Chapter 675: Wolf Knight, Today the Master Claims the Throne!
Chapter 675: Wolf Knight, Today the Master Claims the Throne!
In front of Dressrosa's Palace, a massive group of soldiers had gathered, gripping weapons and muskets while standing in tight formation.
The sea of soldiers looked overwhelming in number.
Nearby civilians had already retreated in fear.
They couldn’t understand why combat had erupted again—hadn’t the war ended?
Behind the soldiers, several noblemen in extravagant robes were discussing matters.
“That pansha family? They’ve lost everything! For eight hundred years, they’ve been nothing but a laughingstock like a Harlequin. Just because that Navy chose him, does he really think he’s qualified?” The speaker was the Head of the Wood Family, one of Dressrosa’s most powerful nobles.
“At the end of the day, why should we listen to the Navy’s opinion?” This came from the Head of the Meiluo Family—known in records as a ‘human trafficker.’
“Who knows these things? If we hadn’t been greedy, forcing Dold to relinquish his claim, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this bad,” said the Head of the Tresi Family.
All were top-tier nobles of Dressrosa.
They’d received advance intelligence that the World Government had handed decision-making authority to a single Navy officer. Originally, King Riku hadn’t been able to abdicate easily, but once they learned this news, they’d colluded to pressure him into stepping down.
A king who’d abdicated long ago couldn’t reclaim his throne with just someone like Cyrus supporting him.
Without this news, they might have accepted it—they acknowledged the king as divinely chosen, after all. Donquixote had passed the throne to Riku, and they’d accepted that.
But once the throne became unstable, they naturally wanted to seize the chance.
Though King Riku couldn’t retaliate against them, deep down he’d never been their ally. If given the opportunity, he’d definitely kill them all.
Better to seize power themselves.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the Head of the Wood Family. “Even if the Navy chose pansha, what can he do? He’s just one man. Why fear him? Our goal in gathering soldiers isn’t just about pansha.”
The assassination attempt had failed, but it hardly mattered.
The original assassination attempt was only meant to force the Navy to choose another family, avoiding open conflict while they competed among themselves.
Even if the Golden Lion truly chose pansha, they wouldn’t accept it.
The Navy couldn’t interfere in member states’ affairs. If they dared attack over this, the World Government would never approve.
“Still,” said the Tresi Head, “I’ve heard pansha was Donquixote’s squire before. They say he’s strong.”
The Wood Head scoffed. “Ancient history! Don’t you remember? We used to joke about pansha when we drank together. Once a great noble, now reduced to raising pigs like a Harlequin, getting mocked by everyone.”
The Meiluo Family Head nodded. “Exactly. Even if he gained some foolish civilians’ loyalty, our combined armies number over two thousand!”
A ‘civilian’ disconnected from nobility for centuries—how many people could he rally?
Their true purpose in gathering so many troops wasn’t to guard against pansha, but to use this opportunity to storm the Palace itself, where the defensestrength was concentrated.
Once they dismantled the Palace’s defensestrength, they could force King Riku to abandon his hopes and relinquish the throne entirely.
As for which of the three families would claim the throne, that would require further contention.
But no matter what, they could guarantee their own interests remained unharmed.
Their interests aligned perfectly.
Once they decided on the throne’s successor, they’d send word to the Navy, offering gifts to explain the situation to the World Government.
“Forget pansha. Charge in!”
The Wood Head stared at the Palace. “First, dismantle King Riku’s armed forces. Force him to abdicate!”
Boom!
A muffled thunderclap suddenly echoed across the sky, and the heavens darkened.
“Order the soldiers to charge!” the Meiluo Family Head growled.
But as they were about to command, Tresi Head’s eyes widened. “Someone’s coming!”
Ahead of the soldiers stood a tall, slender figure gradually emerging onto the street.
As the figure appeared, more civilians followed, brandishing weapons and cautiously trailing behind.
This figure wore sleek, streamlined armor. The wolf-tail crested helmet swayed with the wind. He crouched slightly, one arm dangling limp, the other shouldering a massive sword. His gait mimicked a wolf’s stealthy prowl.
“Is that… pansha?!” Tresi gasped. “That’s pansha! I’ve seen that armor in a painting at home. This is the ancient pansha’s exact form!”
“You think wearing armor makes you ancient pansha? A joke!”
The Wood Head snorted, raising his arm high. “Fire! Kill him first!”
As his arm dropped, soldiers raised muskets and pulled triggers.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets rained down, accompanied by the gloomy sky above.
“Commander!”
Behind David, some cried out in alarm.
Yet not a single follower retreated, even as the barrage could’ve killed them all.
David calmly watched the bullets approach. Gripping his greatsword, he swung it once. The shockwave from the blade’s motion sent the bullets scattering. The air pressure blasted them downward, clattering onto the ground like rain.
“The battle eight hundred years ago… let’s continue it.”
David muttered calmly. His body coiled like a spring, then burst forward.
His jet-black armor left a sleek, black afterimage as he charged toward the soldiers.
He suddenly leapt, gripping the greatsword with one hand, and cleaved downward from above.
Boom!!
The sword strike unleashed a shockwave, hurling soldiers outward like ragdolls.
A wolf among lambs!
“Wolf Knight David Pansha—today, I reclaim the throne for my master!” The helmet’s voice rang firm and clear.
One man stood against an entire army!
On a nearby rooftop, Moer adjusted his hat brim, smirking faintly.
It was done.
David, clad in armor, darted through the battlefield, his greatsword moving like it weighed a thousand tons. Each swing unleashed violent air pressure. Even with one hand, the force was immense.
Thousands of soldiers became lambs awaiting slaughter, falling one by one under his blade.
They didn’t die—only blown away by pressure or knocked unconscious by his strikes. Blood spilled from their mouths as they collapsed.
Bullets, blades—none could hit him.
Bang!
Finally, David struck down a soldier before him, adjusting his stance. Facing half the remaining troops, he slung his greatsword onto his shoulder. Around him lay fallen soldiers and scattered weapons.
A white aura erupted from his body, forming a gruesome wolf’s head facing skyward.
“Monster! A monster!!”
Half the soldiers remained, but faced with this war-god-like form, their will shattered. One soldier screamed, dropping his weapon and fleeing. Like a chain reaction, the rest scattered in panic.
“Wait! Don’t run! You’re outnumbering him! He’s just one man! One man!” The Wood Head stammered, stunned. He hadn’t expected a civilian’s combat power to be this overwhelming.
But before he could shout again, a shadow loomed over them.
David appeared before the three nobles, sword in hand.
“Wh-what are you doing?!” The Wood Head trembled.
Hiss!
The greatsword flashed silver-black, unleashing a horizontal slash that cut the three nobles in half at the waist.
Then, David strode up the Palace steps.
“Traitors are obstacles to governing this nation. No need to spare them.”
(End of Chapter)
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