairyūken’s true form was revealed under the sunlight.

It looked both unfamiliar and familiar, as if reborn.

Kyūjō couldn’t help but laugh.

“All that effort to coat you in Busoshoku… and you just shed it like dead skin?”

But deep down, he could feel it.

Rairyūken was now lighter, sharper, and stronger than ever before.

With a gentle voice, Kyūjō smiled and whispered:

“Rairyūken… you’re actually kinda beautiful when you’re not black, huh.”

After his cheeky remark, he raised the blade high—then pointed it straight at Azazel.

Without another word—

He slashed.

A flying slash surged forward—sharper, faster, and more devastating than anything he had unleashed before.

— — —

But at the same moment—

A pair of pink wings near the base of Azazel’s back suddenly flared to life!

They shimmered with hypnotic ripples of light—like a mirage stretched across the horizon.

And in the very next instant—just before Kyūjō’s slash reached him—

Azazel vanished.

Silent as a breath swallowed by space itself.

A colossal explosion tore through the land, shaking all of Mariejois!

But Kyūjō remained calm.

Without so much as blinking, he spun his wrist and swung Rairyūken toward a seemingly empty spot five meters to his right.

CLANG!

The blade sliced through the air—then hit something solid.

A splash of blood erupted.

Azazel staggered backward.

Kyūjō’s sword had struck true.

“…Your blade is quite sharp, human,” Azazel muttered casually.

Blood trickled from his palm—but then…

It vanished.

The wound sealed instantly, as a pair of green wings—the fifth pair on Azazel’s back—flared behind him.

Just like that… the injury was gone.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep